Page 8 of A Man of Power

He smirks at me. Shit. I’ve been caught ogling the boss, again. Fuck. Damn it.

He raises one of his hands and points to my screen. “The company. What do you think?”

I clear my throat. It feels like something is constricted around it. I look back at his hand and images of that hand wrapped around my throat play like an old movie in my mind. For fuck’s sake, I need to pull it together. This man is known as the congressional playboy. I need to keep this completely professional. He could ruin me.

“I don’t know. They have a new pain medicine on the market that seems to be doing well. Their bottom line looks good. Market shares are up. I’ll have a report to you by Tuesday.”

“Good. Now, go home. It’s…after midnight.”

I prop my elbow on my desk and lean my head against my hand. An involuntary yawn escapes me, and I quickly cover my mouth.

He smirks again. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift. It’s too late to take the metro.”

I hesitate for a brief second. I shouldn’t, but he has a point. It’s late. And he has a car.

“OK,” I mutter as I shut down my computer.

I collect my things and follow him down the hallway. He locks the door to our office suite, and we meander the empty corridors of the building. My shoes make a clickity-clack sound as I walk. It echoes. I’ve been here late before, but it seems even eerier at this hour, like the ghosts of all our forefathers might come out and greet us.

“You seem to have settled in well,” Sebastian states, breaking the silence. I hurry to catch up with him as his long legs walk briskly.

“Yes. I’m really enjoying my work so far.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

We continue walking in silence. When we reach his car, which I only know is his once he hits a key fob and the lights blink, he opens the passenger side door for me. I pause because as an adult no one has ever opened a car door for me.

“Is something wrong?” he asks as his perfect lips form a frown.

“Uh, no, nothing. I’m fine,” I stammer as I climb into the seat. He shuts the door and walks around me. His car is expensive, but not flashy. I had him pegged as a flashy-car guy. It’s a practical car with leather interior, and it smells new.

“New car?” I ask once he’s settled.

“Sort of. I got it a few months ago,” he states as he pulls out onto Pennsylvania Avenue. “Where am I going?” he asks, glancing toward me.

“Oh, I’m in the Grenadine complex off Connecticut,” I offer, and he starts in that direction.

The streets are near empty at this late hour. The traffic lights turn green as though he has some sort of magic remote. I can’t help peering over at his hand on the stick shift as he expertly moves it to a different gear.

I swallow as I wonder if the rumors about him are true. I tried to ignore the stories when I interned for him, but I couldn’t resist searching the internet last week. I wanted to know. There was surprisingly little about his personal life. He seems to have a different girl on his arm at every event. I did find a poll on some underground congressional staffer website. He was ranked the “hottest fuck” of both chambers of Congress. Apparently, he has had his fair share of sleeping with other congressional members’ staff. He appears to be quite the conquest. Women were commenting on the poll saying the lewdest things about his dick size, his penchant for raunchy, hard sex, and even the craziest places they had done it with him. If half of the stories are true, then this man has fucked women on just about every square inch of the nation’s capital.

It was hard to juxtapose this with the man I had researched when I accepted my internship. A senator’s kid. A privileged man in every way. He was student body president at both his high school and college. He was president of his fraternity for a year. He interned for one of the most famous senators of all time before landing a coveted internship at the White House. He continued working there until he ran for office at the ripe old age of twenty-six. He’s one of the very youngest congressmen. And now, only a few years later, he’s already running for his father’s Senate seat. People say he has the Midas touch. There’s very little bad press on him at all. I wonder how that is. Nolan is a great communications staffer, but he’s not that great.

“I have a meeting at the White House on Friday. Care to join me?” he asks, breaking the silence in the car as he flies down side streets.

“Oh, uh, sure. Is that the meeting on the transportation bill?” I ask.

He nods. “It’s in your bailiwick. I normally attend these alone, but I feel like your background knowledge here might be useful.”

I roll my eyes. Why does that sound like a backhanded compliment?

“Might be?” I ask sarcastically.

I glance over at him, and he’s smirking. Asshole. He knows that I interned at a transportation lobbying firm. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s good friends with the man who now runs that firm.

“We both know it will be. Do you want me to offer you a golden ticket on a silver platter?”

“Of course, I’ll come with you. You’re my boss and you just asked me to help you.”

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