Presidential Pursuit: A Kamala Harris lesbian love story

Chapter 7

Monday

Monday was the hardest day of the week. I was still feeling extremely agitated from the night before—for more reasons than one. I know I started it, but she let me! She played along only to turn around and flip the switch. I don't know what I expected; it's not like a little phone sex changes the severity of the situation. I was hoping the call would end differently. I was hoping this whole thing would end differently. How? Im not sure. Now I have to live with yet another memory I can't erase, another memory that loops on repeat. Her voice keeps lingering in my head, her confessions hover above my heart like a knife. Every time I move, they cut a little deeper. I'm not sure I can survive this anymore. I've been seriously considering finding a new job. I mean, come on—"Business as usual"? There hasn't been a single moment between us where things were business as usual. What she really meant was to suppress every impulse I have about her.

Ridiculous. Like that's even possible.

Nonetheless, I tried my best. Almost ninety-nine percent of me wants her so badly, but there's still that one percent that's furious at her for masterminding these situations in which we consistently lust after one another. I channeled that one percent really, really, really hard.

She was barely in the office, so I was able to avoid the source of my heartache for most of the day. Katherine came to see me at some point and used her little spidey sense to ask me what happened. The usual. I told her I didn't want to talk about it, and for once, she let it go. I think she can sense it's not as fun anymore. I'm hurting, and although she doesn't know the details, she can put two and two together that something happened between us. She also knows I'll tell her eventually, whenever it starts eating me alive. I'm not there yet. Close, but not yet.

I was nearly at the verge of conquering my plan to dodge her the entire day until I remembered Katherine urgently needed those papers I dropped off the last time I saw her.

Dammit.

I've made it a habit of barging in without knocking. I know it's slightly unprofessional, but I seriously don't care. I can't verbally express my irritation, so I let my actions speak for themselves. Plus, I know she won't reprimand me. Strangely, I think she actually kind of likes it when I'm mad at her...

"Do you have the papers I asked you to sign?" I asked impatiently, strutting straight to her desk and crossing my arms once I reached the barrier.

"Hello to you too, Miss Fields," she replied with raised brows and a hand to her chin.

"Yes or no?" I asked bluntly without faltering.

She began picking up several pieces of paper scattered around her desk, never taking her eyes off me, and organizing them into a neat pile on the corner of the table closest to her.

"Come and get them, dear," she said with a slight smirk.

We'd barely spoken five sentences to each other, and she's already pissing me off.

I rolled my eyes at her. "I'm not going over there."

"Why, are you scared? I don't bite." she said, followed by a lighthearted laugh.

Everything in me wanted to tell her to fuck off. Business as usual, my ass—she's still playing games, and I'm not sure why. She's the one setting the boundaries and breaking them. I'm so over it.

Without responding, I stood my ground and extended a hand in front of me, motioning for her to hand them over.

She eyed me for a few moments longer, testing my resilience before accepting that I wasn't giving in.

"Huh," she said quietly.

As she slowly gave me the papers, I yanked them from her hand a little rougher than intended and left without saying another word.