The Successor by Stephen Frey Read Free Book Online

Martin turned to go, then stopped and glanced back at the seat filler. “Son, if you ever want to work in Hollywood, you better get your ass as far away from this young woman as possible.
Right now.
”
             
    “HERE YOU ARE, VICTORIA. ”
    Victoria Graham took the Scotch and water from Lloyd Dorsey as he sat down beside her on the couch. Close to her, so their thighs were almost touching. Closer than friends would. “Thank you.”
    They were relaxing in the second-floor living room of his impressive four-story Georgetown home just a few miles from the Capitol. Beautifully decorated with lovely antiques and expensive artwork, it was really his home away from home. He was a senator from Texas—the Republican minority leader and the most senior member of the Armed Services Committee.
    “You look beautiful.”
    Graham smiled. “You’re full of compliments tonight, aren’t you, Lloyd?” He was gentle, kind, magnetic, and so handsome. The man she’d wanted for so long—ever since college. She gazed at him a little longer, then looked away and shut her eyes tightly. He was so perfect—and
so
married. “I do all right for fifty-seven.”
    “
All right?
You’re incredible. You were the best-looking woman there tonight. By far.”
    “What did you think of President Wood’s speech after dessert?” she asked, trying to change the subject. She loved Dorsey’s compliments—and hated them. Loved them because they made her feel so good. Hated them because she heard them so infrequently. “I thought it was pretty interesting.”
    They’d been at a state dinner all evening honoring the new president of Brazil. Graham had come down from New York City this afternoon after Dorsey had called yesterday to invite her. Dorsey’s wife was back in Dallas—where she was more and more these days after spending many years in Washington with him—but he’d still gotten an extra chair at his table. They’d arrived at the White House separately and done their best to make it look innocent all evening while they sat next to each other. Touching fingers beneath the table, never so anyone could see. Dancing with other people when the orchestra struck up its first tune and making certain they carried on long conversations with the other ten people at the large, round table. They’d even left separately. But now they were here alone, they didn’t have to put on appearances anymore.
    “Ah, I can’t stand the guy,” Dorsey muttered. “You know that. Spewing all that liberal crap all the time.” He shrugged. “Of course, what can you expect from the first black president in the history of the United States? I mean, he doesn’t have much choice about how to act. He’s got to cater to his constituency.” Dorsey’s expression turned determined. “But we’ll get him next time around.
I’ll
get him next time around. There won’t be any second term for Jesse Wood.”
    “You sound pretty confident.”
    “I am.”
    “But his approval rating is so high.”
    “Won’t be for long.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I just do.”
    She took a sip of the single-malt Scotch. It was smooth, smooth enough to cloud her vision—and her judgment. “I don’t know, Lloyd. I heard a lot of support for the military in the president’s words tonight. That isn’t usually what a liberal would—”
    “He knows they hate him. The whole national security team does. The military, the CIA, the NSA, everybody. He’s desperate to get in their good graces, but it won’t happen. They’ll never be in his camp. They’ll make him
think
they are, but they won’t ever really be. They’re establishment,
we’re
establishment. He’s the enemy.”
    “But I thought—”
    “I love you, Vicky,” Dorsey said softly, interrupting her again as he took her hand. “I always have.”
    She stared into his eyes for a few moments, then looked away again, pulling her hand from his. She couldn’t bear it. He was going to ask her to stay the night