R. Griffin - Seamless

George cleared his throat. “So, I’ve taken a job where I’ll be a reporter following Senator Ashby during the campaign.”

“That’s fantastic,” Kara’s husband, John, said, putting his fork down and looking at Kara with a smile.

“Will, that’s so exciting,” Kara agreed.

“How did you get that job?” Kelly inquired.

George felt his face redden. His sister worked on the Hill; he wondered if she’d heard something. He didn’t say anything.

“Well, that is very impressive. It’s like you never left.” His mom raised a glass and toasted.

Whew. The rest of dinner was pleasant and George was glad he’d come. He’d missed the family dinners; maybe he’d be able to talk Stella into coming with him the next time.

Stella had gone straight to work Monday morning from New York. George placed the open bottle of Cristom, Stella’s favorite pinot, on the bar, and arranged the platters of cheese, olives, crackers and meats. He was hoping to get Stella good and sated with wine and food before telling her his news. He knew New York was hard for her; opening up was against her nature and to do it knowing that everyone in America could see it would be like scraping nails against a chalkboard. The only things she told him were that she was pissed he’d hired goons to follow her around and it served him right that everyone thought she was fucking them and that she’d told Millie everything. He poured two glasses and then put his phone in the speakers, picking Alabama Shakes as the background music. What was he forgetting? He heard the garage door go up and then the door opened.

Stella walked into the house and he could feel the tension radiate off of her as she patted Cooper’s head and dropped her suitcase to the floor with a thud.

She smiled weakly at him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he brought her over a glass of wine, “tough couple of days?” He kissed her forehead and pulled her into him.

“Tough couple of years,” she responded and then took a gulp of the wine. “Oh, George. Are you really this fucking perfect? My favorite wine? And cheese. Blue cheese and olives.” She walked over to the trays of food and started shoving it into her mouth.

“You hungry?” he chuckled.

“Starving.” She smiled a tired, real smile.

“I know you texted me, but how’d it go? Really?” He stood next to her, his shoulder rubbing hers.

“It was hard, but Millie said it went well. It felt horrible.” She plucked an olive from the group in the tray and threw it in her mouth. “I got drunk afterward because she accused me of fucking Patrick. Millie, not Diane. I told her everything.” She paused for a few seconds. “George, I told her everything. I’m so fucking stupid.”

“You’re human, Love.” He pulled her into his arms and squeezed her, then tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

“Can’t. Breathe….” She coughed and stepped back.

“Oh, sorry.” He’d been lost in his own thoughts and didn’t realize he was hugging her so tight. Could he actually leave her with all this shit going on? Would there even be a time when all this shit wasn’t going on?

“What’s up?”

“Did Diane like your shoes?” he asked, deflecting the question.

She laughed. “I think she was shocked by them and amused that I’d shocked her. She was really nice to me. I’m glad she did the interview.” Stella put a piece of cheese on her cracker and put the entire thing in her mouth.

He stared at her mouth, picturing the other things she could do with it.

“What?” She smirked, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

He adjusted himself in his pants; sex would happen later. “So, I got this opportunity,” he started, running his finger down her arm.

“What sort of opportunity?” she asked, putting an entire cracker in her mouth again with a shit-eating grin, knowing she was teasing him.

“The sort that wants me to travel with Senator Ashby during his presidential campaign,” he answered, distracted by her mouth. He ran his thumb across her bottom lip and she knocked it away.

“What?!” Stella excitedly threw her arms around George. “That’s amazing! I’m so excited for you.”

“I leave in a week, for what seems like forever.” George analyzed her eyes to see if she put her mask on. She didn’t.

“What? The elections are like a year away!” she exclaimed.

“I’ll be following the campaign for the primary, which is why I’m starting so early. Everyone will be so fucking tired of these fuckers by the elections, they’ll be drafting you to run.” He smiled.

“That’s so awesome! If you’re worried about me, don’t be,” she said, distracting him by unbuttoning his shirt. She dropped little kisses on his chest and his dick stood at attention immediately. She was trying to divert his attention and it was working.

