Page 31 of The Press Secretary's Passion
I pulled around the house and into my driveway. If they didn’t go away soon, I was going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future unless I could find a way to sneak out. Maybe it was time to get a cat. Grace would help me get one… or twelve, because she has a weakness when it comes to rescue felines. But a cat was definitely a valid plan.
Men are nothing but trouble.
“Jules!” one of the reporters shouted. Bobby, I think. We all knew each other in one way or another, because the news circuit is really a very small pool of people. It’s weird now that I’m on the other side of the mic. “Is it true?”
“You really want to ask me if all the news you read is true, Bobby?” I asked, and some of the other reporters whispered “Oooohhh” under their breaths. “I think we all know you can’t believe everything you read.”
“So you’re not marrying the senior senator?” someone else asked.
“No,” I answered politely. “I’m not currently involved with anyone.”
“So why did your family and the senator give those interviews?”
“Now that is the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” I asked. “I’ll let you know if I find out. Until then, have a good night guys. And let my Uber Eats guy through when he gets here, will ya!”
After that, I made my way into the kitchen, kicking off my heels on my way through the house. I dropped my bag on the marble top of the island and fished out my phone, bringing me to the present.
Seventeen. I have seventeen missed calls from my mother and zero from Ryan. Maybe I should’ve known. I don’t know why I expected him to call me, text me, send up smoke signals or a carrier pigeon or two, something. I don’t know.
We’re nothing. I know that. But still. I wish he would have reached out. But then again, what would he say to me?“Thanks for the orgasms. I hope you’re happy with your loveless match with a man old enough to be your grandfather.”Because he should know that no one will give me the kind of passion I have with him. And that’s the rub, isn’t it? There will never be another Ryan Black for me. My heart clutches painfully in my chest. Is this what a broken heart feels like?
I don’t know. I don’t have the answers, so I grab my phone and order Chinese food. If an order of mu shu chicken and extra cream cheese wontons can’t fix it, then nothing can. After I place my order, I make my way upstairs and change out of my slacks and silk blouse and exchange them for something more comfortable but still cute in case the news vans are still on my front lawn when I open the door for the delivery guy. I pull on seafoam-green yoga leggings and a white camisole tank. I top it with an oversized gray sweater that wraps across my front.
I drop my jewelry in the little bowl on my bathroom counter, scrub my face clean, and slather on some moisturizer. I’m home, and they need to know I’m home and not waiting for a man when I open my front door for dinner. I question whether my sweater is too nice or not for home alone activities and if I should toss a sweatshirt on instead. I give up, deciding I can’t give it any more of my time to fret over it.
I’m aware that I worry over trivial things when I feel like my life is spinning out of control. And I am spinning out of control. I have a sometimes lover who I can’t stay away from, even though I know there is no future there, and I have a man who is publicly claiming I am his lover for no reason that I can figure out, because I have never, not once, ever in my life been his lover. Not to mention he is the father of my boss, who just so happens to be the most powerful man in the world. And add in the fact that the global political climate is heating up uncomfortably, and everything is kind of a mess. I have too many things that need my focus right now, and none of them who are in my bed or wish to be are at the top of the priority list.
I make my way back downstairs and settle in on the sofa. I keep the curtains and blinds drawn, because I am not a Goddamn reality TV show and my life is no one’s business. I hear my phone buzz several more times, and I ignore those too.
I pick up the TV remote and turn it on to the old movie channel. My favorite movieThe Womenis just starting. I love the way this mismatched group of women bond together and help each other through tough times. It’s kind of like Grace, Angie, and me. We’ve been friends since that first rush weekend. I don’t know how or why, but we just clicked.
Now, Angie is off living her best life with a national football star in a small town in Texas. He gave her a baby after she accidentally became YouTube famous. I should go visit them soon. I need a break to get my head on straight. Although, a little voice in the back of my mind whispers that when Grace went to Texas to get her head on straight, she came back pregnant and engaged to the future president of the United States.
Grace and I stayed in New York until Jake swept her off her feet and offered me a killer gig I couldn’t turn down. Somewhere along the way, we added Cara. I wouldn’t trade these women for anything in the world. They’re more my family than the one I was born into. How crazy is that? Where Grace was raised by loving pacifists with law degrees, I was raised by wolves with grand political aspirations. Not for me, mind you. I’m just supposed to make a strong alliance for my family and breed the next generation. My brother, Gil, however, is being groomed for a political career. But that’s neither here nor there.
My rambling thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door, and I pause the movie. I get up and answer with a smile on my face, taking the delivery kid by surprise. I notice my front lawn is a lot thinner in terms of camped-out news vans, but there are still some there.
“Thanks,” I tell him, taking my paper bag full of deliciousness. I wave to the last of the news crews and head inside.
I shut and lock the door behind me and head into the living room. I drop my bag on the coffee table and then make my way into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. I settle in on the sofa and hit Play on my movie again.
I open the bag and separate my chopsticks before I start building my dinner on a plate. I shovel bite after bite into my mouth and try to watch the movie, but the whole time, I can hear my phone buzzing like a swarm of bees on the stone counter in the next room.
I can’t take it anymore, so I set my plate down on the coffee table and make my way into the kitchen. My phone, which had stopped ringing while I walked into the room, starts again. And, also again, it’s my mother.
I swipe my finger across the cool glass of the screen and answer, “Hello?”
“Well, it’s about time,” my mother snaps from across the line. “When I call you, I expect you to answer.”
I hate when she talks to me like this. I am thirty-three years old, not five. I have a successful career and have financially supported myself for years. While I have a large trust fund from grandparents who are long since gone from this world, I do not touch it. It sits in the bank. So I have no idea, and I never have, why she would think she could and should speak to me this way. And quite frankly, I don’t have the patience for it tonight.
“And I expect you to not give false information to the media about me,” I reply. Even I’m impressed with how I keep my tone of voice even and sounding a little unimpressed but not excitable.
She pauses for a minute before she gasps. “How dare you speak to me like that? I’m your mother!”
“And I’m your daughter.”
“And you finally did something useful in your life for once,” she retorts, and as she does, she sinks the blade of her words deep into my flesh and bone. “I don’t know what you did to catch Senator Chancellor’s eye, but thank God you finally did something. Your brother, Gil, could use a strong political ally.”
