Best Friend's Ex Box Set (A Second Chance Romance Love Story)

by Claire Adams

  “I'm afraid we can't, we have a few things that we need to get back to at home,” I replied.

  “I understand. But, we would love to have you all over sometime and get to know you guys a little better. I can already see the girls are going to be great friends,” she announced.

  “Absolutely,” I agreed. “We'll make a time when we can all get together.”

  “Great. Well, I'll go get Jane now,” she said. “I'll be back in a minute.”

  We waited on the porch while she went inside to fetch Jane.

  “She seems really nice,” I said to Everett.

  He smiled. “She does. We'll have to take her up on that offer to hang out sometime.”

  Bianca returned with Stacy and Jane in tow.

  “Say goodbye to your friend now,” Everett encouraged Jane with a smile.

  Jane hugged Stacy like they’d been friends forever. “Bye, Stacy,” she said. “I enjoyed playing at your house with you. You should come to my house soon.”

  “Can I, Mom?” Stacy looked up at her mother with a shy smile.

  “I’m sure we can work that out,” Bianca assured her daughter.

  “Good,” Stacy turned her attention back to Jane. “I like you! You're my best friend.”

  “Aw, isn't that so cute,” I remarked, squeezing Everett's hand.

  I reached down and took Jane's hand.

  “Come on now, Jane; I’m afraid we have to go. You'll be able to see Stacy again tomorrow at school.” We waved goodbye to them and headed down the steps.

  “Yay!” Jane said with a big grin. “I like playing with Stacy.”

  We walked out to the SUV, and Everett chatted with Jane as we got into the car.

  “So, you had a good time there, huh sweet pea?” he said.

  “Yeah, Daddy! We played with her Barbie dolls, and she has another doll that's like a real baby! Its eyes open and close, it can even cry! You got to hold it really careful, or it'll cry, just like a real baby!”

  “That's good, that's good,” he said as he drove. “And did you just play with dolls all afternoon, sweet pea?”

  “No, we also colored. Stacy has some pretty coloring books.”

  “That sounds like fun. You didn't play video games or anything like that?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Stacy's mom says she can't play on tablets or cellphones or play video games. But it's okay, I think; I liked playing with dolls and coloring.”

  Everett shot me a sideways glance and a wry smile. “I think we should definitely encourage this budding friendship, huh?” he remarked. “Sounds like they're good people.”

  I chuckled. “An electronics ban doesn’t make them good people,” I said. “But they do seem to be on the same wavelength as us when it comes to raising a child.”

  We pulled into the driveway and we all piled out of the SUV.

  Jane jumped out and immediately looked across the street and saw her friend playing on the porch of his family's house – my former house.

  “Hey, there's Jason!” she exclaimed. “Can I go play with him for a while?”

  “But, sweet pea, you've just spent the whole afternoon playing with Stacy,” Everett said.

  “But I'm not tired yet!” Jane declared.

  I took Everett's hand and squeezed it suggestively. “Let her go, honey, there's still an hour or two of daylight left... And I can think of something nice we could do in the house once we're all alone.”

  Everett grinned, picking up the hint immediately. “Well … okay, sweet pea, you can go and play with James for a little while.”

  “Yay!” she said and ran toward the street, stopped and looked both ways for any cars, and then sprinted across. She immediately sat down next to Jason, who was playing with toy cars and trucks on the porch. His mother looked across the lawn and saw us, offering us a friendly wave.

  “I'll keep an eye on them, don't worry!” she shouted across the street.

  “Thanks, Liv!” I shouted back.

  “Alright, my handsome husband,” I purred to Everett. “Why don't you and I head inside and see what sort of things we can get into to pass the next hour or two?”

  He sneakily squeezed my butt with one of his strong hands. “I can think of a few things that you might find especially...entertaining,” he remarked with a grin.

  “Oh, of that I have no doubt!” I shot back as I pulled him to the couch for a make-out session.

  “I love you so much, Viv,” he whispered into my ear as he pulled me into his lap. “So very, very much.”

  “And I love you, my amazing husband,” I replied, kissing him slowly and deeply.

  I’d been trying all day to find the perfect time to tell him the news, the news that I had only just found out that morning.

  “Everett,” I said, taking his hand and placing it gently on my belly. “I've got a little surprise for you.”

  “Oh yeah?” he said, clearly not getting the hint. “And what's that?”

  “You know how Jane is always asking for a little brother or sister to add to our family?”

  “I do,” his eyes widened, and he tilted his head slightly. “That would be amazing,” he said, his tone a little lower as if maybe he was catching on.

  “Well, right under where your hand is now... he or she is growing.”

  “You're serious?” he said, his voice full of surprise. “I'm about to become a dad – again?”

  “You are,” I confirmed.

  “That's the best news I've had all year! And I am the luckiest man alive!” he stated, kissing me then pulling back and resting his head against mine.

  “How about I show you just how lucky you can be?” I said, and then led him to our bedroom to celebrate our news.

