Always Been Mine (2 page)

“Cocaine jungles,” Beatrice said. “Russian-supplied guns arming private armies.” She inhaled her coffee. “Source of one of the best coffee beans in the world. Should be interesting. What else is on the agenda today?”

“We have that Mayflower Charity Ball tonight,” Doug piped in.

“Ah, yes,” Beatrice scoffed. “You’re still fine as my date?”

“Of course.”

“Great. Right now, I don’t want to go by myself, what with that little scandal with Eric. The last thing I want to look like is some pathetic woman scorned.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll look great as a couple.” Doug waggled his eyebrows.

Beatrice pouted. “Why can’t you just fall in love with me?”

Her assistant smiled wryly before leaning in and giving her a kiss on top of her head. “I do love you, sweetie.”

*****

Beatrice exited the G Street level of the Metro Center stop and walked up to La Grenouille—a ritzy French restaurant in the heart of DC. She checked the time on her phone. It was almost noon, and she was sure the place was already buzzing with lobbyists dressed in Armani suits. It was the first week of November, so everyone was pushing their agenda before Congress adjourned for the Christmas break. Heads turned her way as she neared the restaurant. She was used to the attention that her willowy, designer-clad figure attracted. She’d been approached several times by top modeling agencies, but sashaying down a catwalk held no appeal for her. No. She relished playing hardball in a business dominated by men. She thrived on the challenge. However, Beatrice was not her confident self today; she cringed at the attention. Were they looking at her as a beautiful woman, or the woman who walked in on her cheating rock star ex-boyfriend? The details didn’t even come from her. Her only response to the media was “no comment.” All the information came from the groupie who she caught with Eric.
 

Unbidden feelings of another rejection came to mind, one that happened one stormy night, three years ago. Beatrice shuddered as bile churned in her gut. Thankfully, she didn’t even love Eric. He was good in bed, although nowhere near as—

Damn it, Beatrice Porter. Snap out of it
.

Irritated with herself, she heaved and pushed the brass bar of the wood-framed, glass revolving doors of the restaurant.

“Ah, Ms. Porter, your party just arrived,” the maître d’ greeted her. “We have you seated at your regular table.”

“Excellent.” Beatrice smiled, shrugged off her cream peacoat, and handed it to a member of the waitstaff while another led her further into the dining area toward one of the secluded corners. The nutty aroma of browned butter wafted through her nose, and the earlier turmoil in her stomach receded.

A distinguished gentleman, clearly of South American descent, rose from the table and smiled at her. Senator Alex Mendoza’s shrewd dark eyes crinkled at the corners, and a dimple appeared. “Beatrice, it’s been a while.”

“Senator.”

“How have you been? How’s the Admiral?”

“I’m fine. Dad is doing well, too.” The truth was, she had not seen or spoken to her father since the scandal broke out. Knowing him, it was his silent disapproval. Thoughts of her father didn’t linger in Beatrice’s mind for her eyes landed on the senator’s companion.
Well, hello, handsome.

The senator gestured to the man beside him. “Zach Jamison, my new Chief of Staff,”
 

 
Beatrice held out her hand and it was caught in a firm handshake and held a bit longer than was normal.

Her eyes locked with Zach’s. The man was all-dark. Dark hair, dark eyes, and deeply bronzed skin. He looked sinful. She should be used to blatant male perusal, but she was caught off guard and felt her skin blushing.
 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Beatrice said, wanting to congratulate herself for her steady voice.

“Pleasure’s all mine.” Zach’s eyes penetrated deep into her.

Pulling her hand away, she addressed the senator and expressed condolences regarding the untimely death of his former Chief of Staff.

The senator nodded gravely as all three of them took their seats. Senator Mendoza’s former Chief of Staff recently passed from a heart attack. She had met the man twice before. Sharp and very protective of the senator, his death was a big blow to the senator’s office.

Zach Jamison had big shoes to fill.

Regaining some of her composure, Beatrice launched straight into business. “I believe my assistant has sent you the questionnaire?”

“Yes, we received the paperwork from Mr. Keller,” Zach answered. “We’re concerned with some of the questions. They’re very intrusive.”

