Trapped with Mr. Walker: Chapter 2

“QUESTIONS WITH THE PANEL at ten, interview with Vogue magazine at noon. That takes us into lunch at one. Then back to HQ this afternoon. We need to run through the order for the televised presentation tomorrow.”

“Hm, yes, fine,” I mutter as Stuart, my campaign manager, makes notes in his folder.

We’ve been sitting in our makeshift campaign office most of the afternoon, working on speeches, policies, etcetera. The rest of the team are out on the street taking surveys, talking to people, finding out what New Yorkers want to see from their new mayor. I was with them this morning, and then Stuart and I headed back here to crunch numbers, read and prepare.

I’d rather be back out there, in the community, where it really matters.

“Perk up, Walker. We’ve got this. You’ve got the panther working with you.” Stuart snaps his fingers in the air in some weird self-appreciation thing he does that I let him get away with because, frankly, he’s the most capable campaign manager around. He’s unrivaled.

And he knows it.

I snort at his panther description of himself.

“You can’t tame this wildcat, Walker. You’d better believe it.”

“You’re a pussycat, Stu. I know it. You know it. The world knows it.”

“Fuck you. I’ll make sure the photographer makes your ass look all ways of ugly for the campaign shots if you’re not careful.”

I laugh as he smirks at me, then I pull my glasses off and drop them on top of the pile of city policies I’ve been reading. Statistics for gender related crime being the top one. It draws me back to Harley’s comment the night I found her with that asshole’s hands all over her. I clench my fists, cracking my knuckles.

Stuart sifts through some paperwork before tapping his pen against his chin.

“We need to go over your principal objectives again, make it really hit home with the voters. We want to appeal to as many different demographics as we can: families, working parents, single men, women, retired folks, Marge, and Homer fucking Simpson. You name them, we want them. So I think we really ought to home in on a few main areas that will cover some of the larger voting groups.”

Stuart knows his shit. I’ve seen him work with previous candidates. He’s swept things under a rug, dodged bullets, and thrown curveballs at the opponents. Whatever is needed to win. Ruthless, but with a sense of decency still attached. That’s what I respect most about him. He gets the job done. But he does it the right way.

Mostly.

He’s a force to be reckoned with. Especially on the New York scene. I knew him before, back when I lived in LA. We had some lively debates at some national conferences. I think secretly he was as pleased to work with me on this campaign as I was when he said yes to being my campaign manager.

Together, with the rest of the staff, we’re the dream team.

Mayor of New York, here I come.

“Who are you screwing right now?”

“Excuse me?” I splutter at his bluntness. I remove my thumb and finger from my eye sockets where I am rubbing away the memory of page after page of statistics about women being attacked at night—on the subway, walking down the street, in their own homes—and stare at him.

“Screwing?” He glances up from the note he’s writing. “You know your dick—”

“Yes, all right, Jesus. What’s that got to do with anything?”

But I know why he’s asking. It has everything to do with anything. While I’m running for mayor, everything about me, including my personal life—especially my personal life—will be subject to thorough scrutiny from the world’s press. Those loveable vultures will literally rip meat off a bone until it’s dry. Regardless of if the creature is still breathing. All for the sake of a good story. I know too well what they can be like after Griffin had his fair share of trouble a while ago.

“Does it start with an ‘A’?”

“What?”

My brow creases as I look over the top of the large wooden table at him. We were lucky to find such a great space. Views over the city, in the heart of downtown, handy for all the press conferences and publicity we will be doing. Plus, I can’t help feeling smug as shit knowing my opponent, Harry Ellston—who I have a good relationship with, despite competing for the same role—had to take an office in the old meat-packing district, next to an unused dildo factory. I joke every time I see him about whether he’s using the back entrance to get into his office. He looks more and more like he wants to knock me on my ass each time I say it.

Stuart throws his pen down and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“Even one syllable of her name would be a start.” He sighs, exasperated. “What was I thinking? You probably don’t even know her name or there was more than one of them. I’ve taken on a press disaster waiting to happen,” he mutters under his breath.

“I can hear you.” I grit my teeth as I lean forward over the desk.

“Good. You should. Then you’ll understand how I deserve a big fat bonus when we get you into office.” He stares out the window, deep in thought, then suddenly jumps forward in his seat. “Okay. We need to find you a girlfriend. Not your usual wannabe model or actress. Someone intelligent, with a ‘normal’ job. Oh, and maybe a dog, too. People love a guy in a committed relationship with a dog. I mean, a baby would be ideal as it makes you the most relatable to families, but we don’t have time for that. So a dog would work.”

