I can't risk feeding them anything.
So I restrained myself and stayed away from her throat as much as possible. There are other ways to leave my mark on her, other ways to make her scream out my name, to make her squirm, wail and moan in a blend of agony and pleasure. It's the most beautiful sound, the most beautiful sight. No one can see the blue and purple marks beneath her dress. Her ass is so bruised up that I'm sure she won't be able to sit without contorting her face in pain. I'm looking forward to that, to watching her process the sting while she's so eager to hide it to the outside world. The knowledge that she's carrying my marks on her skin, still feeling the leathery blows I granted her this morning, is a big turn on.
She was shifting on her seat in the car, casting me playful looks as we were on our way here. I didn't say a thing about it, and neither did she.
Today is the last of three events we had to attend this week. Button has accompanied me every time, and while we've been doing this for a while now, I can't help but be impressed with her more every time. It's hard not to fall for her; close to impossible, I'd say. I never tried to prove anything to myself since that incident a couples of weeks ago. I may be a fool for this, but she's managed to bewitch me. There's no denying it anymore.
However, I'm painfully aware of the fact that she's only with me because of the contract. She never said anything to contradict that, but her actions show that she's in this for more - just like me.
Be careful. Be very careful.
I can't get that damn voice inside my head to shut up. It's still there, every damn day, every time I look at her the way I’m looking at her right now.
The event has just started and we are chatting with people as they arrive. Usually I'd always make sure that Button was right at my side, making sure that she's not doing or saying anything to jeopardize my campaign. But with every new event we attended, every conversation we've had, and every short interview she took part in, I’ve grown more confident in her abilities to play this game. She's familiar with my platform and knows how to forego unpleasant questions and evade uncomfortable situations.
I watch her from afar, observing her as she engages in small talk with an elderly couple I know to be long-term benefactors of the Lion's Club. All three of them are smiling, apparently having a good time.
I was just about to tear my eyes away from them when I see another guy joining the conversation. He's rather young, probably about my age. My pulse accelerates when I see the press tag hanging around his neck. I told Button not to talk to the press when she's not with me, and to turn them away if they ever approach her when she's alone.
The way this guy pushes himself between her and the couple she's been talking to gives me reason to worry. He looks a little too eager to talk to her, his eyes flickering with excitement when he addresses her. He's sneering as he talks, nodding and motioning in a very pushy way. I can tell right away that he makes her uncomfortable. She moves away from him, raising her hand up in defense as if he was attacking her.
I want to step in, but something is holding me back. I remain in my spot, frozen like a statue, watching how she handles the situation. He's talking to her, puffed out and eager, but she's shaking her head repeatedly.
Then, something changes. He finishes a sentence, leaving room for her to react. She stares at him, her mouth partly opened, slowly lowering her hand. Whatever he just said to her, it must have left an impact.
"Mr. King!"
My attention is pulled away from her when I hear my name called out, and it’s accompanied by a strong hand on my shoulder. I forcefully tear my eyes away from her to face the idiot who has the audacity to just barge into me like that. Unfortunately, he's not just anyone, but the organizer of this event, a leading figure in the prestigious Club and tonight's host.
"Good to see you!" he says, shaking my hand with such strength and excitement that it's impossible to ignore him.
I allow him to engage me in a senseless conversation about the proceedings of the next couple of hours, nodding and smiling at the right places, while my mind is hooked on Ann and the menacing reporter who crept up on her.
What the hell did he want from her?
And what the hell did he say to cause her to react like that?
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ann
"Who was that guy?"
His question catches me off guard. We just got into the car, both exhaling from exhaustion after enduring another draining campaign event. Jared loosened his tie and turned to me just a second after the driver started the car.
"What guy?" I ask, even though I'm pretty sure I know who he's talking about.
He must've seen it. The guy - who introduced himself as Stewart - approached me right at the beginning of the event. I wasn't prepared for him at all, and especially not for his insistent and forward approach. He appeared out of nowhere, seemingly materializing out of thin air, abruptly ending the conversation I was having and pushing himself and his agenda between me and Mr. and Mrs. Baumgartner, a wealthy couple who both play a significant role in the club whose event we were attending. He spoke fast, pushing out as many words as possible, as if he was running on a timer. I guess in a way he was because there was no other chance for him to get back to me during the entire evening. As soon as the official part of the evening started, it was close to impossible for any journalist to get close to me, just as it had been planned. Jared always insisted that press was only allowed to take pictures and conduct pre-scheduled short interviews at these events, but no impromptu attacks like the one Stewart orchestrated.
I was so overcome by his sudden charge at me that it took a while for me to process the short but confusing interaction we had. His face didn't seem familiar to me, but he said that he had seen me earlier that day at the co-working space. The day when Brandon blared out his suspicions about me becoming a high class call guy. He's a freelance reporter, just like I used to be. And he's after something big, he said. His big hit, an honest and raw exposure piece on Jared King and the so-called skeletons this successful business prodigy and politician-to-be might be hiding in his closet.
Lovely. Just lovely.
This guy, Stewart, said that he had done some digging in Jared's past that might be of interest to me. He didn't even make a big deal about Brandon's accusations. To me it sounded as if he just assumed they were the truth. He called me a concubine. Why on Earth he chose to use that word is beyond me. Did he think it would sound better than calling me a whore?
My heart aches when I recall the quick, short conversation I was forced to have with him.
"As his closest confidant, I'm sure you could add some valuable insight into this," he said to me. "This could be a great piece and worth a lot of money!"
I shook my head and assured him that I wasn't the right person to talk to. I was also disgusted at the fact that he just ambushed me after witnessing that horrible exchange between me and Brandon. I hate being reminded of it and have tried everything I can think of to forget about the day that was supposed to bring me closure with my old life, but turned into something ugly instead.
“Button?”
Jared’s voice is probing, his eyes fixating on me with dark, concerned intensity.