Small Town Secrets: A Forbidden Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  The sad truth was nothing. I’m just a librarian at a small alternative school in New York, in charge of getting things shelved exactly right. I didn’t even have a fancy title like “VP of Acquisitions” or “Assistant VP of Circulation.” I was just plain old staff.

  Even more to the point, I moonlighted as a feature dancer at the Pink Flamingo, which again, isn’t exactly the cream of the crop when it comes to gentlemen’s clubs. So it was kind of like pairing Zeus with a lowly serf from Ancient Greece. We couldn’t even be compared. Thomas Burke was the king of the heavens, whereas I was just a nobody, nameless and faceless making my way among the crowd.

  And yet, our encounter had been amazing. We’d made love yes, but there was also talk that was at once humorous and witty.

  “So what’s up with your stage name?” he’d asked, relaxing in the aftermath of our physical session. A smile quirked those lips as he took another sip of whiskey. “Don’t most girls have stage names like Candy and Tigresse?”

  I blushed a little.

  “Yeah, Pearl was kind of a last-minute thing,” I admitted. “I didn’t know what to say when they asked me my stage name, so I blurted out pearl because I was wearing a pearl bracelet. It’s lame, I know,” came my blush.

  But the Commander-in-Chief didn’t think it was dumb. He merely stroked my boobie again, watching with satisfaction as the nipple pebbled.

  “Pearl’s a beautiful name,” he growled in my ear as I sat in his lap. “But what’s with your last name? Evanescence? That’s damn hard to spell and wouldn’t something short and sweet be the way to go?”

  This one was harder to explain.

  “It would, but I wanted something to set me apart. So many girls have names like Nikki Sexxx or Jane May to keep things easy. I wanted something different, that no one would copy. Not that anyone would copy me,” came my hurried words. “But I thought that “Evanescence” was nice.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, just thinking.

  “Is there a reason for Evanescence in particular?” he asked. “I mean, are you expecting something to disappear?”

  I swallowed before shooting him a weak smile.

  “I guess I just didn’t want to fade,” was my quiet admission. “Evanescence means something that’s soon going to vanish, fade, or disappear, and I didn’t want that to be me. So I chose this as my last name.”

  He grinned at me.

  “I love human nature because sweetheart, you actually want the opposite meaning,” he drawled. “Something like Pearl Forever or Pearl Concrete.”

  “Oh you,” I squealed, swatting him lightly with a small palm. “But yes, I guess so. I want to have some staying power, you know? I mean, I never meant to be a dancer. I never meant to take off my clothes in front of men. It just so happened that I was desperate for money to pay my rent, and one thing led to another. And pretty soon, I was the feature act on Tuesday nights, and now … well, you know how it turned out.”

  The President was silent for a moment, holding my curvy form close as we relaxed on the couch.

  “Yeah, I get it,” he growled finally. “Believe it or not, it was never my dream to be president either. It was something that I decided to do on a whim. You know my real job is my real estate empire, and I kind of decided to run just to throw cake in the establishment’s face.”

  I nodded.

  “Yes, I heard,” were my quiet words. “Do you regret it? I mean, who would regret being President?” was my quick qualifier. But I couldn’t resist, because this was a question that had piqued the nation’s curiosity. “But do you, sir?” I asked with searching eyes. “Do you regret becoming President?”

  And he was quiet for a moment because it’s a tough question to answer. On the one hand, he held all the power in the world. Every door was open to him, from secret meetings in the Seychelles to above-board conferences with the Pope. But the question I’d asked was different. Did he enjoy it? Was this what he anticipated? And even more important, did he wish things had turned out differently?

  Thomas sighed, eyes off in the distance.

  “I’m not sure, pretty girl,” was his slow answer. “You know, I never expected to win,” he said with a wry grin. “I figured it was publicity for my real estate empire, a way to get my name into the national consciousness without too much advertising. But things just caught steam. I hit a vein with the American electorate, and a lot of people liked what I was saying. So one thing led to another, and believe you me, sweetheart, I was just as surprised as anyone when they declared the winner on election night.”

  I scrunched my brow at him.

  “Yeah, it was a little strange, wasn’t it?” I asked quietly. “Every poll had you down by at least twenty points, but I remember looking up the results at around eleven fifty-five and you were ahead. So you weren’t expecting that, either?”

  His expression was faraway, but then he turned to look at me, blue eyes filled with something unreadable.

  “Nope, I believed the polls too. My win was a shock because who knew that the papers and the supposed “experts” could be so far off? If you ask me, there are a lot of folks in that business who deserve to lose their jobs. But hey, what happened is what happened, and I, more than anyone else, believe in the United States. I want to make this nation great once more, and to raise us up from the mire that’s trapped us underneath layers of discord.”

  He lost me a little there, but I smiled again.

  “I know you can do it,” were my quiet words. “You’re capable and smart, sir. But … I mean, you pretty much gave up your old life to take up the reins in the White House, and it sounds like it hasn’t been easy?” were my slow words. “So I guess I’ll ask again. Do you regret it, sir? Do you wish you’d stayed in New York?”

  Thomas let out another sigh, expression thoughtful before turning to me with a smile.

