by Hamel, B. B.
I sigh, relaxing, smiling again. “Sorry,” I say.
“God, it’s like the thought of having an inappropriate relationship with me just scared the hell out of you.”
“It did,” I admit.
“Huh. I thought I was the hot President.”
I stare at him and he laughs.
“What?” he asks. “I’ve seen the data. I’m not an idiot.”
“I just… I didn’t expect you to actually know that.”
“Of course I know.”
“Well, okay, yeah. You are the hot President. That’s not the scary part.”
“What is?”
“The President part.”
He laughs and shrugs, closing a binder. “It’s not a big deal, really. It’s just an office. People are in these positions, after all.”
I bite my lip, trying to digest what he’s saying to me. My heart’s beating so fast, and I can feel my palms sweating.
He’s attractive. I can’t deny it. I’m attracted to him physically and emotionally. He’s funny, intelligent, and clearly cares about people. He’s the reason I’m here to begin with.
But an affair with the President? I mean, Presidents have gone down for that in the past.
Then again, he’s single. I’m single.
He’s only twice my age. Well, a little less than twice, but still.
It would be a scandal. It could completely ruin him, and destroy any chance at solving healthcare.
And yet all I can think about is kissing him.
He stands and walks over to the Resolute desk. I watch him carefully as he opens a lower drawer.
And takes out a bottle of whiskey along with two glasses.
I groan.
“Seriously? In that desk?”
“What?” He grins, pouring two drinks. “There have been plenty of asshole Presidents in the past. You think this is the worst thing ever kept in this desk?”
“Probably not,” I admit.
He closes the bottle and puts it away. “There’s other cool stuff in there, too, you know.”
“Like that?”
He shrugs, walking over. He hands me a glass. “Proof of aliens.”
I gape.
He laughs, sipping his whiskey.
“I’m just kidding. As far as I know, there aren’t any aliens.”
I grin at him. “You ass.”
“I’m not the one that just believed in aliens.”
“Come on, is it really so farfetched?”
“Yes,” he says seriously.
“How?”
“The government is huge. Do you know how many people would leak that info immediately if it were real?”
“Good point.”
“Anyway, how’d we end up talking about aliens?”
“You brought them up.”
He sighs. “Okay, fair point.”
I sip my drink. It’s actually pretty good, smoky and warm but not bitter.
He sighs, massaging his eyes for a second. “It’s been a long day,” he says.
“Probably more like a long few months for you.”
“Good point. It never stops.”
“That’s what you signed up for.”
He grins. “I guess I can’t complain.”
“You are the most powerful man in the free world.”
He gets up. “What’s that mean, anyway? The free world?”
“As opposed to, I don’t know. China?”
“The Chinese are plenty free,” he says, shaking his head. “You try policing billions of people and see how that goes.”
“They try.”
“They fail.” He sits back down, but next to me this time. “No, the free world is just a pretty story we tell ourselves.”
“You’re in a cynical mood.”
“I guess so.”
I lean toward him, despite myself. He looks so human right now. Tired, overworked, but still…
Handsome. Gorgeous. Perfect.
“We need more people like you in government,” I say softly.
“What, handsome men?”
“No,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Especially no to the man part.”
“Then what?”
“People that want to help people.”
He shrugs. “Every politician says they want to help people.”
“But you’re actually doing it.”
“Trying, at least.”
I watch him carefully as he sips his drink. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, go ahead. But it better not be about aliens.”
I smile a little. “Why did you hire me? I mean, really.”
“I read your blog,” he says.
“Come on. That can’t be it. There are a million pollsters just like me, and some of them are probably smarter. You could get any one of them. Why me?”
He hesitates. “You really want to know?”
“I really do.”
“I saw you speak once.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How?”
“On YouTube,” he admits. “You posted a video of a conference you attended.”
“You watched that?”
“One of ten others, I believe.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Okay, now I think you’re obsessed.”
“I wasn’t,” he says. “Honestly, not at first.”
I stop, going still. “At first?”
“Now, though?” He smirks a little. “Maybe I am obsessed. Okay, that’s overstating it. But when I saw you speak, I just knew…”
I take a breath. “Did you hire me because you find me attractive?”
“Yes,” he says plainly.
I stare at him, not sure if I should slap him or kiss him.
“But not just that,” he says, more softly. “You were whip smart, quick to answer questions. I could tell you knew what you were doing and were above and beyond everyone else. I hired you because you’re talented. But also because I think you’re fucking attractive.”
I lean close to him, heart hammering. I should be angry that he brought me on because of my looks.
But that’s not what he’s saying. He’s saying my looks are what separated me from a ton of other qualified candidates.
I’m smart. I’m talented. He admits that freely, and I know it.
But he also thinks I’m attractive.
He puts his glass down, shifts himself closer.
