Page 13 of Power Games

She pursed her lips. “I don’t want you to see her again.”

“Tough. Poor baby. Go buy yourself some diamonds; it’ll make it all go away.”

Charles smiled as she rushed out of his gym, no doubt to do just that.

The previous evening had been the best time he’d had in years. Catching up with Vanessa, chatting away about everything, from the recent reelection of the incumbent president, to her career, which had taken off, big-time, about six months after she’d started it. She also let him go on and on about work, and to his surprise, she actually had a good understanding of investments. He’d loved, and hated, every instant.

The gossip rag Izzy had left behind had a picture of them on the front page, with an ominous title. Flipping to the article, he found nothing more than wild speculations, some of which were accurate enough. Trouble in paradise at the Grants, as Izzy hadn’t shown her face at recent events. Rumors about her and Clarington. Then, speculations about him and Vanessa. The last part of the article was of more interest to him. It pointed out how little PDA was ever witnessed between Vanessa and her boyfriend. No kissing, barely any touching. “Is it just a Hollywood relationship?” they asked, and Charles really, really wished he knew. He hadn’t even considered it before, but now, the question just itched, staying at the edge of his mind for days—and nights.

5

Skyfall

She still had a crush on the guy.

How embarrassing. It had been about four years since their first meeting, and she definitely had seen her fair share of handsome men in the meantime.

Yet no one compared. No one made her heart stop, then beat so fucking hard, and her knees give in the way Charles Grant and his fucking smile did.

If he hadn’t been married, she might have made a fool out of herself for him, despite her agreement with Ron. He’d understand. He’d asked her to pose as his partner for a few months, to throw his parents off his scent because they’d cut the purse strings if they realized he was gay. Once he’d turned twenty-five, his trust had turned over to him, so their old-fashioned opinion didn’t matter anymore. But he'd turned twenty-five two years ago, and they were still officially together because, well, their arrangement was very convenient.

As an actor trading in the business of making women swoon in chick flicks, having a wholesome steady girlfriend like her helped Ron’s career. And in her case, appearing devoted to a charming Hollywood star saved her from unwanted advances from idiots who believed that she simply must want to see their dicks. There were plenty of those in her industry, as she’d discovered her first year in the limelight.

They’d both agreed to part ways as soon as one of them wanted to have a real relationship with someone else, but it hadn’t happened yet.

How pathetic was she? Twenty-five, still single. She'd never had one real boyfriend in her life. Not in high school when everybody else had, because she'd been the first daughter: scrutinized, surrounded by bodyguards. And not after that either.

She’d fooled around back in college, but given the fact that she didn’t actually want to have intercourse with anyone, their interest soon dwindled. Why stick with her when other women gave pussy?

She saw the flaw in her marvelous plan to save herself for a future husband. In this day and age, it was pretty damn pointless. She might have changed her mind if she’d met someone she truly wanted, but she hadn’t ever felt an irresistible attraction to any man. Any single man. Charles Grant didn’t count.

Everyone who was anyone knew what his wife was, and yet, Charles stuck by her. Vanessa had it on good authority that Isabella fucked her father, and her brother, and a bunch of their friends too. Charles must love her very much. Or maybe he just loved the freedom to also do as he pleased, like Izzy, although no such rumors surrounded him.

Whatever. The details of Charles and Isabella's relationship didn't concern her. It didn’t change the fact that that man wasn’t hers to lust after. If she had to have an embarrassing, unrequited crush, let it be on someone more suitable.

Her phone buzzed; Vanessa checked the name and sighed. He’d taken to calling her far too regularly of late.

“Nessie.”

She grimaced. She went by that stagename—the pet name her grandma had given her. That the rest of her family had taken to calling her that felt strange.

“Father.”

She called him ‘Dad’ sometimes, but they both preferred the formality.

“I want to thank you for attending the benefit in my place last night.”

“No, you don’t,” she replied with some amusement.

If it had been the sole reason behind his call, he would have just sent her a bouquet of flowers and a card. Or gotten his assistant to do it for him.

Theodore McNamara chuckled on the other end of the line. “No, I don’t. Damn, girl, I wish you’d followed in my footsteps. You’re so astute.”

“So you keep saying.”

Every single time they talked, he reminded her that her chosen path was wasting her true talent: politics.

“So, is it true? You like the Grant boy, do you?”

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