Power Games. Victoria Fox

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       13

       Washington, D.C.

       MITCH CORRIGAN: WHO IS THE MAN BEHIND THE MASK?

      In spite of the blonde head plunging determinedly up and down in his lap, Republican senator Mitch Corrigan couldn’t stop staring worriedly at the article that had landed on his desk that morning. He squinted at the byline.

       Eve Harley.

      Vaguely he recalled her. She had talked to him here at the Farley Senate Building, before he had left for Italy. Tenacious. Persistent. Borderline rude. And now she had published a piece on his ‘hidden persona’. Exactly what he didn’t need.

      Mitch squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on the mouth clamped around his dick. His wife’s gem-laden fingers were spread across his thighs, her lips going methodically to work with as much eroticism as a fundraiser bobbing for apples.

      Seated at his mahogany bureau, from the waist up Mitch Corrigan was any ordinary politician—tie neat, collar pressed and cufflinks polished. Only his flushed face was a clue to what was going on beneath: pants down by his ankles, shirt untucked, and his wife’s tongue catching and flicking his struggling dick as if it were a melting ice-pop. Finally, Mitch came. It was a ragged, unsettled climax.

      He couldn’t stop staring at that venomous write-up.

       Mitch Corrigan made me uneasy … He might have been a film star, but the time for acting is over … How can he convince a nation if he can’t convince me?

      Melinda sat back and flipped open a compact from her Louis Vuitton purse.

      ‘Stop looking at it: it’s just some witch out to grab a headline.’

      Mitch tucked his shirt and zipped his flies. ‘For a man in my position I’d say that headline was a substantial concern, wouldn’t you?’

      ‘Our marriage is also a substantial concern,’ Melinda complained, shooting him her best martyred expression, ‘but I don’t see you caring half as much about that.’

      Mitch gulped his guilt like a lump of cotton wool. He shuffled the papers on his desk, moving Eve Harley’s Examiner piece to the bottom of the pile. The Melinda he had married two decades ago had been a sweet, innocent girl, unimpressed by money or fame. She had always kept his feet on the ground, stuck with him through the drugs, the drink, the partying and the depression. Now that girl was gone.

      ‘Don’t you care, Mitch?’ she spat. ‘Go on, have the guts to tell me the truth.’

      Truth. The word shivered between them, a caped stranger.

      The world would never believe the truth. It could never understand.

      His phone buzzed. ‘They’re ready for you, Senator Corrigan.’

      ‘We’ll talk about this later,’ he told Melinda, clicking his briefcase shut.

      His speech went down a storm. Mitch was unsurpassed when it came to putting on a show. He was master of the persuasive address, the loaded pause and the witty riposte. His years in Hollywood had served him well.

       He might have been a film star, but the time for acting is over …

      Eve Harley was a clueless hack whose job it was to sniff out heat, even when there was nothing to back it up. Mitch was careful. The press would never get to him.

      Afterwards, a posse of reporters was lobbying for a word. Microphones lunged as he paced through the foyer. ‘What’s next, Senator Corrigan? Is 2014 your year?’

      Mitch turned at the door to his committee, winning smile resolutely in place. After feeding them their quota of practised lines, he slipped into his antechamber.

      Checking there was no one else around, he located the bathroom.

      Mitch had a diehard bathroom routine. He could not do the business unless any and all cubicles behind him were vacant. The stalls had to be open, wide open, so he could see into them. He refused to have his back to a closed door.

       If you want my ass so bad you’ll have to damn well СКАЧАТЬ