“I’m not getting a dog just to parade it around for the campaign.”

Stuart looks at me with the weariness of someone trying to explain something incredibly simple to someone who is incredibly dumb.

“You can keep it after. I’m not cruel.”

Images of me walking a dog through Central Park, in the pouring rain, scooping up shit pop into my thoughts. No, thank you.

“No dog,” I grit out.

“Fine.” He sighs, sinking back into his seat again. “But I don’t hear any objection to the girlfriend. That’s a must. So… any ideas?”

“I’m not seeing anyone serious right now.” I shift in my seat, recalling the last time I ‘entertained’. It was the night before that charity gala at The Songbird. Nine months ago.

Nine fucking months.

I’m not sure how my balls haven’t turned blue and dropped off. Either that or my hand hasn’t been worn down to the bone with all the friction.

I don’t know what happened. I just know since that night I haven’t felt… well, I haven’t felt like hooking up with someone whose name evades me. It’s not like I forget their names. I just never bother to process them in the first place. Maybe I’m finally growing up, like my sister, Riley, keeps telling me I need to do because meaningless sex feels just that… meaningless.

“Not a problem.” Stuart picks up his cell and starts scrolling through it. “That can be fixed. I know a woman who runs an escort agency. She’s very discreet, it will—”

“No!”

The strength in my voice has Stuart dropping his phone onto the table. He takes a deep breath, folding his hands together on top of his folder.

“Well, Mr. Smart-ass. If you have a better idea, I’m all ears. It only has to look real for the public, that’s all. I don’t care if she’s the love of your life or a paid employee. It just has to seem authentic. Someone the public will like. Someone you can make it seem believable with. You’ll need to do the public appearances together, look like it’s serious. We can move her into your apartment to make it realistic. What the hell you both do behind closed doors is up to you. I don’t need to know. I don’t want to fucking know, all right?” He takes one glance at my face, opening his palms wide before continuing. “Look, it’s just the way the game is played. You know your opponents will do the same things. Only worse.”

“Yeah, I know,” I grumble. I’m being backed into a corner. A fake, just for show one. But if it means our best shot at winning, then—

“It’s your fault, anyway,” Stuart declares before he presses his lips together and tips his head to the side.

“How’d you figure that?”

“Well, if you hadn’t spent the past few years fucking every woman that moves, then we wouldn’t have so much damage limitation to control.” He blows out a deep breath as his eyes land on my tense shoulders. “Look. We’ve all done it at some point, although it’ll not do well for your image if you keep it up. But… if you now have a serious live-in girlfriend… well, that I can work with. I can spin it into a modern-day fairy-tale romance. The emotionally suppressed brute who was looking for love in all the wrong places finally meets the woman of his dreams, who he falls head over heels in love with. The end, thank you very much for coming, there’s the exit, tips gratefully received.”

He looks at me as if expecting an applause, then mutters something to himself, rolling his eyes as he gathers up his notes.

“Get a good night’s sleep, Reed. And tomorrow, tell me who the new Mrs. Walker is going to be.”

He pats me on the shoulder as he passes. “Got it?”

“Okay,” I snap, cracking my knuckles as I stare out the window at the Manhattan skyline.

Once I’m alone, I huff out a frustrated groan. He’s right. I know he is. If I want to be the next Mayor of New York, I need to do this. It’ll help with the campaign. And then I can help the city. It sounds stupid and romanticized, but I didn’t get into politics for personal gain, or ego. I did it because I truly want to make a difference in people’s lives. To how they work. To how they can enjoy their spare time with their family. To how they educate their children. To their healthcare. To their safety.

To everything.

The idea that in order to have the best chance of getting there, I have to lie and deceive first, is just… well, it stinks. To be honest, it’s shit. But then that’s politics.

And the end justifies the means. One little white lie won’t hurt anyone. If it means I can make changes that will benefit the people who live here, then it’s worth it. No question about it.

But there is one question left.

Who’s going to play Mrs. Walker?

The elevator dings, announcing my arrival at the top level. I step out into the sleek, modern hallway. The rest of The Songbird is classical French Renaissance style—pinks, creams, and gold. Lavish and opulent. But up here on the top level where Griffin’s office is, it’s a different world. All glass, chrome, and minimalism.

