Hadley
Early Friday morning, I hurry out of The Harrison, a high-rise near the Bay Bridge. The condominium is modern luxury and has been my home for the past four years. Sunshine and fresh air greet me as my heels click against the cement sidewalk of First Street.
Harold, the news vendor who has been working on the corner of Market Street since I was a kid, calls out to me. I give him a quick wave, but today I’m running a little late. I don’t have time to stop and chitchat with him, as I usually do on my morning walk to work.
Once I reach the T intersection, I take a quick left before arriving at Peet’s Coffee & Tea. The local coffee shop sits at the bottom of a high-rise right in the heart of the Financial District and is my place to go for my morning cup of strong, hot coffee. That’s one part of my morning that no matter how late I am I can’t live without.
When I enter the small shop decorated with tall windows on the front and a handful of tables scattered throughout the room, it’s busy like it usually is. I skip the line of customers, moving to the counter off to the side. “Mornin’,” I say to Sam, who quickly flashes me his charming smile. He’s a cute brown-haired hipster who’s worked at the café since its grand opening and fully supports my caffeine addiction.
“Hey, Hads.” He hands me my usual caramel caffé latte.
I suppose I should be embarrassed that I’m this predictable, but I’m not. I love their coffee and can’t do a damn thing without it. “Thanks. You’re the best.” I smile and hand him some money and a tip, blowing him a kiss before leaving the café. Hell, Sam’s worth the two-dollar tip I give him every day for having my drink ready for me.
Only seconds later, I enter the high-rise and move quickly through security and into the stairwell next to the elevator. Being careful with my latte, I trot up to the third floor and enter my father’s San Francisco office. Immediately, I’m hit by the typical hustle and bustle that happens here. From nine o’clock in the morning to five o’clock at night, no one ever sits around with nothing to do.
I greet my coworkers with a smile on my way down the hallway and quickly enter the sixth door on the right. There’s nothing special about my office. There’s a plain industrial-style desk with a black swivel chair behind it and a filing cabinet in the corner, with a couple of plants and photos on the windowsill, and that’s about it. My salary isn’t inflated because I work for my father; I’m really not treated special here—in any way. Even my view of the Financial District isn’t the best. Dad was never one to offer a handout, not even to me. Truth be told, that’s what I respect about him the most. Hard work is how you prove your worth to him.
I sit in my chair, take a quick sip of my coffee, and relish the jolt of energy it gives me. Ready to get Dad’s schedule set for next week so I can relax this weekend, I power up my computer.
“Is he here?” Owen enters my office.
I stifle a shiver of disgust and glance up from my desk. “The senator, you mean?”
“Yes.” Owen’s voice is gravelly and low, like he’s smoked way too many cigarettes over the years. “Is he in?”
The lines around his eyes are harsh. The scowl even more ugly. But that’s Owen Cook, the governor’s sidekick. I’ve never been entirely sure what he does for the governor or why he comes to see my dad as much as he does, but this guy, and his sunken, dark almond-shaped eyes, gives me the full-on creeps. “He should be in the office soon, but I’m afraid he doesn’t have time to see you—”
“I need five minutes—”
I suppose some women might recoil from this guy. But I guess that’s why my dad hired me as his scheduler during his last campaign, because I can handle these pushy people. He always said I was the one who won the last campaign for him. I knew when he needed time to regroup and prepare for the days ahead. I knew his personal schedule with my mom, although she was around quite a bit for the publicity, and I could juggle his political calendar, vetting some of the toughest statesmen around. “Mr. Cook, if you’d like an appointment with the senator, you’ll need to give me at least a day’s notice. Does tomorrow work—”
Owen’s scowl deepens. “You have the power to squeeze me in, Miss Winters.”
Yeah, I did. But bending over backward for this prick isn’t on my to-do list. “Just give me one second to check his calendar.” I quickly reach for my phone in my purse and text my father: Stay away from my office and the main entrance. Cook is here and he’s in a mood.
Once the text sends, I give Owen my most professional smile. “I’m afraid his day is booked solid. Again, will tomorrow be suitable?”
Owen huffs in a way that no grown man should. Then he’s gone and I’m happy, my good mood slowly returning. I learned a long time ago not to let anyone ruin my day. Political people can be very passionate, and usually not in a good way.
I raise my phone again and text Dad: He’s gone, but keep on alert. He may find you. I can almost hear my father’s laughter as I place the phone down beside my keyboard and get to work.
My inbox is full as usual, and I begin to weed through the emails as I grab my coffee cup to wash away the last of my fatigue. Just as the coffee is about to hit my lips, a pop-up appears on my screen with the message: Your father needs to retire. You’ve got until Monday at midnight to make that happen.
Suddenly I feel like I’m watching a nightmare.
A video appears showing me with my lips parted in a scream of pleasure that I can’t hear. One man grips my hair tightly, forcing my mouth over his condom-covered cock. The second man is behind me passionately thrusting against me. My heart begins pounding in my chest and the world slowly slips away. My face is clearly shown, but the men are wearing masquerade masks that completely cover their faces. I don’t know them, not personally anyway, though the video is real. I had received an invitation to be with them that night. The stipulations on the invitation had been clear: complete secrecy and total surrender. And while I regret it now, I accepted their invitation because the man I wanted didn’t want me.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my black pencil skirt. Make my father retire?
Obviously, I’m being blackmailed and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, considering my father is in politics. But why does someone want my father to retire, and why are they using me to make that happen? I don’t know and I also have no intention of telling my father about this video in order to find out. He wouldn’t understand. No one would. I know that because no one ever has.
I stare at myself in the video, eyes pinched shut and mouth parted in pleasure, and I know that this video could ruin not only me, but my father, too.
“Hadley.”
I snap my head up; my father is standing in the doorway staring at me with obvious concern on his face. I turn off my monitor and place my hands flat on my desk. “Yes. Sorry.”
“I said your name three times,” he says, entering my office and shutting the door behind him. “Are you all right?”