She was prepared for the pushback. “Understand this, Mr. Jamison. Each principal is encouraged to answer the questions truthfully. People who want to harm Senator Mendoza will use every dirty trick in the book, every weakness. A food allergy, a relative who has a debt, etc. We need to prepare for every threat.”

“I have nothing to hide,” Senator Mendoza said. “Though my medical—”

“We’re not discussing that here,” Beatrice cut him off. “That’s for when I determine which security company will be most suited to you. I’m merely assessing your high level needs for now.”

Both men nodded.

Their server arrived to fill their glasses with water and take their drink orders. While each of them perused the menu, Beatrice led in with her questions. “I understand the Immigration and Border Security bill is high on your priorities right now.”

“That is correct.” The senator nodded. “My constituents are divided regarding some key aspects of the bill.”

“Understandable. Florida is a melting pot of different ethnic groups, and yet, a majority of the demographic is white.” Beatrice shut the menu. She knew most of the entrée items listed by heart. “You’ll have to find a happy medium.”

“As I’ve stated in our advance brief, the President wants me to meet with several heads of state from the South American continent. Our last stop is Colombia. Their government is beginning to gain control over the drug trafficking problem, but that will largely depend on talks with the left-wing guerrillas and the right-wing paramilitary groups.”

The waiter arrived with their drinks. After giving her lunch order, Beatrice took a sip of her Riesling. “There was a recent flare up of violence between the government and the guerillas. You may need bigger guns.”

“No. I want BSI,” Senator Mendoza said.

“That’s for me to determine.”

“I know which firm you are considering, but we couldn’t afford them.”

“I’m not sending BSI into known hostile territory. Their specialty is executive and dignitary protection. You almost need a team that functions as a private army,” Beatrice reiterated.

“Listen, Beatrice. May I call you Beatrice?” Zach’s mouth tilted in a grin. Oh, the man was turning on the charm. “Bring the matter up with BSI and see if they’ll take it. Travis Blake is a living legend—the Navy SEAL who saved a senator from an assassin. Folks on the Hill talk about him whenever extra security is needed.”

Beatrice inwardly agreed that Travis’s guys were very capable of handling extreme life or death situations. She was just more protective of them. She considered them her boys.

“All right,” Beatrice agreed. “I’ll bring it up with Nathan Reece. Travis is on his honeymoon right now and should return this Friday.”

“I’ve met Reece.” The senator nodded in approval. “I really think BSI has the team we need. They provided outstanding security for the senate contingent the U.S. sent to Ukraine. I heard you negotiated that deal.”

“I did.”

“So what made you go into the security business?” Zach asked. “You are not what I expected.”

“Should I be offended?”
 

“I meant that as a compliment,” the Chief of Staff replied smoothly. “Your reputation precedes you.”

Beatrice winced. Zach, realizing his faux pas, turned a shade darker under his tan.
 
The senator chuckled. “You shouldn’t worry about the tabloid write-ups, Beatrice. You’ve worked hard for where you are now.”

Fortunately, their food arrived and the elaborate way the dishes were served gave her enough time to gather her wits about her.
 

“It’ll blow over,” Beatrice quipped and shrugged her shoulders. She looked at Zach who was staring at her with remorseful eyes. She raised a brow. His eyes turned mischievous, and then he flashed her a toothpaste-commercial-worthy smile.

Suddenly, Zach’s attractiveness diminished, and the devilish grin of another man came to mind.

Beatrice Porter! Get a grip!

“Now, I believe, I’m the one asking the questions?” Beatrice brought the conversation back to point.

*****

“Bitch whore!”

Beatrice watched in horror as a wave of red ruined her new cashmere wool peacoat.
 

What the hell?

She had just returned from her successful lunch meeting with the senator and was about to ascend the steps leading to the lobby of her condominium when she heard her name. Three women, all of them wearing Titanium Rose t-shirts, attacked her with red paint. How did they find out where she lived?

The older of the women, who sported bottle-blonde hair, continued to call her all manner of derogatory female names.

Building security rushed out and was about to restrain the women when Beatrice signaled them to back away.

She also noticed a tall figure rapidly approaching from her right peripheral vision.

Doug.