I head past the main reception desk, greeting Griffin’s head of hotel administration, as he talks with the receptionist. I come here often enough now that no one announces my arrival to Griffin anymore… well, except Harley. Today, just like normal, she makes me take a seat in the waiting area by her desk outside his door until she checks he isn’t ‘too busy to see me’. I swear she’s messing with me. But as I take a seat and admire the pink pencil skirt and white blouse she’s wearing with a pair of hot pink heels, I don’t give a shit about having to wait.

I remember meeting her for the first time, when she first came to work for Griffin. Eyes full of wonder, like she was Dorothy, and she’d just stepped into the Emerald City. Typical small-town girl in the big, bad city. She was more innocent then, but never naïve. She has this girlish charm about her. Maybe it’s the way her voice is light and breathy, like every teenage boy—and fully grown man’s—fantasy. She sounds like she’s purring when she says certain words. I’ve tried to get her to use the word ‘cock’ in conversation before. Talking all sorts of shit about chickens and cockerels, and people keeping them as pets. But my efforts have been futile. Probably for the best really. I’m not sure I can hold myself in a degree of appropriate decency in public should I hear that word come from her pink, pouty little lips.

I glance over at her working at her computer, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she re-reads whatever it is she’s just typed. Then again, maybe it’s her hair that gives her this sweetness. It’s light blonde, a natural blonde. Unlike any other woman I’ve met. And I’ve met a lot of blondes. But hers is just… different. Whatever it is, that, and the way it has this slight curl to it as it falls around her shoulders…

I can’t deny she’s beautiful.

And I noticed it the first time I met her.

But she’s also Griffin’s PA. The best one he’s ever had, apparently. The first time I met her, he told me in no uncertain terms was I to get ‘ideas’ that might lose him one of his most valued staff if I fucked up.

I was living in LA then, and only visited a couple of times per year. So that nipped any ideas I might have had in the bud. Probably for the best, because God knows what I would do to her if she was mine, all the ways I would ruin her… the way I would—

“He’s off his call now.” Harley looks down at the display on her desk phone, which is linked to Griffin’s, and then back at me. “You can head in if you like. But he has another meeting in half an hour. So please don’t keep him talking.”

“Noted.”

I stand and do the top button of my suit jacket up with one hand as I approach her desk. I stop as I draw level with it and gaze down at her.

“How have you been? Since Thursday?”

Her shoulders stiffen as she looks up at me, her brow furrowing. “Thursday?”

“The guy. Your arm. His hand.” I arch a brow as I hold her gaze.

“Oh.” She shakes her head and looks back at her screen. “That was nothing.”

“A nothing you’re intending on repeating?” I try to keep my voice level and calm. But the thought of her going out and meeting these fuckers makes my blood boil. Maybe she thinks she’s doing a service to other women or something. Or does just really need the money for rent, like she told me. Either way, I know the idea of her doing it again and getting someone worse next time makes me want to unleash hell.

“What exactly does that have to do with you, Reed?” She sighs as though bored, before fixing her blue eyes on me again. I imagine grabbing her in my arms and— “Exactly. Nothing,” she says when I don’t reply.

“How much?” I grit out before my brain registers what I’m saying.

“For what?” She stops typing.

“A trap. How much do you make from each one?”

“Seven hundred dollars,” she answers without missing a beat.

“Seven?”

A frown darkens her face.

“It’s a very skilled business. It’s not just a case of showing up in a low-cut dress, you know. I have to ask the right questions, gather evidence, maintain my cover. And nothing ever actually happens.”

Fuck. Seven hundred? Really?

The agency has it all wrong. They should charge so much more for a knockout like Harley to work for them.

“And you do this what, two or three times a month?”

“About that.” She narrows her eyes at me as I do the math in my head.

“So, two thousand dollars a month? On top of what Griffin pays you here?”

She rolls her lips as her eyes narrow further. “Yes. And before you ask, Griffin knows about it now. But assuming it doesn’t affect The Songbird and my work here, he doesn’t interfere in what I do during my personal time. He isn’t as nosey as some people.”

The corners of my mouth twitch.

“You call it being nosey. I call it being a concerned friend.”

“We’re friends, are we?” She crosses her arms, and I’m pretty sure the corner of her perfect pink lips twitches too as her eyes flit over my face.