“I know I shouldn’t admit that to you,” he says gently. “Power imbalance and all that. But I can’t help myself.”
“Power isn’t everything,” I say.
“No, it really isn’t.”
He leans closer. I don’t move. I don’t think I could move if I wanted to.
His lips come near mine. I tilt my head.
And I kiss the President.
At first, I’m too busy freaking the fuck out that I’m kissing the President. I mean, the freaking President!
Thousands of women would die just to do what I’m doing right now.
But it’s me, I’m the one kissing him. I’m the one on his couch.
And then it hits me all at once. His taste, his hand against my neck, his body so close. Suddenly he stops becoming the President.
And he becomes a man.
A really, really hot man.
The hottest man I’ve ever kissed, by far. And a really fantastic kisser.
Everything about him drives me wild. The amount of tongue, the taste, the pressure, his lips. I let him pull me closer and kiss me deeper, let myself drop into this deep dark hole of desire.
I let myself go to a place of need that I know I shouldn’t.
The kiss doesn’t last long. Maybe ten seconds, maybe fifteen. It feels like longer though.
The sound of knocking at the door interrupts us. I pull back like he’s a hot iron.
He smirks at me. “Yes?” he calls out.
Charles steps in through the back. He looks at me for a moment, his eyes scrutinizing me, and looks back at Adam.
“
Briefing,” he grunts. “Something happened.”
Adam frowns. “Right now?”
“Right now,” Charles confirms.
He sighs and looks at me. “Well, thanks for coming to see me, Maggie.”
“Of course,” I manage to say, clearing my throat. I stand, straightening myself, my cheeks flaming red.
Charles knows.
Of course he knows. It’s so obvious.
I smile one more time at Adam before leaving through the other door, hurrying back to my office, heart beating so fast I can barely keep myself under control.
I just kissed the President.
Oh my god.
I just kissed the freaking President.
6
Adam
Of course, as soon as I finally kiss a woman I’m fucking attracted to, some crisis far across the globe threatens to blow up.
That’s just my luck. Pretty much how things always go.
A couple of French commandos get caught by a local radical Pakistani separatist group, taking them hostage. Since we’re allies, the French call us in to help out.
The crisis lasts days. I don’t get out much, following the action in the situation room closely. I barely have time to shower and sleep, let alone see Maggie.
But I keep thinking about her. I can’t help it. Every time I want to stop, there she is again, still on my mind.
I can feel her lips against mine, her tongue against my tongue. I can taste her, feel her skin, hear her breathing.
It drives me fucking insane, just thinking about her. I know I should be more invested in the crisis, but…
Fucking hell.
I haven’t felt like this in a long, long time.
Several days pass. I float in and out of the situation room. Things get tense, and for a while, it doesn’t look good. I’m worried about war, the sort of thing that could completely derail all of my domestic policy ideas.
But fortunately, it comes to a dramatic conclusion. Nobody gets killed, at least on our side, and the French commandos get rescued.
And I get some fucking well-deserved sleep.
* * *
Unfortunately, being President never stops.
“What’s this for again?” I ask Charles as he ushers me into the ballroom. The Secret Service fans out around me as people turn in my direction.
“Fundraiser,” he grunts.
“Yeah, right, I know. But for what?”
“The party,” he grunts.
I sigh. That’s about as much as I’ll get out of him. I guess it doesn’t matter.
I’ve been to these things before. I feel like I still have the stink of sweat and anxiety all over my body, even though the crisis has been resolved for the time being. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s not totally over.
Doesn’t matter. I shake hands, smile, make small talk. I ask questions about people I barely know.
All because the party wants them to write big, fat checks.
This is how politics really works. Politicians are fundraisers, through and through. Sure, we work on some policy stuff.
But mostly we kiss rich people’s asses and beg them for money.
No wonder politics works the way it does. Rich people run this show, so they get all the benefits.
Sure, we’ve thrown poor people and average people some bones over the years, usually little things like tiny tax cuts and stupid deregulations that don’t really help them but we pretend like they do. Mostly though, they get nothing.
And this is why.
I hate it, honestly. I hate the money and the bullshit. I know that’s politics, but it doesn’t feel good.
“Glad you made it out,” Griff McDonald says to me.
He’s the leader of the party in the Senate, the head of the snake. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
He grins. “We know you hate this stuff, sir. But we’re glad you’re here anyway.”
“Anything to help the party.”
“Well, you enjoy yourself now, ya hear?”
I nod and walk away. Griff has an absurd name and acts like a cowboy, but he’s as shrewd as they come.
I sigh and head over to the bar. Charles lingers nearby, chatting with donors, shaking hands like a good soldier. I wish I had half his dedication to the job. I’d be much better at this.
“Whiskey,” I say to the bartender. A secret service guy lingers nearby. “You want a drink?” I ask him.
He grins, but doesn’t respond.
