Bona Fide (Illusive Duet Book 2) Read online

  My assistant quickly vacates my office, closing the door softly behind her and leaving me with a million ideas of how to make Reagan come in the next few minutes that we have.

  To remind her that I haven’t forgotten about what I want.

  “You look beautiful,” I start, leaning back in my leather chair and letting my eyes finally trail over her with zero shame. “I swear you’re trying to fucking kill me with those dresses, Miss Shelton.”

  “You’re insane, Governor.” Her tone is flat, but I swear I see a twinkle in her violet irises.

  “Only toward one female in particular, but I believe she’s forgotten all about me and New Year’s.”

  “I haven’t forgotten a thing,” she retorts with a perked brow. “Someone forgot to finish with me.”

  “And someone forgot what I said about not sharing.”

  “Noted.” She crosses her legs then notices after a split second that I’m not fucking around. “I’m assuming you’re still waiting for an answer?”

  “I am.”

  “Life sucks,” she deadpans.

  “So do your lips, Shelton. Wanna finish me off?” Her pupils expand slightly, but she stays grounded to the chair.

  “Cute.”

  “Come here,” I order, crooking my finger. “I have something for you.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you do.” Her hands clasp the arms of my chair.

  I roll my eyes. “Not that.”

  “What is it?” I open up a drawer to my desk and pull out a manila envelope before rising from my chair.

  Rounding the piece of furniture between us, I hand it over to her, propping my ass on the edge of the desk. “Your contract.”

  “Are you finally going to let me rip it up?” she asks, staring at it.

  “Cute.”

  She pulls her gaze up. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “It’s another year to sign up on my team. To rebuild what we had and—” She jolts from her chair so fast that I actually lean back so she doesn’t hit me in the balls with a body part.

  “We don’t have anything,” she snaps. “New Year’s, that was just because I needed to get off. I didn’t sleep with you to add on to the contract.”

  “Never said you did,” I retort. “But I did say that I loved you.” Her nostrils flare before her eyes narrow in on me. Definitely not the reaction I want but not surprising nonetheless.

  “It doesn’t mean shit.”

  Now my features match hers, except I’m about to show how much it means fucking shit.

  “So we’re still on that fucking kick, huh?” I step in her direction, and she quickly counters it.

  “You still have a wife?”

  “Nope.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It wouldn’t be if you’d let me tell you everything that she did. Every single hurdle and—”

  “That’s your problem, Governor,” she chides. “You should’ve divorced the bitch.”

  “Don’t start judging me until you know all the facts, Shelton. You don’t know the timeline, how much shit she—” Reagan throws her hand in the air, making the folder fly somewhere in the room, and rounds on her heels to leave the room.

  I’m on her just as quick, spinning her around to face me.

  “Do you think I just love anyone?” I fume. “They say I have as much personality as a stone in the press.” Reagan rips herself out of my grasp and begins for the door again.

  “I don’t want to deal with you anymore. Your drama, a politician, a liar. With or without the wife, Governor, we would’ve never worked.”

  The moment she’s about to reach for the doorknob, I have my hand on her shoulder, spinning her around again just to slam her back into the wall.

  “You knew who I was before you climbed on top of me that night at your place. I didn’t initiate this, Reagan, you did.”

  “You’re right,” she carps. “It’s my fault. I told you to lie and—” My hand is on her throat, putting enough pressure on it to make my point.

  “I’m going to choke every single one of your naive-ass comments out of your body, baby. What you’re spilling out to me is bullshit.” I lean in closer to her. “I love you, do you understand that? I have a fucked-up past that was never supposed to touch you, but it did. And now I want to make it right, and you’re being a fucking brat.”

  “What would you do in my position?” she upbraids. “You’d just forgive me?”

  “I would, because I just fucking said I love you.” I yank her to me, straining her lips to mine. Hers open immediately the moment they touch, and I shove my tongue inside, tasting her for the first time in over a week.

