it in me to care.
Losing
the club seems like nothing compared to Zoe’s betrayal.
She
said she quit the story -- and I believed her, too. But why else
would her byline be at the top of the front page? Who else would
write the story for her, and take no credit? And how else would the
newspaper get ahold of such confidential information? No, Zoe had to
have written it. She must have been lying. It wouldn’t be the
first time.
I
click online and scan through the story again, still looking for any
sign that Zoe isn’t the traitor I think she is. But the details
are unmistakable. They’ve got a source describing the different
pleasure suites, the public demonstrations, everything about
Landsley’s visits, right down to his drink order.
She
sold me out. It couldn’t have been anyone else but her.
But
I’m to blame, too. I let her in. I showed her where I came
from, showed her every part of me. I held nothing back. I should have
trusted my instincts. I knew from the start she was trouble, but I
wound up thinking with my cock, not my brains.
Fuck
her. Fuck all of them.
There’s
another knock at my door. “What?” I yell, half-way to
drunk.
Andrew
Lansley walks in.
He
looks about as shitty as I feel: unshaven and a mess. That’s
when I remember: my business may be screwed, but his whole life is on
the front page.
“You
promised me!” he yells. “You promised this was the safest
place in the city. Nobody talks, you said.” He slumps into a
chair and runs his hand over his face. “My life is fucked.”
I
could throw him out of here, call security, go at it with him myself.
But instead, I level with him. Owning up to this is the only thing I
can do. “I’m sorry. This never should have happened. I
don’t know what to tell you.” I get up and pour him a
drink. “I guess it was stupid to think this place could stay
hidden forever. But I never saw this coming.”
I
hold out the drink to him and brace myself, expecting more anger and
accusations. But instead, when Andrew meets my gaze, he just looks
defeated.
Broken.
“I’m
a fucking laughingstock,” he says, taking the glass. “My
re-election is done for. My campaign manager already jumped ship to
the opposition, and donors won’t return my calls.”
My
own ruin couldn’t rouse me from my despair, but seeing Andrew
like this lights a fire in me again. He’s an innocent victim
here, and as a politician he’s always tried to stay above the
bullshit—refusing bribes and staying away from underhanded
dealings, talking straight to the media and sticking to his guns on
important issues. That’s why the newspapers are having such a
feeding frenzy now—Landsley’s the one politician who’s
always come up clean, which makes this scandal even more of a shock.
But I’ll be damned if I’ll be the one to destroy his
career.
“You
can fight,” I tell him. He snorts with laughter.
“How?
You’ve seen the headlines!”
“I’m
serious. Get a great PR team, make a statement. Private is private.
You’ve had a great track record prior to this, and people
respect you. Hell, you know politicians have come back from worse!”
“People
with money,” Andrew corrects me. “Contacts. Support. I’ve
got none of that, I’ve burned too many bridges doing things my
way.”
“So,
I’ll help connect you with backers,” I urge him. “You
can’t quit because of this. We both know what you do in the
club has nothing to do with your job. Hell, if we all got judged by
what we get up to in the bedroom, not a single person would be able
to run for office.”
Andrew
offers a weak smile. “Thanks, but I think this is it for me. My
polling is in the garbage, and short of a miracle, I’m going
down in flames.”
“It’s
not over,” I tell him, and I can tell he’s mulling it
over as he sips his drink.
Finally
he gets up. “I’m sorry,” he says.
I let
out a sigh. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
He
shrugs. “This wasn’t about your
Losing
the club seems like nothing compared to Zoe’s betrayal.
She
said she quit the story -- and I believed her, too. But why else
would her byline be at the top of the front page? Who else would
write the story for her, and take no credit? And how else would the
newspaper get ahold of such confidential information? No, Zoe had to
have written it. She must have been lying. It wouldn’t be the
first time.
I
click online and scan through the story again, still looking for any
sign that Zoe isn’t the traitor I think she is. But the details
are unmistakable. They’ve got a source describing the different
pleasure suites, the public demonstrations, everything about
Landsley’s visits, right down to his drink order.
She
sold me out. It couldn’t have been anyone else but her.
But
I’m to blame, too. I let her in. I showed her where I came
from, showed her every part of me. I held nothing back. I should have
trusted my instincts. I knew from the start she was trouble, but I
wound up thinking with my cock, not my brains.
Fuck
her. Fuck all of them.
There’s
another knock at my door. “What?” I yell, half-way to
drunk.
Andrew
Lansley walks in.
He
looks about as shitty as I feel: unshaven and a mess. That’s
when I remember: my business may be screwed, but his whole life is on
the front page.
“You
promised me!” he yells. “You promised this was the safest
place in the city. Nobody talks, you said.” He slumps into a
chair and runs his hand over his face. “My life is fucked.”
I
could throw him out of here, call security, go at it with him myself.
But instead, I level with him. Owning up to this is the only thing I
can do. “I’m sorry. This never should have happened. I
don’t know what to tell you.” I get up and pour him a
drink. “I guess it was stupid to think this place could stay
hidden forever. But I never saw this coming.”
I
hold out the drink to him and brace myself, expecting more anger and
accusations. But instead, when Andrew meets my gaze, he just looks
defeated.
Broken.
“I’m
a fucking laughingstock,” he says, taking the glass. “My
re-election is done for. My campaign manager already jumped ship to
the opposition, and donors won’t return my calls.”
My
own ruin couldn’t rouse me from my despair, but seeing Andrew
like this lights a fire in me again. He’s an innocent victim
here, and as a politician he’s always tried to stay above the
bullshit—refusing bribes and staying away from underhanded
dealings, talking straight to the media and sticking to his guns on
important issues. That’s why the newspapers are having such a
feeding frenzy now—Landsley’s the one politician who’s
always come up clean, which makes this scandal even more of a shock.
But I’ll be damned if I’ll be the one to destroy his
career.
“You
can fight,” I tell him. He snorts with laughter.
“How?
You’ve seen the headlines!”
“I’m
serious. Get a great PR team, make a statement. Private is private.
You’ve had a great track record prior to this, and people
respect you. Hell, you know politicians have come back from worse!”
“People
with money,” Andrew corrects me. “Contacts. Support. I’ve
got none of that, I’ve burned too many bridges doing things my
way.”
“So,
I’ll help connect you with backers,” I urge him. “You
can’t quit because of this. We both know what you do in the
club has nothing to do with your job. Hell, if we all got judged by
what we get up to in the bedroom, not a single person would be able
to run for office.”
Andrew
offers a weak smile. “Thanks, but I think this is it for me. My
polling is in the garbage, and short of a miracle, I’m going
down in flames.”
“It’s
not over,” I tell him, and I can tell he’s mulling it
over as he sips his drink.
Finally
he gets up. “I’m sorry,” he says.
I let
out a sigh. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
He
shrugs. “This wasn’t about your
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