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  POWER BOX SET

  The Complete Power Romance Series

  By Claire Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 Claire Adams

  POWER #1

  Chapter One

  I stood in the shadow of the great house before me, hearing the taxi whiz behind on its way back toward Pennsylvania. I’d never been in the White House before, but God, had I imagined it. The exterior white shell of it seemed to speak of so much—so much history. Those immaculate rooms, that power, the vibrancy. And, above all, that handsome president—the leader of the free world.

  I adjusted my blue suit beneath me, tugging at it, allowing my breasts to bounce a bit. I knew that they didn’t hurt my chances, but I didn’t like to think of it. I knew my smarts could propel me into the role if I played my cards right; if I flung myself through the interview like a pro—like I had countless other times throughout my career—I could land the position of my dreams.

  Head of the President’s Re-election Campaign.

  I thought about the way they’d discuss it on the news: Amanda Martin, the woman of the hour. Only 29 years old and already moving her way up the political ladder.

  Beneath my fine blue suit, I felt my stomach grumble at me with a sort of rage. I was nervous, certainly. After all, my past accomplishments didn’t stand up against this feat. I’d been president of my sorority back in school, just because I didn’t want my sorority (the one my mother had forced me to join, stating she wouldn’t pay for my college otherwise) to be just like any other sorority. If I was going to be a part of it, we were going to make a goddamned difference. And we did.

  And then, after that, in my home city of Philadelphia, I’d become one of the secretaries in the mayor’s office. Nothing big, no. But after a few years into it, with success around every corner and my name bl
asted in a few important people’s ears, I’d been invited to come to Washington to work on the initial campaign for the now-president. I’d been only 24 at the time, and I wasn’t ready for the flash, the grandeur of D.C. But I acclimated easily, after a few minor bumps and one silly affair with a congressman.

  Just one!

  And now, I found myself back in D.C. A congressman, George Carlman, had suggested I apply. I’d been an essential part of the previous campaign. I remembered the rallies, the fast-paced nature of it all. I remembered counting votes until my eyes bled. But when our president, Xavier Callaway, had made that speech on that January day, I knew it had all been worth it. My heart seemed to beat only for him. It wasn’t just that he was handsome—after all, he’d paid nearly no attention to me during the entire election process. It was that what I had done, all the work I’d propelled into the campaign, had been worth it. Goddamn it, it’d been worth it. And that, beyond anything else, was beautiful.

  Two Secret Service agents met me at the door and pushed it open, allowing me entrance into the immaculate foyer. I thanked them with a polite, if firm, voice. I wanted them to take me seriously, as I was interviewing to run their president’s re-election campaign. I didn’t envision myself as some flighty girl. No, I was so much more—intelligence and strength and vitality.

  “Just a minute, Miss,” the Secret Service agent stated, bringing his hands up to his shoulders, positioned in the air. “You know the drill.”

  I did.

  I held up my hands to mirror his,and allowed him to touch my body with his long, thick fingers. He roughed up around my hips, on my ass, making sure I didn’t have anything on my person. I winked at him as he did it, making him feel uncomfortable. He looked down, uncertain.

  “I’m just kidding, Dimitri,” I told him, nearly laughing. I’d known him for nearly four years at that point and I knew he felt awkward.

  “Amanda, so sorry about this,” he said. I knew that he had a crush on me; I’d known it since we’d met on the campaign trail.

  “Please. It doesn’t bug me at all. I kind of like it,” I laughed, raising an eyebrow.

  “You’re in for the interview, yeah?” he asked.

  I nodded to him, looking down for a moment. I realized that I was truly nervous; I hadn’t let myself feel it until that moment. “Have there been many interviews today?”

  Dimitri shrugged. “He’s seen a few, sure. But you’ll be great. I know you know your stuff.”

  I smiled at him, still uncertain. Everything else I’d ever done had worked out perfectly. I’d literally never failed—and the thought of failure terrified me. But casting my eyes far into the future made me so nervous, so uncertain. I couldn’t be sure about my stance in the Oval Office. Who was I kidding? I was only a 29-year-old woman in D.C., surrounded by countless, better-qualified people.

  Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind, I spun back around, allowing Dimitri to walk alongside me.

  “What have you been up to?” he asked.

  I flashed him a bright smile. “I’ve been working down the Hill, beneath Congressman Carlman. He actually encouraged me to apply for the position.”

  “You’ve made a name for yourself in D.C.,” Dimitri said.

  He led me up the steps that curled so perfectly into the ethers. I thought of Abraham Lincoln, of Kennedy—of all of them climbing these same steps. I shivered, knowing I was entering a sacred home.

  He led me down the wide hallway, and I gazed at the many paintings and at the textured blue wallpaper. I felt my heart beating so fast in my chest. I felt like I was entering a dream world—probably because it was a world I had dreamed of so much.

  Finally, we reached it: the Oval Office. I took a deep breath and turned toward Dimitri. His dark hair and eyes were so stark in the strange hallway, this Secret Service agent who’d actually joked with me throughout. Back then, Xavier Callaway had been a congressman with only a bodyguard named Dimitri. When Xavier had become the president, he’d brought his man with him.

  “It’s great that you work here now,” I said to him, still uncertain about entering this terrifying place.