  Calm encases around me, everything on my body relaxes, except my hard cock that’s been wanting another round.

  Reagan gulps in my mouth for air, but I swallow it.

  She doesn’t get it. I would do anything for her. And if that means dropping my run for presidency, I’d do it—in a heartbeat.

  Pulling her leg up to my waist, I lift her by her ass with my other hand. She wraps around me, giving me full access to her entrance.

  “Pull your shit to the side,” I command through meshes of our lips.

  Reagan reaches between us, yanking her panties to the side for me to have my way. For us to both have our damn way when it comes to this.

  However, my idea of all of this is that she listens to me, lets me define everything, so we can move on and come up with a plan.

  I get my cock free through my zipper in record time, thrusting into her within seconds and releasing a combined moan between the two of us.

  “You’re perfect for me,” I tell her, squeezing her ass and spreading her cheeks. “I want to be perfect for you.”

  “There’s too much,” she mutters.

  “Did you say I was too much?” I feel her smile against my lips before sliding her wet tongue back into my mouth.

  I don’t take my time fucking her. We’re in my office, it’s not exactly a safe place, and Em has a knack for bugging me at the wrong times.

  “God…” Reagan pulls her mouth from mine, letting her head tilt back to hit the wall. I use my opportunity to loom in and softly bite her neck, licking a trail up the column to feel all her etched goosebumps.

  “You taste like everything I’ve ever wanted. I promise to—” The door to my office swings open like the fucking S.W.A.T. team about to make a bust, almost slamming into Reagan and I.

  I immediately drop her, pivoting on my heels and shielding her with my body. When the door slams behind the asshole who just robbed me of my first moment with Reagan in days, thank fucking God my hard cock is shoved back into my trousers.

  Demi stands in a tight maroon dress, looking for me at my desk.

  “What in the fuck do you want?” I fume, glaring at the back of her head that I wish would make her evaporate into ashes.

  Peering over her shoulder, Demi casually looks at me, like it’s no big deal. As though she can march around wherever she pleases because she took my name, decimated my heart, and wants my world.

  “Did your mother never teach you to knock?” Demi glints up at me, her face softening as she strides further into my space.

  Her Gucci shoes click with each step on my hardwood floors, pricking at my last nerves.

  “Came to see if you wanted to grab some lunch,” she offers then abruptly halts like she hit an invisible wall.

  Welp, so much for keeping Reagan unseen.

  Demi’s blue eyes thin, but she straightens her spine, ready to go on the offense. Not that she’d ever actually fight, the bitch wouldn’t want to break a nail or anything.

  “Thought it’d be good to be seen in public,” Demi finally quips. “With your wife.”

  “Is she here?” I retort, casually taking in the room. “Because that bitch left me years ago.”

  “In front of your employees,” Demi scolds with a click of her tongue. “And you expect to win talking like this? Don’t let all your evil-doings go to waste over bein
g petty, darling. It doesn’t suit you that well. And neither does trailer park trash.”

  “I should go,” Reagan sputters behind me, bumping into my body so she can get through.

  I don’t want her to leave like this. Especially after Demi’s cheap shot but definitely not because the bitch is just a talking reminder of why Reagan can’t stand me right now.

  Demi steps directly in her way, a little taller than Reagan in her heels as she peers down at her replacement. “I thought we talked about this.”

  Reagan doesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t move either.

  “I thought you were smart,” Demi continues. “You planned a beautiful birthday party for my husband, but you continue to throw your reputation on the line.”

  “Watch your next words,” I warn. “You don’t get to show up here and run shit.”

  “Shush, Wade—” She dismisses me with a wave of her hands. “—us girls are talking.”

  “I decide what the hell happens—”

  “But I can decide who my husband fucks now,” Demi quips. “Can’t I? And believe me, she wouldn’t be prettier than me, but she wouldn’t be carrying around an STD either.”

