Betrayal (19 page)

“Are you ready?” he asked, buttoning his jacket.

“Yes. I already called the driver, and he’s waiting outside,” she said, as if she were still on the clock.

“Well, let’s get out of here.” He smiled, glad to be leaving on time for once. If Ariel were going with him, she’d still be upstairs doing God knows what. Michele, on the other hand, was prompt and ready to go.

In the limo on the way to the Four Seasons, Preston tried not to inhale Michele’s perfume, but it was too intoxicating for him to ignore. The scent seemed oddly familiar, and then it occurred to him that she wore the same perfume as his wife. Preston thought it ironic that two women, who were polar opposites, would enjoy the same fragrance. He started to comment on it, but decided not to. Preston had already given her one compliment, and didn’t want to continue with the flattery. Even though they were going out for the evening, she still worked for him, and he didn’t want to give her the impression that he was interested in anything other than work.

While she had the chance, Michele wanted to ask when Ariel would be home, so that she could gauge how much longer she had to work her plan. However, she needed a reason for asking; otherwise her question would seem odd. She thought for a second, and then said,
“Washington Confidential
called today and they want to schedule an interview with you and Mrs. Hendricks, but I didn’t put anything on your calendar since she’s out of town.” Michele decided an indirect approach was best, so she told a little fib.

“I’m glad you didn’t schedule anything. Ariel is going to trial
tomorrow, so it’s hard to say how long she’ll be in New York. Could be another few days, or a few weeks. Call them when you get back to the office, and postpone the interview until next month, just to be on the safe side.”

Excellent
, Michele thought. Preston told her exactly what she needed to know. “No problem. I’ll call the editor first thing in the morning.”

The cocktail party was being held in the Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons Hotel, and every important name on the Hill was invited. The limo eased up to the curb; Preston got out, and then reached inside for Michele’s hand. The moment she stepped out of the car, she felt like a fairy princess easing out of her golden carriage. He held her by the elbow like a true gentleman, and guided her toward the entrance. Two secret service men were guarding the door. Michele felt her heartbeat increase. She couldn’t help but think about her embarrassment at the CBC affair.
What if they don’t let me in?

“Your names please?” asked the stone-faced man to the right.

Michele didn’t say a word. She just hung back and let Preston do the talking. She knew from past experience that if a person’s actual name was not on the list, entry would be denied. She had forgotten to remind Preston to include her name, and was now racked with nerves. Once again, Michele was on the fringes of penetrating the social elite. She held her breath and said a little prayer.

“Justice Preston Hendricks, and my assistant, Michele Richards,” he said, in a booming authoritative voice.

The guard flipped a few pages on his list until he found their names. “Go right on in, Justice Hendricks, and have a wonderful evening.”

“When did you add my name to the guest list?” Michele asked, once they had passed security.

“I called the secretary of the planning committee early this morning and told her that you would be replacing my wife this evening.”

What a Freudian slip!
Michele smiled at the thought.
Yes, I’m replacing her, but it won’t be just for tonight!
“Thanks, Preston. I completely forgot to remind you.”

“Michele, you don’t have to remind me of everything. I do have a mind of my own,” he said, teasingly.

They took a private elevator to the top floor. The doors opened right into the foyer, and Michele’s eyes nearly popped out of her head when she stepped off the elevator. The suite was
huge
. It seemed to span the length of the building. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the massive living room. Various sized crystal chandeliers hung throughout the suite. The decor was traditional, yet modern. The furniture looked as if it came directly from the showroom of Roche-Bobois. And the artwork appeared to be original pieces by Picasso, Monet, and Degas.

They were greeted immediately by a uniformed server with white gloves, who offered them each a flute of Dom Pérignon. Michele followed Preston’s lead as he made his way through the intimate group of politicians and their spouses. She spotted a few familiar faces. Laird and Leona Forester and Senator Oglesby, who was drinking and chatting with his assistant. She also recognized some people who were at Angelica Oglesby’s birthday party. Preston stopped to chat with the senator, and Michele stood close—but not too close—by his side.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Fiona whispered in her ear. “And you look great,” she said, noticing Michele’s conservative gown.

Michele smiled. “Thank you. I took your advice to heart, and I must say that it worked. I’ve finally arrived.”

“And with Preston, no doubt.”

“I told you I had an ironclad plan. Now do you believe me?” she whispered back.

Fiona slowly nodded her head. “Girl, I’ve got to give it to you. You got nerve. Just be careful. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Michele noticed that Preston was ending his conversation. “Duly noted. Now I’ve got to go,” she said, and turned to follow Preston as he mingled through the crowd.

Michele stayed on his heels, and watched as he greeted his fellow colleagues. He didn’t introduce her once, but she didn’t care; all she cared about was being in the presence of greatness.

As Preston was being introduced to the president elect, a couple of photographers snapped their picture. Michele didn’t know if she had gotten in the frame or not, since their lenses were focused on the two heavy hitters, but she had shown her pearly whites just in case she made the cut.

An hour and a half later, she was ready to go. Preston was behind closed doors speaking with the president elect, and she was left alone. The party was boring. Fiona and her husband were gone, and nobody was talking to her. Now that she was on the other side of the fence, the view wasn’t necessarily better, just different.

“Hello, Michele,” Laird said, easing up behind her.

She turned around to face him. “Hello, Congressman.” She smiled. Michele didn’t particularly care for Laird, because he was always leering at her like she was an entrée on an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord. However, tonight, she was happy to see him, and not because he was talking to her. No … unbeknownst to Laird, he was a part of Michele’s well-thought-out plan. “How have you been?” she asked, taking a half a step closer.