I take my glass and sip it, turning to oversee the hall. It’s filled with people, more than I expected. I catch a few glances coming my way and I can sense at least three old ladies that want a moment of my time.
I wish I could fucking run away.
“Hello, Mr. President.”
I stand still, not sure if my ears are deceiving me. I turn to my left and, sure enough, my eyes are telling the same story.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I say.
Maggie smiles. “I half expected you not to show up.”
“I wouldn’t have, if I had a choice.”
She laughs a little and I can’t help but smile. I know I shouldn’t stand here and talk with her… but I can’t help myself.
She looks beautiful. Black dress that fits her body perfectly, hair down and simple, makeup almost nonexistent. Her skin practically glows.
It’s taking all my self-control not to tear off that dress right now.
“How’d you get stuck at this?” I ask her.
“Roger wants to court some big donors for a project he’s cooking up,” she says. “He made the whole department show up.”
I laugh softly. “That’s pretty bold.”
“Yeah, well. That’s Roger, I guess.”
“You’re not out shaking hands, though?”
“Not my thing. He keeps calling me his ‘whiz kid’ and I swear I’m going to kick his teeth in if he says it one more time.”
I laugh again. I almost forgot how funny she can be.
“Let’s get out of here together,” I say suddenly.
She blinks, frowns. “Is that a good idea?”
“No,” I say, leaning toward her. “It’s a terrible idea.”
She looks up at me, eyes wide.
“There’s a door in the back left corner, it’s a fire exit. I’ll go first. You follow after. Give me ten minutes.”
She nods slowly. I don’t know if she’ll do it or not, but I can’t stand around and wait to find out.
I have old ladies to woo on behalf of the party.
I walk away without another word. The Secret Service hovers nearby as I say hello to a few billionaire heiresses that’ve seen better days, but still have bank accounts like you wouldn’t believe.
I put on my best smile, the smile that won me the fucking election. I play it up, give them the pitch, make them feel special.
I play the fucking game. For ten minutes, I give it my all.
And after that ten minutes, I split.
The Secret Service trails behind me. I don’t care if they see something. They follow me through the fire door.
“Sir?” One of the agents steps forward. I recognize him.
“It’s fine, Ramirez,” I say.
“We don’t have this area secured.”
“Then secure it for me. I’ll be having a meeting shortly.”
He frowns, but nods. He says something into his walkie as I head down a short corridor.
This is clearly a back area where servers go. Some of them bustle past me, and I get a few double-takes. That stinks, but can’t be helped.
Finally, I find an empty office. There’s a table in the middle and a projection screen on the wall. I’m guessing the hotel rents these rooms for business meetings or whatever.
Ramirez follows me inside. “You stay out there,” I tell him. “There’s a girl coming from the White House. Maggie.”
Ramirez nods.
“Send her my way,” I tell him.
He nods again.
“And please, never breathe a word of this.”
“Sir, I’d take a bullet for you. And I personally think you deserve to have a life, even if you have to hide it.”
I blink, surprised. I’ve never heard an agent speak that much before, let alone give his personal opinion. “Thank you,” I say.
He nods one last time and exits the room.
I sit down on top of the table and wait. I don’t have to sit around long, though. I hear footsteps in the hall, and then Maggie appears.
Still looking beautiful in her black dress.
“Nice place,” she says.
“Only the finest for the President.”
She laughs as the door shuts behind her.
I hop down off the table. “We don’t have long,” I say softly.
Her eyebrows raise. “I thought we were running away together.”
I smile. “There’s no running away from the office. You know that.”
She laughs gently. “I guess not. A girl can pretend.”
I step right up to her and kiss her. I don’t hesitate or pretend like this is something else. We both know why she’s here.
I can feel my stress slowly melt away. I’ve been needing this so fucking badly. My existence has been one long string of crisis stress, uninterrupted and unceasing.
It’s impossible to explain how that wears at a person. The constant, unceasing uncertainty, the fear of death, the fear of failure. Everything hanging in the balance, and I’m the one making all the decisions.
It ages you. I understand how Presidents in the past have taken the job and left the office looking like they aged twenty years after only eight.
But with Maggie, that can all drift away into the night. All I need is her touch, her taste.
I turn her, push her back to the table. I lift her up, sit her down. She wraps her legs around my waist as I kiss her hard.
Fucking hell. I needed this so goddamn badly.
Her taste floods me. I feel her body, her breasts, down to the hem of her dress. I lift it up, making her gasp.
My heart’s pounding. Desire floods me.
I slide my hands up her bare thighs. Smooth and creamy, perfect and long. I stop as my right hand slowly finds her pussy, caressing her over her panties, sliding along her mound.
She groans. I slip them aside, finding her wet spot. She’s soaked, excited. I rub her clit, rolling it, making her groan even more. I kiss her neck, her ear, her lips.