  Reagan treads closer, and my body stiffens. This can turn really ugly, and I don’t want Reagan involved in anything with Demi.

  “I’d be careful about how you speak to people,” Reagan advises. “You don’t know me.”

  “I know enough.”

  “Then you’d know that you’re standing way too close to me. And, when I feel a tad bit threatened...I tend to throw elbows.”

  A corner of Demi’s lips lifts. “We need to discuss a few things about your family,” she professes. “Important ones that you’ll need to do some damage control on.”

  Damage control?

  I step in front of Reagan to shield her away from my past and her shit when Reagan’s palm finds my back.

  “I have a lot to do with that event we discussed,” she claims calmly, opening the door and bumping me out of the way. She doesn’t turn around to give me a glint of her eyes or a silent ‘fuck you,’ just withdraws from the room.

  But I wish she would’ve.

  “I want her gone,” Demi demands once the door clicks shut.

  “I don’t give a fuck what you want.” I stride back to my desk. “Nor do you have any push or pull.”

  “I do when it comes to my son.” I keep my head from snapping up at her. For me to chuck the heavy paperweight of the American flag at her fucking head.

  Instead, I sit perfectly calm, trying to remain placid in her line of sight. “Your bastard child,” I state evenly. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “It’s your father’s.”

  I lift a shoulder. “And?”

  Her blue eyes turn into slits. “You know?” I stare at her, giving her my answer. She could do a lot of things with my father’s child—my half-brother, my step-son—I have no clue what to even call him.

  All I know is that he exists under the DNA of the two people who never should’ve had kids in the first place.

  “I want back in,” Demi professes. “I want what is owed to me.”

  “Which would be…”

  “I’m your wife. I’ve kept your secrets and lies. I’ve kept your father and my son, Daxton, hidden away from being linked to—”

  “Congratulations, Demi, I really don’t give a fuck.”

  “A scandal like this would ruin any chances of you becoming president.”

  “And any chances of you becoming the First Lady,” I counter back, pulling a pen from my pen holder. “We both know you’ve already picked out your wardrobe for that role.”

  “All I need to do is date another politician, maybe that Grant Hardison, for instance.”

  “By all means, please do.”

  “I deserve to be by your side. I did what you wanted, I stayed away.”

  I hoist my chin to look up at her. “Is this when you start to have a temper tantrum?”

  “There are other ways to make you do what I want,” she seethes. “Don’t make me go there.”

  “Like what?” I challenge. “More like you crying wolf. Since when did you become the jealous type?”

  “Since our asses will both be on the line.”

  “Then I suggest you get rid of that twenty-something-year-old model staying in your hotel room.”

  Her brows furrow. “You’re spying on me?”

  “Just divorce me and let me go on my merry little way.”

  “Why, so that little bitch of a party planner can take my place?” I chuckle, though it isn’t genuine.

  Reagan wouldn’t be caught dead as the First Lady—I guarantee it. She hates the attention, the paparazzi, the fakeness that comes along with it. It isn’t her, will never be her, and I’m not sure where that leaves us at the end of all this.

  “Don’t worry,” I concede. “No one could ever take your place.”

  ♫ Judas — Lady Gaga ♫

  “Why don’t you have any of those peanuts that I like?” Andy whines, making everything in my body cringe. “And what kind of popcorn is this? Light butter?! LIGHT!”

  “Shut up, Andy,” I moan to myself, pulling a plain white tee over my head and sauntering out of my bedroom. “Some people have to watch how much food goes to their ass.”

  “I thought we were having a fun night,” he retorts sourly. “Not a half-ass—” I smack his ass as I round my kitchen island.

  “Stop complaining like a bitch and make the popcorn.” Andy hits me with an incredulous look like I just told him Santa wasn’t real and I was the Easter bunny.

  “I’m ordering DoorDash,” he finally states, pulling his phone out of his gray sweatpants.

