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  Act of Congress

  A Client Liaisons Novel

  Written by Amelia Oliver and Kate Hastings

  Copyright © 2018 Amelia Oliver and Kate Hastings

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons living or dead, events or locations are entirely coincidental.

  ACT OF CONGRESS

  The Client Liaisons Series

  Book One

  Amelia Oliver & Kate Hastings

  The Client Liaisons titles are interconnected standalone reads, best experienced in intended order, however can be enjoyed individually.

  This is an erotic romance story.

  Contents suitable for 18+.

  A Note from Amelia and Kate

  If you’ve read our collaborated work, you know we write erotic romance.

  Sexy, smutty, all the feels, romance.

  If you didn’t know, now you do. And you’re welcome.

  However, what we don’t claim to write are stories that are one hundred percent, bound by the rules, every fact mentioned is accurate enough for the New York Times.

  We take liberties. We bend the rules. Sometimes, we make up our own.

  Don’t make a face; we keep it real…we just may shade outside the lines a little.

  Why? We write fiction.

  We don’t want you hung up on detail. For us, it’s not all about the facts. It’s about the connection, about giving you the moments that make your pulse race and your heart beat faster...among other things.

  While the title of this book could lead you to believe that it’s a political romance, it’s not. Not really. It’s a steamy romance story where the very sexy guy we hope to have you lusting after, is a politician. See the difference?

  Point being, if you’re the type of reader who can’t move past detail that may not be precisely true and simply escape into a romance with feels, this read may not be for you.

  If you’re still with us though -welcome! You guys are our tribe, our squad and the reason we write these stories…and boy oh boy, do we have you covered.

  So hydrate, limber up, and get ready…its go time.

  #HEMF’s

  Chapter 1

  Cassie

  LA. Yes, it’s vapid and shallow, full of posers and dreamers, but the thing I love most about it is simple. You can be anyone you want to be. You can recreate yourself and hide in plain sight. Very little is real, so everything becomes reality. I absolutely love it.

  “Morning Boys!”

  Throwing a wink and a grin towards the security desk, I strut through the lobby of the ESM building, my four-inch stilettos like machinegun fire on the polished concrete floor. Not stopping, I hear them reply with various versions of ‘morning Cassie’ and ‘welcome back Cass’, and I know without turning around, every single one of them has their eyes on my ass. Men. They’re such simple creatures. Mind you, can’t say it’s entirely their fault, my ass does look spectacular in this skirt. The thought makes me grin as I swipe my access card through the security point and head towards the elevator bank.

  Getting out at my floor, I notice most of the lights in the other offices are still switched off. While the outside of the building is steel and glass, the interior of our workplace is warmer. Natural woods and fibers, along with white walls and splashes of our signature blue, give it a modern Californian feel.

  Opening the door to my space, I gasp in shock, then immediately burst into laughter. My floor and desk are covered with condoms. More accurately, condoms blown up like balloons. Covering every surface and most all of the floor, they’re everywhere. All colors, shapes, textures and sizes, it’s the décor you’d expect at a hooker’s birthday party. I work with a bunch of funny assholes, and having been away from the office for a few weeks, this is their idea of a welcome home.

  My last client was a latex manufacturer who had needed to rebrand. After several nonsense suits claimed their condoms were faulty, their business dropped by thirty percent. The final tactic in my plan to restore their reputation was taking 1,000 condoms to the local university and having the first year marketing students blow them up. Once tied off, the condom-balloons were placed inside a large, clear container. Thankfully, not one of those suckers had a hole in it, delivering a cheeky but powerful visual that the product was far from defective. Not only was the stunt a success, getting national news media coverage and a trending hash tag on Instagram and Facebook, the company got a massive image boost with the eighteen to twenty five year old demographic. And let’s be honest, if there was an age group that liked to casual fuck, it was that one.

  “Welcome back Cassie, I’m really sorry about your office. I tried to stop them but they were determined.”

  I turn my head towards the soft, polite voice behind me, seeing Allyson standing with her hands clasped and a blush to her cheeks. With long auburn hair and expressive chocolate-brown eyes, Ally’s a wholesome, girl next-door type. Someone I consider a friend, she’s genuine, sweet as hell and as smart as a whip. She’s also as straight as an arrow. She’s probably never seen a condom outside of the bedroom and even then, still may not have actually seen it. Based on her minimal input on our GNO’s when the topic invariably turned to sex, and the over-sharers amongst us hold the floor, I’d say there’s also a good chance that she has only ever had sex in the missionary position. With the lights off. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, a good missionary go-round has it’s place in the rotation, but to say I’m at the opposite end of her sweet and demure scale is probably fair.

  “Girl, this shit is gold!” I blurt and notice her cheeks blush with color at my use of the word ‘shit’.

  Sidebar, Ally also says things like ‘gosh’ and ‘fiddlesticks’, but thankfully she also doesn’t judge those of us who are a little more mouth of a fishwife with our expressions.

  Smiling brightly at her, she relaxes when she see’s I’m far from mad. “Besides, it reminds me just how much I missed you all.”

