Elite (Elite Doms of Washington Book 1) by Elizabeth SaFleur

Author:Elizabeth SaFleur [SaFleur, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Elizabeth SaFleur LLC
Published: 2018-03-31T04:00:00+00:00

While Christiana dried her hair, Jonathan headed to his office. One glance and he saw insistent notifications of voice mails awaiting his attention threatening to vibrate his phone off the desk. Before he could even see how many messages had been left, it rang in his hand.

“Brond.”

“Where the hell are you? It’s not like a member of Congress to miss a chance to rub shoulders with the Majority Leader.”

“You always told me scarcity ensures mystique.” Jonathan sat in his chair and looked out at the swaying trees. He didn’t need to be reminded that skipping a party fundraiser that weekend had consequences, but spending time with a certain blond woman was the best way to recharge his flagging spirits from the re-election mayhem.

“You’ve been a little too scarce lately.”

“Father, I appreciate your concern—”

“I’m not concerned. I’m downright panicked.”

“About what? Shane tells me the numbers—”

“Are pitiful. You’ve got to get out there. You had your chance on Collins’ show, and all you could talk about was privacy, and during one of the most god-damned financial lows in our nation at that. Privacy! Jesus Christ. Who the fuck cares? You’re going to the July Fourth benefit?”

“Of course.” Tell me you’re not.

“Good. Your mother—”

“Stepmother.”

“—and I will be there. Do not bring a date. You need to focus on your job, not on some bimbo who’d love to bag a wealthy—”

“I don’t get involved with bimbos.”

“Oh, really? How’s The Oak?”

“I hear the crab cakes are quite good.”

“Clearly. You’ve been seen frequenting it enough.”

“I thought I wasn’t seen enough.”

“Don’t play games. The Bronds always did have a penchant for the ladies.”

Jonathan fought the queasiness in his stomach. “Father—”

“I’m just saying you have to choose wisely. You’re going to need a woman who can hold her own, not need a lot of babying. I should know.”

Anger replaced Jonathan’s nausea. “I’ll see you at the dinner. I have a dozen messages to handle.”

“About the Blanchard brunch today—”

“I won’t be there. I have plans.”

His father sighed heavily into the phone. “Jay, what the hell’s going on? The party is counting on you.”

“Why?” Jonathan rubbed his forehead. “What is it you’re really worried about?”

“I’m concerned you’re about to throw away the only thing you’re good at.”

“Father, I’ll see you next Thursday.” Jonathan didn’t wait for a response before killing the call. His father’s aim was impeccable as always—straight to the gut.

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