  “Hell no—” I make a swipe for his phone across the counter but miss. “—I just bought all this especially for you.”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t know me anymore, and that hurts.” I roll my eyes, taking a seat in one of my stools as I watch him scroll through his app. “How’s work?”

  “Work.”

  “How’s our man doing?”

  My eyes turn into slits. “He’s not my—”

  “You want to give him to me then because I googled him again and, damn, he’s fucking fine.”

  I can’t argue that, but I still will.

  “Chill out,” I reprimand. “I know you’re in your whoring stage right now but—”

  “I met someone, hoe, your man is still safe.”

  My brows ascend. “Really, who?” He continues scrolling on his phone, clearly not that interested in this dude because usually, if he is, his eyes light up like fireworks and he gets giddy as fuck.

  “Some dude,” he deadpans.

  I tap my fingertips along the countertop. “Sounds like it has potential.”

  He glances up at me. “Chinese?”

  “No.”

  He rolls his eyes. “He does have potential...for a good fuck.”

  “I’ll make sure to mention that in your wedding toast.”

  “Please do,” he replies, still enraptured with his phone. “Pizza?”

  “Sure,” I sigh. “You know what I like.” That gets him to smirk, but thankfully, he keeps his creative-ass mouth shut.

  Sliding off my stool, I make my way to the family room and flick on the TV where Scandal taunts me under my “keep watching” lineup. Quickly, I stroll by it, looking for something light to where I don’t have to spend too much attention on a plot.

  “We’re watching The Office,” Andy announces from behind me.

  “How about we don’t and say we did,” I rebuke. “We’ve watched it a million times.”

  “Never gets old.”

  “We’re watching a baking show because if this party planning thing goes bust then we’ll have that to fall on.”

  “Why would you think something like that?” He jumps over the back of the couch and plops down next to me, almost taking me out with his elbow. “Don’t let this wife thing make you stop doing what you l
ove to do.”

  “That’s the thing—” I spin around to face him. “—I hate doing this shit.”

  Andy’s brows furrow. “Seriously? I thought you didn’t mind it so much.” I shrug, crossing my arms along my chest.

  I guess, at first, it wasn’t so bad. It was really good money, a lot of work but kept my mind off my failures of being a good friend to Jed, the shitty relationship with Grant, the mounting bills Mama had, and that Marty is out doing shit.

  But now, it’s just tedious. Having to deal with entitled pricks and lavish parties that are so unnecessary when I know that money could do some good somewhere else.

  Anywhere else.

  I’m just over it.

  “It’s just endless,” I retort. “I’m tired of the rich. I’d rather deal with my kind of people.”

  Andy lets out a soft chuckle. “That’s nice. But I can’t see your point unless you found a sugar daddy.”

  “Been there, done that.”

  “Touché.” We get lost in a baking battle show when there's a knock on the door from our DoorDash delivery.

  Bouncing from my spot, I stride for the door, yanking it open just to suspend there with my jaw agape and what the fuck screaming in my head.

  “Hey,” Wade mutters, raking his hand through his hair. “Sorry for popping by unexpected but I—”

  “I already tipped him on the app,” Andy calls out. “They’re good.” A dark glare swiftly illustrates Wade’s face as his eyes follow the sound of my best friend’s timely words.

  And...shit.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to snap his scrutiny to me. His blues fall back to me, overcast with animosity and a whole lot of pissed off.

  “Catch you at a bad time?” he retorts, the twitch of his jaw sounding off that he’s about to snap my best friend’s neck.

  Yeah, this is definitely not what he thinks.

  Not that it’s any concern of his, really, I mean, we’re not...I stop myself right there. I’m the one who almost lost my entire shit on Demi the other day in his office when she practically called me a whore and thought she could speak to me however she wanted.

  I might not have been born with a silver spoon in my mouth but I’ll be damned if I let some model-looking bitch make me feel unworthy of her man.