  Dimitri nodded. “The president is a good man. And I know I’ll see you around,” he whispered, bringing his hand toward the door and spinning the knob. I was going in; my stomach dropped.

  I swallowed slowly and brought my heels forward. I held my chin high, knowing that I could rule a room—perhaps even that room. I knew that in all my past interviews, in all my past triumphs, I’d won over everyone I’d encountered. That was all I needed: full control of the room.

  But how was I supposed to do that when I was meant to have full control over the goddamned President of the United States?

  Chapter Two

  Behind me, I heard Dimitri close the door. I knew he would remain on post outside the door. I wondered if he could hear anything—if he knew any of the intimate secrets of the presidency. Surely, being around President Callaway so often suited you with a world of gossip—gossip, I knew, that Dimitri would never release.

  Never in a million years.

  The light swept in from those familiar, three grand windows behind the desk. I oriented myself toward the sunshine, smiling with as much confidence as I could manage. “Hello, Mr. President,” I called to him.

  Xavier Callaway stood up from his desk, a pen still in his hand. He was alone, which was unexpected. So often, I’d seen him in the midst of swarms of government employees, of voters. But never by himself. Alone, he looked different, more striking somehow. I breathed an easy sigh, unsure of what to say next. I tried to rev my brain, to propel myself into the interview. I needed to be succinct and professional. I needed to allow him to understand that I knew what I was doing.

  I tapped forward and reached my hand across the desk, shaking hands firmly—like a man. Something about his grip made me jump in my skin, but I didn’t allow him to see it. “Thank you for seeing me today,” I stated, nodding.

  The president brought his hands out. “Well, I certainly want to hear your ideas about the re-election,” he said. His voice was so powerful, nearly echoing from the grand room.

  I tried to keep myself from peering around me, eyeing everything in the place—the desk before me, the history draped in every corner. I sat in the chair, bringing my portfolio up to my knees. The president sat across from me and folded his hands beneath his chin, gazing at me with dark, penetrating eyes. I felt something stirring in me.

  “Well. What are your ideas for the re-election campaign?” the president finally asked, cutting through the tension between us. Straight to the point.

  I cleared my throat, realizing I had forgotten to speak. “I’ve prepared an essential list of the various places throughout Indiana, Ohio, and Illinois we must visit for the upcoming re-election. Thinking we’ll prepare speeches about your basis in education during the upcoming four years, and we’ll need to quell everyone’s belief that you’re raising taxes.”

  “But I plan to raise taxes,” the president said, a smile creeping over his face.

  I tapped my pencil against my chin, catching myself matching his smile. “It’s not good for a re-election speech,” I said.

  The president brought his fingers together in front of his face. “You’re the expert,” he laughed.

  I continued on, listing out all my preparations for the following few months. “I know that your last campaign manager had you hit these states heavy, but they’ve been some of your greatest supporters throughout your presidency. I say we hit the big cities, but we don’t mess around with any of the smaller ones.”

  “Here in California, Washington, and Oregon?” he asked me, tracing the states on the map I showed him with a long, firm finger. I quivered, leaning towards him.

  “Yes, those states. What do you think?”

  He blinked up at me. “Where is it you’re from, Miss—“

  “Amanda. Amanda Martin,” I finally said, sort of annoyed with him for not knowing my name, even as we co
nducted the interview together.

  “Amanda. Miss Martin. My apologies. Where is it you’re from?”

  “I’m from Pennsylvania,” I answered him, bringing my fingers through my brunette hair. I felt a bit self-conscious in those moments. I knew I needed to rule the room. But this man—the President of the United States—wasn’t giving me much room to breathe. “Philadelphia.”

  He tipped his head to the right. “I’m from L.A., as you probably know. Would it be possible that we arrange a few speeches in the greater L.A. area? I need to make sure I polish my relations with them. Make sure they don’t feel abandoned.”

  “Of course,” I said, bringing my pencil back to the paper and writing this down. “We’ll have you make appearances throughout the Midwest, and then—if you’re up for it—I was thinking you could make a sort of YouTube special with a famous comedian. Something to highlight the important issues with your education campaign. What are your thoughts?”

  Xavier raised his eyebrow. “Sort of for the younger crowd, huh?”

  His masculinity struck me. I swallowed, feeling this unarticulated sense of emotion, of vibrancy course through me. “I suppose so.”

  “I suppose at 44 I need to begin catching up with the younger crowd. I was always the youngest, you know. Youngest governor of California. Youngest man in Congress. And now—the youngest president. But I suppose that doesn’t really illustrate itself to the rest of the American people.”

  “It’s tough keeping up,” I admitted, trying to joke with him. “I’m already 29.”

  “And already interviewing for the position to be my personal re-election organizer? Hmm. Please. Tell me why you—and you alone—fit the role.”

  I felt nervous once more, nearly stuttering into the words. “Well. I was very much involved with your first election. I worked closely with your manager—Rick Selman—to create the perfect campaign for you. He will tell you that I contributed many ideas—ideas that ultimately created a fruitful campaign. In many ways, you wouldn’t be sitting in that chair without me.” I raised my left eyebrow toward him, creating a sense of sass that I knew was probably one or two steps over the line.