Cockney:A Stepbrother Romance(58)

     



 



Bryce is quiet, looking at me pointedly in that zen way he does that'd  be infuriating if he wasn't my brother; "No one ever said you were an  accountant, Hudson."



"Ok, then what do you call looking at numbers all fucking da-"



"I call it problem solving."



I arch my brow at him; "Excuse me?"



"Problem solving. You're not ‘being an accountant', Hud, you're looking  for problems and finding solutions, which is what you're good at."



I laugh; "You've met me, right?" I shake my head; "Dude, I am the problem most of the time."



"Ok, who figured out how to get us past that roadblock on the Chinese border?"



I roll my eyes; "It's called bribing, Bry-"



"Who got us out of that detention center in Cairo after all that shit  went down where they were going to sell us to the State Department?"



"Oh, you mean the shit that went down because of me?"



He rolls his eyes; "Somalia, Angola, the DRC; dude, you've saved our  butts like two dozen times, and it's because you know how to think your  way out of a box."



"Bryce, you're don't know what you're-"



"Oh fuck off, Hudson." He stands and walks over to the window; "When  will you just admit to yourself that you're a whole new man, and that  the fuck-up you were died back there in the desert?" He looks at me with  cool, stony eyes; "And when will you just learn how to take a fucking  compliment, man?"





P R E S E N T



We're back inside the house camped out on opposites sides of the sofa in  the library looking out over the moon-lit grounds of her father's  house. If I had my way, she'd be on my lap, and preferably naked,  instead of four feet away across the giant expanse of couch. But I know  she's right that we need to maintain distance; I know what this can't  look like. Of course, being this close to her when I can still taste her  on my tongue is driving me nine different shades of crazy, and I shift  again uncomfortably as my cock presses rock hard against my pants.



She's glowing in the im moonlight streaming in through the windows; her  whole face lighting up in a way I've seen so rarely since walking back  into her life as she grins at me from the other end of the sofa; "So, is  that what you do to all the young female politicians that Archer  Holdings funds?"



"Oh, absolutely" I say with a totally straight face; "Although most of  them don't try and yank my hair out by the roots when they come on my  tongue."



I can see the shade of red her face goes even from here, and even  through the white light of the moon as she rolls her eyes; "Dick."



"Oh, is that what you were after?" I'm teasing her, but I shrug and start to reach for my zipper.



"Hudson!" She hisses, her eyes darting to the wide open library doorway  before her concerned look drops back to me and she sees the smirk on my  face. "Asshole," she says with a wry grin. She swings her feet up into  the couch as she turns to face me; "So that's how you used to get all  those girls you'd parade around with? Just whip out the fishing rod and  see what bites?"



"Pretty much, yeah." The banter is making me grin, and I can see her  roll her eyes as she tries to hide the flash of smile on her face. "Of  course, it helps to have a big rod." I say with a sly wink, and I love  seeing her face instantly get even redder as she buries it in her hands.



"Well, I wouldn't know." She says primly; mock sophistication in her voice.



I arch an eyebrow at her and she bites her lips and rolls her eyes, and I  know she's thinking about walking in on me in the bathroom; "I mean I  wouldn't know what it feels like."



"But you're dying to, right?"



My hand slides over her foot and up to her calf, and I can hear her sharp intake of breath; "Mayb-"



"There you are!" Reagan jerks her feet away from me at the sound of  Donald's voice behind us as if she'd just had them in hot coals. I frown  as I see her relaxed body instantly stiffen back to formal, political  Reagan.



"Goddamnit Reagan," Donald grumbles, storming into the room towards us;  "It is not ok to just walk away from mingling with those types of people  like that; it sends a bad message." He glares at me, his eyes narrowing  as if trying to suss out why it is Reagan is here alone with me in the  dark library.



Good thing you didn't come knocking fifteen minutes ago, dick, I think to myself.



"What, ‘those type of people' like Chet Kennedy?" Reagan rolls her eyes  as she stands and smooths out her skirt; "I have far more important  things to worry about than what dipshits like him think of m-"



"Dammit we talked about this Reagan!" Donald fumes; "I don't care if  Chet Kennedy is literally Adolf Hitler; he tests amazingly well with  your target demographic."



I can see her tensing up, the laid-back and relaxed Reagan of five  minutes ago gone as she frowns; "So, what, are you trying to pimp me out  for ratings, Donald?"



"You better believe it."



She stares at him for a second before she shakes her head in disgust;  "Fuck you." She whirls on her heel and storms out of the room.



"Jesus, Donald," I mutter, standing as well and glowering at him; "I mean she hates the guy-"



"You know, Hudson," Donald interrupts, his eyes narrowing at me; "I see  what you're doing, and you're not going to ruin this for me."



I furrow my brow; "For you?"



"For the campaign." He mutters, but I know what he means, and it puts me  instantly on edge; "We both want the same thing for the campaign,  Hudson."



"For Reagan, you mean."



He shrugs; "A campaign is a campaign; I'd have figured a big important  business man like yourself would understand that," he says with a sneer.  "Reagan makes a great figurehead for that campaign, but it's the run  that's important here."



"You mean it doesn't matter if she wins or not, as long as the campaign  is good?" My voice starts to rise as I shake my head in disgust at him.  Because then you become the next wizard campaign manager for putting a  twenty three year old girl up for a New York Senate seat and running a  ‘good campaign', even if she doesn't win.



"I don't expect one of William's army buddies to understand."



"Marines, dick."



Donald shakes his head; "Regardless, it's nothing you'd understand. If  Archer Holdings wants to finance the campaign, that's great. And if they  think you need to somehow protect her like some sort of bodyguard,  fine, I'm even ok with that too." He frowns and takes another step  towards me before he sticks his finger out and pokes me in the chest;  "But if you think there's anything else for you here, I'm here to tell  you that you are sorely mistaken."



"Fuck you, Donald."



"Look, you're here to protect an investment, right?" He frowns at me  again; "So do your fucking job. ‘Protect the investment' doesn't mean  suddenly deciding you know more about running a candidate than I do,  ok?"



"You're pushing her too hard."



"She'll adapt and she'll mold into what she needs to be."



I shake my head at him and his mechanical robot answers; "Jesus, Donald; are you fucking serious?"



"Hudson, this isn't the first time I've helped a trust-fund kid play politics you know."



I can feel my temper start to rage inside, my hands clutching at my side; "We both know she's a lot more than that."



Donald just shrugs; "Look, I get it. She's beautiful, charismatic,  magnetic; she's William's daughter - I mean really Hudson, I get why  you're following her around like you are." For a moment I bristle;  suddenly wondering if Donald actually knows what's going on between  Reagan and I. "I mean I'm glad you've decided to be her friend like  you've been-" whew, guess not "- and that's exactly the kind of  attraction we're working for her target demographic." He looks at me  shrewdly; "Don't fool yourself though, Reagan has an angle here, and  that angle is to get elected, not be your pal."



"Donald, the only one playing shadow angles here is you." I growl, feeling my jaw tense.



He shrugs; "Look, you want to help her? Keep her locked down; keep her  focused on what she needs to do." He starts to walk out of the room  before he pauses and turns at the door; "Stick to the plan, Hudson." And  then he's gone, leaving me alone in this dark library full of ghosts  and questions and my own shattered thoughts.





P A S T



"Well I think it's awesome," Chelsea says, sipping on her coffee.



"Thanks. I mean it's just a low-level position for the campaign, but  he's a pretty strong incumbent, so it'll be great experience to work for  his office."