He licked his bottom lip, while eyeing her up and down. “I’m good. Real good,” he said, with a sexual lilt to his voice.

She looked around the room, making sure his wife wasn’t within view, and then lightly rubbed his forearm. “I just bet you are.” Michele cleared her throat. “I was wondering if you could help me?” she whined like a damsel in distress.

His cheeks flushed a crimson color. He grinned a wicked grin, and whispered, “I would help you with anything, anywhere, anytime.”

“Well, a friend of mine is doing her dissertation on sex in America, and I’ve agreed to help her with some research.”

Laird’s entire face turned red. He couldn’t believe Michele wanted to talk to him about sex. He looked at her chest, but her lethal arsenal was battened down, so he couldn’t get any cheap thrills. It didn’t matter to Laird, since he knew what she had to offer underneath that dress. He had seen the impression of her nipples pressed against her clothes on more than one occasion, and could envision himself tickling
her tits with his tongue. If his wife hadn’t been there, he would have taken Michele into one of the many bedrooms and fucked her brains out. “I would love to help you with sex—oops, I mean with the research. Why don’t we meet later tonight, after I take Leona home? Where do you live? Maybe I could come by, bring a bottle of Patrón, and we could do a couple of shots while we do some ‘research.’” He grinned.

“Well, actually, I just wanted to ask you a few questions. Have you ever heard of any underground sex clubs?” she asked, getting right to the point. Michele had no interest in doing tequila shots with Laird.

“Yes, I know a few. Do you want to go with me sometime?” He looked around the room to make sure his wife wasn’t within earshot. He didn’t see her, and assumed that she was in another room. He quickly rubbed his drink across Michele’s right boob. “I know we could have a blast. You’re one sexy woman,” he said, practically drooling.

Michele wanted to slap his hand away, but she had to play into his unwelcome advances. “Hmm,” she leaned into his ear. “Congressman, you’re so naughty.” She then returned to the question on the table. “Well, the type of clubs that my friend is researching are for women only. Do you know any?”

“Women only?” He looked at her oddly. “Is your friend gay?”

“No, she’s not. There just seems to be a trend toward women’s clubs and she wants to find out more. I know you’ve been on the East Coast all of your life, and was wondering if you’ve ever heard of anything like that before.”

Laird thought for a moment. “As a matter of fact, I got this article in the mail the other day that focused on females’ clubs. I started to throw it away, but the attached note said that I might find it interesting, and once I started reading, I couldn’t put it down. The article talked about these various theme rooms, where women get fucked,” he said, lowering his voice, “and I love to read about anything that has to do with sex. But more than reading about it, I love doing it!”

Michele had opened Pandora’s box, and didn’t know how to get Laird back on track. She needed for him to talk about the details of the article, not his personal preferences. “Well, if you can remember the
name of the club, maybe I could go, and then tell you all about my experience.” She looked him dead in his deep blue eyes, and whispered, “If I knew exactly where this club is I could personally show you what I learned there. I’m sure a man like you could appreciate learning new tricks.” She dropped her hand and let it brush against his crotch.

He swallowed hard at her touch, and then blurted out, “It’s called the Back Door, but it’s in New York. No, that’s not the name; it’s the Black Door,” he corrected himself.

“The Black Door, now that’s an interesting name. What else did the article say?” Michele knew exactly what the article said, since she was the one who had mailed it in the first place.

“Let’s see … well, the article said that the club is for ‘the women who like to lunch’ crowd,” he said, giving up as much detail as he could remember. Laird wanted to get laid, and if telling Michele about that article was his ticket to pleasure, then so be it.

“I’ll have to tell my friend about this place. Did the article mention exactly where it’s located, and who the owner is? I’m sure she would like to talk to the person in charge,” Michele said, trying to extract as much information as she could.

“It’s located in upper Manhattan, and the owner is Trey somebody. I don’t remember his last name.”

“Trey, are you guys talking about Trey?” Preston asked, joining them.

“Yes, I was just telling Michele about a club in New York called the Black Door, owned by somebody named Trey,” Laird said, filling Preston in.

“What did you say?” Preston asked.

Perfect timing
, Michele thought. She couldn’t have planned this any better. Preston reemerged from his meeting just in the nick of time to hear Laird’s story. Even if Preston hadn’t joined them precisely at that moment, she had planned to keep Laird talking until Preston’s meeting was over.

“I was reading an article about a club for women called the Black Door, and it’s owned by a guy named Trey, but I can’t remember his last name,” Laird repeated.

Suddenly, all the color drained from Preston’s face. He took hold of Michele’s arm, and said, “Come on; we have to go.”

“Why are you guys leaving so soon? We were just starting to have a little fun.” Laird grinned.

Preston didn’t say another word, just led Michele through the room and into the waiting elevator. He was beyond speechless, and didn’t utter a word until they reached the town house.

“SO HOW
was it seeing your lover again?” Meri asked facetiously.

“He’s
not
my lover, and I wish you wouldn’t say that,” Ariel said sternly. Even though she still harbored feelings for Trey, she felt guilty about their affair and wasn’t in the teasing mood.

“Okay, ex-lover. So how did he look?” Meri asked again, refusing to let the question drop. Not only did she enjoy talking about her sexual exploits, she also took pleasure in living vicariously through others.

Ariel exhaled hard out of frustration. She couldn’t tell Meri not to refer to Trey as her ex-lover, since that’s exactly what he was. “He looked all right.”

“All right? Now come on, Ariel, as fine as Trey is, I’m sure he looked more than just all right.” Meri remembered Trey from the engagement party she threw for Ariel and Preston. That night, she nearly came in her panties when she saw his fit body and handsome face. He was just her type—young, handsome, and virile.