I blow out a deep breath, hiding my smile as I fuck with her. “I mean Griffin. The last thing he needs is some aggrieved guy coming in here to confront you when he finds out you’re working on behalf of an agency.”

She snorts, rolling her eyes at me. “That won’t happen.”

“It might.”

“It won’t.”

“Might.”

“Won’t.”

She sighs, her eyes still fixed on mine. “You’re going to miss speaking to him if you don’t catch him now.”

I put my hands on my hips as I stare back at her.

“Fine, your call—” she says as she turns back to her computer.

“Three thousand.”

“Sorry?”

Her attention is back on me again, and the words come out before I can stop them.

“Three thousand dollars a month to be my girlfriend.”

“What?”

I have her full attention now as her eyes widen and her mouth forms a perfect little ‘O’.

“My campaign manager says it will help the public view me in a better light and aid the campaign.”

“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend in public, so you have a better chance of being elected mayor?” She raises her brows as she continues to stare at me.

He said to choose someone with a regular job who’s believable. Harley’s day job is regular, even if her evening one isn’t. And now I know she can play a part. She’s perfect. Plus, it’ll keep her away from the married creeps trying to get in her panties. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.

“Yes, exactly.”

She looks at me as though I’ve just pulled my pants down and pissed all over the floor. “For three thousand dollars a month?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

I place my palms on her desk and lean closer. “What do you mean, no? It’s more than you earn trapping. And it’s a lot safer.”

“Really? Safer with you? Don’t forget, Maria is my friend, and she had a very interesting time being your neighbor.” She smirks.

I squeeze my eyes shut and hiss out a breath. It’s unfortunate that all those months ago, I didn’t know the apartment next to mine was no longer empty. Otherwise, I would have kept the noise down. Well… probably not, but I would have at least had more consideration about when I brought guests back. Luckily, I get on great with Griffin’s fiancée, Maria, now. She hasn’t held my past against me, unlike some people.

“We all have a past. We don’t have to live in it.”

That wipes the smirk off her face, and her expression grows more serious as she searches my eyes. I stay rooted to the spot, leaning toward her, refusing to back down.

“What exactly would it entail?”

I fight the small smile on my lips from turning into a full-blown grin. She’s asking more questions, which means she’s considering it.

“Going to events, dinners, the odd public appearance. Helping me work on my gender equality and safety policies.”

Her brow arches and she smirks at me again. I’m so close I can see her pulse fluttering in her neck beneath her flawless skin.

“I’m serious. It’s one of the top five policies I’m running with,” I say as I watch it beating.

My answer makes the smirk fall from her face again.

“Four.”

“Four?” I question.

“Four thousand.” She tips her head to the side, looking me up and down. “It’s going to require a lot of work on my side to act constantly. It’s not just an evening like a trap would be. We are talking multiple hours a day, seven days a week. And I’m assuming it means I won’t be able to date other people while we have the arrangement?”

“Absolutely not.” I press my hands hard into the surface of her desk, needing to crack my knuckles desperately.

“So there’s the loss of time that I could be doing that…” She looks off into space as though contemplating something else. “And if I’m not allowed to see anyone else, then I assume—”

“I won’t be seeing anyone,” I snap.

She surveys me again, pursing her lips. “Won’t you find that difficult?”

Fuck’s sake.

“No. I just need you.”

Her brows rise at my words.

“Look, it’s a live-in position. It makes it more authentic if the press thinks it’s serious. There are going to be quite a few events coming up, and people are going to ask us about each other and how we met.”

“And you need me?”

“Yes.”

“Me, specifically?”

I look into her blue eyes, inching a little closer. “We know each other already, so it will be more believable.”

“I see.” She holds my gaze, and I can practically see the thoughts processing behind her eyes.

I hold my breath. It’s too much. She’s never going to agree to staying in the same apartment as me, even if it the penthouse has four bedrooms and three bath—

“Okay,” she says softly.

I clear my throat to hide the surprised cough that’s surfaced there. “Really? Right. Good. That’s settled.”

She stands and holds her hand out. Her eyes continue to hold mine as I take her delicate fingers in mine and shake.

“Reed?”

“Harley?”

“When do I start?”

I keep her hand in mine as my smile grows. As soon as I’ve caught up with Griffin, I need to call Stuart.

And tell him I’ve found Mrs. Walker.