“But, I’m worried about you, about us, about you…”

Stella skated her nails down his chest. “I’m fine. We’re fine.”

George’s hands began hurriedly taking off Stella’s clothes until she stood there naked, waiting for him. “If you say ‘don’t go,’ I won’t.”

She pushed his hands away from her. “George, I’m never going to do that to you. I want you to follow your dreams and do whatever you want to do. I’ll never tell you that you can’t do something you want to do. You’ll never be able to say ‘you know that bitch that wouldn’t let me do x, y, z.’”

“No, it’s not like that.” He shook his head, not taking his eyes off her bare breasts. They moved as she talked—it was fascinating. “I just want you to know that you’re more important than any job. You are my first priority.”

“Show me what being your first priority means,” Stella said, waiting for him to finish undressing; she had already thrown his shirt on the floor.

“I’m waiting for you to take my pants off,” he reminded her.

“Oh, that I can do.”

Stella answered her cell while she was reviewing legal authority for Colorado statutes allowing the consumption of marijuana if individuals have a prescription. Her hair was just getting long enough that she could put it back now, and she’d pulled it up in a messy bun over an hour ago. Stella slid her shoes off her feet and leaned back in her chair. She needed to prepare herself for the release of the statement to the press from Congresswoman Delaney. She’d been arrested for smoking a joint at a concert at the Red Rocks a few weeks back and Stella was spinning things, but she needed to make sure she was knowledgeable of the law.

“Stella Murphy.”

“Stella. So, I’m doing some digging and I want to make sure I give you as much information as possible so you know where we are with the investigation.” Agent Harris’ voice was full of something she couldn’t put her finger on.

She hadn’t heard from him in a few days, only from Gunter, and she didn’t know if Agent Harris was aware that Jamie was back at the ATF or what. This ought to be interesting.

“Have you found Jack?”

“He’s back at ATF headquarters saying that you blew his cover in Montana and he’s been on the run since the day you guys flew there.” His tone was now full-on sardonic.

“That’s total bullshit,” she retorted.

“ATF bought it hook, line, and sinker.” He laughed. “I also heard why you were assigned to Montana in the first place. You interested?”

“Sure,” she tried to appear nonchalant, but that question had ruled her thoughts when she first woke up in the hospital.

“Well, the FBI agent that was in charge of the Montana office just happened to be in DC when they hired you for the lawyer position. He requested the really hot, young attorney that was just hired because you looked good in the black suit you wore to your interview.”

All the breath left her body in a rush. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Harris laughed bitterly. “Oh, don’t act like you’re shocked you got a job because you’re pretty.”

“I didn’t get my job because I was pretty. I’m a fucking attorney and I’m good at what I do.”

“You were a graduate from law school who looked good in a blouse and a push-up bra,” Harris countered.

“Fuck. You. Agent Harris.” Stella sounded confident, but she knew he was probably right. She did wear a black suit to her interview, but why would anyone remember that? Or it was a really good guess—a black suit is pretty typical.

“Look, Stella,” Agent Harris sighed, “I don’t know what you’re playing at here, but I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Unfortunately, Agent Harris, this is my life. I know you might think I’m ‘playing at’ something, but I’m not. I wouldn’t wish my life on anyone.”

He was silent.

“Please tell me what I can do to help. I appreciate the security detail on my house, but you haven’t told me if you believe me and if you’d be interested in me testifying.”

“I’m debating putting you in a safe house and finishing my investigation. Right now I don’t even know if I believe you’d be useful.”

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” Stella couldn’t believe she was getting shit from the FBI agent—she was the one in danger. “I’m being threatened by him and you’re fucking with me?”

“Let me do my job and you do yours distracting the media from politicians with their dick in their hand.”

Stella’s real, obnoxious laugh burst out of her mouth.

“So you agree?”

“Let’s just say I see a lot of dicks in my line of work.”

Cooper was waiting for her by the door when she came in from the garage, tail swishing back and forth on the floor. “Hey, Coop,” she petted his head, “you need to get your hair did?” With all that had been going on, she’d forgotten to get his hair cut. She’d been neglecting the old boy a lot lately…