She kept her eyes on her attackers.

“Can you repeat what you just called me?” Beatrice said to Eric’s rabid fans.

“Ms. Porter . . .” one of the guards started to say, but she raised a finger to shush them.

“Bitch whore!” Blondie repeated, her lips curling in a snarl.

“Is that right?” Beatrice said, wiping paint from her face. “I’m the bitch? I’m the whore? Didn’t you read the papers?”

Blondie’s eyes widened. “Well, yeah, Eric wants you back.”

“Not that part,” she said irritably. “You do know he cheated on me, right?”

“That was just a groupie . . .” Blondie’s voice faded. “He’s Eric Stone. Everyone wants to fuck him.”

“So that makes it okay?”

No answer from the three women.

“You think it’s okay for your man to step out on you when you’ve agreed to be exclusive?”

All three shook their head.

“I’ve made my point. You three are lucky I’m not about to press charges, because I’m so done with this fiasco, it’s not funny,” Beatrice snapped. “Now get out of here before someone takes pictures and I find myself splashed all over the tabloids again. This is DC. I understand there’s no place more symbolic where freedom of expression is demonstrated every day, but dousing a person with red paint is not part of your first amendment rights. Do I make myself clear?”

The women just stared at her. The guards started sniggering but stopped when Beatrice glared at them.
 

“Go on before I change my mind.”
 

All three women slowly backed away before turning and running off.

“Beatrice,” Doug said. His eyes were sympathetic, but his lips were twitching.

“Don’t laugh,” she warned. “Damn Eric.” She whipped out her phone and called him. She got his voice mail. Just as well. She didn’t want to talk to him, just leave him a message. A warning.

“Eric. Beatrice. Call off your fans. You and I? Not happening again. Get that through your damn head. The next time I get attacked or harassed, you
will
not like what I’ll do to you.”

She ended the call. Doug sighed.

“What?”
 

“You threatened your ex over the phone.”

Beatrice paused.
Shit.

“That’s not the way to keep yourself out of the tabloids.”

“Damn it,” Beatrice hissed.
 

“Come on,
Carrie
, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Beatrice grunted.

“You’re lucky they didn’t use pig’s blood.”

She grunted again.

They were making their way up the steps when Beatrice felt a shiver go up her spine. She stopped and looked around.

“What’s wrong, honeybee?” Doug occasionally used that annoying endearment on her, but right now, Beatrice’s attention was riveted to her surroundings.

“I feel like . . . I feel like someone’s watching me.”

“You’re just spooked by the attack,” Doug reassured her. He was probably right. He put his arm around her and she leaned into its comfort as they walked into the lobby together.

*****

The Mayflower Charity Ball was a black-tie affair, but Beatrice decided to forgo the formality of a limousine. Too much fanfare to pull up at the entrance of the trendy Larkspur Manor in McLean. At the moment, she preferred to remain inconspicuous, asking Doug to pick her up in his low-profile Toyota sedan. Some part of her hated how she seemed to be hiding, but the ugly scene in front of her condo earlier only proved the prudence of her decision.

Pulling up by the valet, a doorman opened the passenger door and assisted her from the car. Beatrice was wearing a simple satin sheath gown. Its platinum color set off her creamy skin tone. She set her hair in big curls and gathered them in a sophisticated off-center ponytail. Doug offered his arm, and together, they walked the short distance to the main entrance. They veered to the side walkway, which led to a discrete door that guests who preferred anonymity used during such events.

“Your hands are clammy,” Doug murmured. “Are you still shaken from this afternoon?”

“I wish I could blame the incident earlier,” Beatrice replied, “but that’s not it.”

“Don’t tell me fearless Beatrice Porter is afraid to face down this crowd?”

“Of course not.”
Lie
. But that wasn’t it either. The idea that she was being watched had been festering for weeks now. The mess with Eric Stone had thrown some white noise into her intuition, and she could not, for the life of her, determine what was causing her all this disquiet.

The door opened to reveal a brightly lit, opulent ballroom.

Showtime.

Beatrice excused herself from the huddle of diplomats and lawmakers to get another drink. She had sent Doug off to eavesdrop on another conversation of a rival security consultant.