  “It really was an inspired idea going to the college, Cass. I’m not sure I would’ve ever thought of doing something like that,” she says honestly.

  She’s nothing if not self-aware. Despite her being here three years, joining not long after I did, she’s still somewhat finding her niche in the job. Her preferred clients tend to be businesses she can assist remotely from behind the safety of her tech. I’d heard Sawyer was pushing her comfort level on this, trying to get her to venture out more, but Ally’s yet to say anything to us girls about it.

  Stepping into her space, I give her a side-hug. “Reckon you’d be surprised what you could come up with if you gave it a shot, Ally. Now, fill me in woman! Anything I need to know before meeting with the boss?”

  We share a smile, before we both move a little further into condom central.

  “Not really, it’s been business as usual. Piper is still in Florida and Ryver left for New York yesterday. Rebel’s back from touring with ‘Morally Ambiguous’, but hasn’t been in the office yet, and Clementine is…actually, I don’t know where Clemmie is. Have you heard from her?”

  Having mentioned all the chicks that make up the group we hang with most, Ally looks to me for an update on Clem’s whereabouts.

  “Nope, no clue. I have Reb though. She DM’d late yesterday, desperate for margarita night at the Hispanic Mechanic to, and I quote, “top up her estrogen” after touring with a bunch of, and again I quote, “
feral old dudes”.

  We both chuckle knowing that while Rebecca ‘Rebel’ West is in her element when it comes to all things music industry, dealing with an aging but refusing to leave the spotlight, at one time moderately successful rock band, would’ve taken it’s toll.

  Gesturing to my new decorations, Ally’s cheeks blush slightly before asking, “Do you want help cleaning up in here?”

  “No, thanks though. I’ll probably do it when I get back from seeing Sawyer. Don’t want to meet with the boss covered in a thin layer of lube.”

  We both giggle at that, making me think maybe Allyson has had some experience playing with condoms after all.

  * * *

  On my way upstairs, my phone vibrates in my hand. Looking down at the screen, I see that it’s Pete calling. Yeah, that’s a no. Hitting the button on the side of my phone, I send the call to voicemail.

  Looking at my reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator car, I use my fingers to fluff up my shiny, dark hair and make sure the black liner around my bright blue eyes is where it’s supposed to be. Pulling my Nars lip-gloss tube from between my boobs, I apply another coat of the soft pink shimmer to my otherwise nude lips. Just as I put the tube back into my nifty holding place, my phone vibrates again.

  Damn it Pete, you left a voicemail? Really?

  In this day and age, the only voicemail I’m interested in are work related. As for everyone else, if you don’t know me well enough to chat with me via text or DM, then we probably don’t have anything to talk about anyway.

  Arriving at the executive floor, I approach the main reception desk for the Director’s offices and greet the forty something woman sitting there.

  “Morning Sarah. Should I head on through?”

  Sarah looks up at me, “Hi Cassie, nice to see you’re back. Yes, please do, but take a seat when you get there. Drew is still in with her. I think they’re adjusting her schedule.” The smile on her lips is close to but not quite a smirk.

  Now unless you worked here, you would have no clue anything other than a professional sentence was just shared. Sounded like one, but it wasn’t, because ‘adjusting her schedule’ was an in-house code.

  “Gotcha. Thanks.”

  With a small smile of my own I walk around the main reception desk and down towards Sawyer’s office suite.

  Drew Garrett has been Sawyer’s executive assistant for about a year now and there’s a small group of us that are ninety percent certain they’re screwing. Like rabbits. There have been more than a few incidences of locked doors, sudden absences, late arrivals, and disheveled appearances. For those of us paying attention, it all adds up, but of course nothing has ever been confirmed. Mind you it’s none of our business if Sawyer’s getting her cougar on, more power to her. Drew’s rocking a tight rig, and we all agree, he’s totally doable. Though as a direct result of our suspicions, we no longer open a closed door without knocking first and always make an appointment instead of just show up.

  Finding Drew’s desk chair is in fact empty, I walk over and take a seat in one of the suede wingbacks in the lounge area outside Sawyer’s office door. Feeling my phone vibrate again, I look down to see Pete has sent a text this time. Can’t say the guy isn’t persistent. Sliding my finger across the screen, I open the message to read it.

  Peter C: Hey baby. My reminder app tells me you got back last nig–

  I don’t go past reading his first sentence, before my finger flicks the screen and I delete the message. Outside of the fact that what we had over a month ago was barely a friends-with-benefits situation, I don’t do clingy. Putting my movements in his reminders? Yeah, that’s a no from me. More importantly, I don’t do ‘baby’. I loathe that endearment.

  Taking a few deep breaths I open a blank message. Pete needs to find a nice girl who’s interested in being the focus of his attention, because it most certainly is not me. I’m not being a bitch, we weren’t dating, and I haven’t lead him on.

  After sending him the modern version of a ‘Dear John’ message, I delete his contact. Just like I’d told him I was going to. He’s a decent guy, considerate in bed - if anything a little accommodating for my taste – and treats women with respect. Most of the chicks I know complain about there being no single men who are ready to settle down. Well, I don’t know where the hell they’re looking, because I can’t stop finding them.

