Page 46 of The Press Secretary's Passion
“Why?” I ask.
“I think you know why,” he says gently.
“Are you going to fire me?”
“No.” He laughs. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
“Okay.”
“I have a buddy who owns a security company,” Ryan says, startling me. I had forgotten he was still in the room, even though it makes sense, because Jake apparently thinks he’s my mate. I don’t know how to tell him that his military adviser just likes to fuck and chuck. God, what a disgusting term that is.
“I don’t think it’ll come to that,” I hedge.
“King is great at his job, and all his guys know what they’re doing,” he says.
“I’m sure he is,” I say. “Still. I’ll be careful.”
“Julia,” he murmurs, and I know he’s frustrated with me.
“It’s my life, Ryan,” I reply gently. “I have a right to live it how I want to.”
“We’ll see—”
“No, we won’t,” I snap before turning back to Jake. “Meeting adjourned, now that we’ve discovered the secrets of the universe?”
“Meeting adjourned,” he agrees, and I can see a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Time to run.
“Well… see you all later.” And then I exit as fast as my fancy footwear will take me.
I need cats. Cats are safe.
“Freshman Congressman Seen Dining with Powerful Sister”
Chapter 14
Settled
Ican do this. I can do this. I can do this.
Ican’tdo this.
Shit. I can do this.
I step out of my car and smooth my palms down the front of my dove-gray sheath dress. Normally, I would walk in through the back entrance of this restaurant so I could eat in peace. The owners are really good about politicians and their staff being able to grab a quiet meal and head back to the capitol.
Not to mention there have been many backdoor deals made in the private dining room in the back. I have never personally witnessed any, but I have heard talk. The owners know how much clientele they would lose if they no longer had those perks. And this isn’t a tourist destination.
However, my brother Gil, an up-and-coming congressman in New York, is all about seeing and being seen—that is, as long as he’s making the right connections. And his baby sister is the White House Press Secretary, so there are those connections. Anything that can link Gil to the actual White House has him salivating, no doubt.
And he is my only brother. Having been my only friendly ally growing up—when I could count on him—built a soft spot in me for him. He was the only one in the house who showed me any kindness. Where my parents could be cruel and exacting in what they wanted from me, Gil was always ready with a happy smile and a charming story about his day. I don’t know where I would be without that. Probably some sad society wife with a prescription pill addiction and a husband who fucks anything that moves. Somehow, knowing there were good things out there in the world made me want to go out and see them and experience them for myself. Not that I didn’t have a charmed life. I did. I had anything and everything money could buy. And the kind of old money my family has meant I had everything.
It just wasn’t anything of substance.
I wanted my life to mean something. So I majored in journalism instead of something useless for my M-R-S degree. I knocked on door after door so I could get the best internships, and then I rocked my interviews and got jobs with great networks. I know that doesn’t typically happen right off the bat, but I believe it was a combination of both luck and hard work. It was hard work that put me at NYU, and it was luck that led to Grace, Angie, and me being roommates. It was hard work that got me to Eagle News, but it was luck that got my name in front of a senator running for President.
So when Gil called this morning and asked to meet for an early dinner, I said yes. I said yes, because I love my brother, since he was the only one who loved me in that house of horrors. And I said yes knowing he would not want me to sneak in the back entrance to have a private dinner with my only sibling. I knew Gil would expect me to come in the front entrance, where anyone could see me, including the paparazzi, who he would have called, and then dine next to the big glass windows, where we could be seen and photographed looking fabulous and like the next Kennedy family.
“Jules!” someone shouts as I approached the door to the restaurant. “Is it true?”