  I look up at the sound of the large, reclaimed beach wood doors opening and see Drew step out. Running my eyes quickly over his appearance, everything seems to be perfectly in place. His shirt is crease free, his tie is straight, and his short beard is neat. His hair is no indication of anything illicit though; it’s one of those styles that always looks messy, but on purpose. He could’ve styled it that way, or it could be because Sawyer’s fingers were gripping it while he ate breakfast.

  “Sorry, Cassie, we ran a little over. Nice to have you back. Sawyer said if you were out here waiting to go right on in.”

  “Thanks, Drew.”

  Standing and making my way over to the still open doors, I look back just as Drew turns around to sit in his chair, giving me a glimpse of un-tucked dress shirt over his butt. Oops, missed a spot. Smiling, I walk through the doors to find my boss on the phone, seeing her motioning for me to sit in one of the chairs facing her desk.

  Sawyer is one of those timelessly beautiful women. A natural blond, today her long hair is textured and messy, swept over to one side of her head in a loosely held ponytail that sits where her neck meets her shoulder. She exudes money, class and style. She’s everything I’m not. Not the real me anyway.

  I’ve been a senior account manager here at Elliot Scott Marketing for four years now, and I still pinch myself that I’m working for the Sawyer Elliot. In our business, the woman is the shit. Entertainment, business, sport, fashion - you name it, ESM handles it. While our clients come from various fields, they are all either high profile or high performing. Sometimes it means they’re also high maintenance, but it goes with the territory.

  Yeah, working here means you have to occasionally deal with Devon Scott, Sawyer’s business partner ex-husband and co-company director, but it’s a small price to pay. I can handle a still hasn’t grown-up, trust-fund douchebag like him with one arm behind my back. I mean, any guy who hit’s on a woman by asking, “if she’d like a shot of vitamin D”, and then thumb-points toward his chest, is not a threat to intelligent life. Just annoying.

  Ending her call, Sawyer smiles over at me. “Did you get your balloons?”

  “I did. Scared me witless for a few seconds until I realized what they were. That must have been a valuable use of company time?” I say, grinning.

  “Worth it, besides it was an exceptional result. I’ve spoken with the Suretex CFO and their sales are already improving. Good job Cass.”

  “Thank you.”

  Praise from someone I respect as much as Sawyer is a little humbling.

  “You ready for your next client?” she asks, moving what I know are client folders around on her desk, obviously trying to find something specific.

  “Sure am.” I thrive when I’m being kept busy.

  Looking down at where it’s sitting on my lap, I open my day planner, pulling out the black with silver swirls Mont Blanc pen. Both were ‘welcome to the team’ gifts from the boss lady herself, and they’re perfect. I’ve since learned Sawyer gives each account manager their own one-of-a-kind, custom-made folio, one that seemingly reflects their personality and style. Mine is a combination of textured fabrics and leather features. Plain black at the top, it has sketched, black outlined, dogwood blooms on silver at the bottom. There’s a sliver leather band running between the two halves and my name is etched into an oval disc of dogwood embossed leather near the top. It’s feminine, but bold and just a touch of sass. Totally me.

  “What do you know about Jake Reid?” Sawyer asks, looking up from her search, before adding more to herself than me, “I swear these were organized last night, why are they in such a
mess now?”

  Thinking the folders were more than likely the unsuspecting victims of a little over the desk ‘schedule adjustment’, I shake my thoughts back to the present, answering my boss’s question.

  “Umm…Jake Reid...Jake Rei–– oh, isn’t he a congressman or something?”

  “He is, and the way you responded when I asked you about him, is exactly why he needs our help.”

  Finding the folder she was searching for, Sawyer makes an annoyed grunt and passes it over to me. I take it, but don’t open it, laying it down on top of my open folio.

  “Help with what exactly?” I prompt, wondering why Sawyer is talking to me about a politician as a client. Not my wheelhouse.

  “Most people know his name, but not much else. He’s good at what he does, but he’s half way through his term and people seem to have forgotten he’s there. Moderate voting record, middle of the road on most issues, but he’s frustrated with his lack of progress and is looking to shake things up.”

  “Wait. Is this the guy the they call Congressman Drab?” As I ask this it dawns on me that for the second time my question is proving Congressman Reid’s concern might be a valid one.

  “That’s him,” Sawyer confirms nodding her head, “and that name starting to gain traction is part of why he’s ready to shake things up.”

  “He should be. That name sticks and he’s going to need more than an image overhaul. You putting Clementine on it?” I ask, part hoping that my gut is in a knot for no good reason. Surely she’s not giving this guy to me?

  “Funny girl. No Cassandra, you’re the one I want for Congressman Reid,” she tells me, her tone firm and brokering no argument.

  It doesn’t stop me from making one though. Well, trying to at least.

  “Sawyer, seriously? I’ll bomb with politics. I’d have no idea what to do with this guy past the basics. Clemmie is much better with the political cli––” Sawyer cuts me off by putting up her hand, so I stop talking mid-sentence.