  “Who knew I’d have this conversation with a dancer?” he asked in a light-hearted voice. “You aren’t a reporter planning to do an exposé, are you?” he teased. “But no, seriously. The answer is that I kind of do regret winning the race, believe it or not. I miss the city. I don’t like the Beltway. I miss running my business because it’s the only thing I’ve known since I was fifteen or so and went to work for my dad. So yeah, I guess if there were any way to rewind time, I’d re-think things and maybe stay off the ticket. But then again, there’s no way to do that, so we are where we are,” he growled again, nuzzling my neck. “Is that a terrible thing to say?”

  I was still, merely absorbing his words. Because I’d just heard the President admit that he didn’t like his job, and if he could do things differently, he would. He’d stay with his business instead of ascending to the highest levels of politics. And the truth was, I didn’t blame him. Sometimes things just happen without you really expecting it, and then they snowball and snowball until you’re in almost in a different universe. Look at me with the Pink Flamingo after all. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, and now I was dancing every Tuesday and Thursday night. So I could understand.

  I shot a shy smile at him then.

  “No, it’s okay,” were my soft words. “I totally understand. I wasn’t supposed to be a stripper either, but things just kind of got out of hand,” I said with a wry shrug. “One thing led to another, and pretty soon, like you said, here we are. But also like you said, what’s happened has happened, and there’s no way to turn back the clock.”

  The President and I were silent for a little while after that, merely enjoying our closeness as well as the intimate conversation. Who would have guessed these things about the most powerful man on Earth? But somehow, I wasn’t surprised and truly treasured that he’d admitted to me what was in his innermost heart.

  But all things have to end, and soon the clock struck nine. President Burke nibbled at my ear teasingly.

  “It’s time for you to go,” came his hot breath. “But when can I see you again?”

  I giggled a little, enjoying our exchange.

 
“The next time you’re in town,” I promised. “Just give me a call. We’ll make it work somehow.”

  And with a smile, I was gone, the elevator whooshing me back downstairs to the waiting car. I stared out the window as the city rolled by, but my eyes saw nothing because only Thomas ruled my mind. He was more than a client. He was more than a man in need of release. He was truly alpha, with a keen, discerning mind, and feelings just like any other person. There were things he regretted, and things that he would do again. And yet, like all human beings, you sometimes just have to do the best with what you have at hand.

  So my heart and mind full, I went to bed that night and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Thomas Burke was my proverbial knight in shining armor, but where would we go from here? Was a future possible for the lowly serving girl and her Prince Charming? All I knew was that I felt something for the charismatic man … and only hoped that he felt something for me in return.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Thomas

  Two months later …

  Shit has been pretty terrible with things blowing up left and right. Gun violence at high schools. ISIS going fucking crazy. The Russians tampering with American social media, and god forbid, American politics. Sometimes, the truth will set you free, but what was the truth here? I had no idea what to believe, even with the best intel and advisers on hand.

  “Are you ready, Sir?” asked my assistant Daniel, popping his head into the Oval Office. “Car’s waiting outside.”

  The truth was that I was about ready to quit this job. Can I do that? Is it possible to step down without giving a reason? I couldn’t exactly say to the American people, “This job sucks shit and is pretty frickin’ thankless to boot.” Because everyone thinks that being President is my life’s dream, but as I admitted to Susie, that wasn’t the truth.

  Which brings me to a larger issue. That night with Pearl should have ended immediately, and it did in the physical sense. I haven’t seen or heard from her in the last two months, and yet I think of the woman day in and day out. How she pulled confidences from me, things that I would never say to my friends or family, much less in public. How there was a weird parallel between our situations, her ending up at the Pink Flamingo and me in the White House. It’s sounds ludicrous, but it’s true. Shit just snowballed, and we both ended up in unexpected places, regretting our decision somewhat.

  But life is what it is. I haven’t had time to contact her again, what with my busy schedule. And now it was time for the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, an annual ritual where the President cracks jokes and lets down his guard in front of a bunch of reporters. Yeah, right. Those folks are snakes and I didn’t exactly want to play along. But then again, sometimes there’s no way to say no, even for me, Mr. Commander-in-Chief.

  So in a bad mood, I got into the limo that whisked me down the Beltway to the Marriott. Good god. Another rubber chicken dinner with people in finery, topped off with stilted conversation and old ladies in glittery gowns. Exactly where I didn’t want to be. What I really wanted was to spend time with Susie once more, the curvy girl naked and panting in my lap before kissing her until she ran out of breath.

  But real life is stark, and I was on my way to make a speech about who knows what before people that I didn’t really like. FML. Rifling slowly through the notecards, I looked at the speech Daniel had written. Something about collaboration, cohesiveness, and co-something or other. All the buzzwords, right here and ready for the teleprompter. Great.

  Leaning back, I looked out the window. What was Susie doing right now? It was Thursday, so she’d probably be going on stage soon. Ha. I didn’t mind, to be honest. I love a woman who owns her curves, and wasn’t going to hold dancing against a female so beautiful and enticing. What I’d give to be at the Flaming right now, waiting for the female to appear. Shit. It only made my mood worse, realizing that I was pretty much attending the opposite of the Tasty Thursday at the Flamingo. Fuck my life again.

  And finally, we rolled up to the venue.

  “Sir,” said the Secret Service guy in the seat beside me. Honestly, I’m still not used to them, and will never be used to the security detail, what with their unsmiling faces and unwavering focus on threat. Lighten up, dudes. But I guess that’s their job.

  And with a smile and a wave, I got out of the car, all business. Bulbs popped, the flash blinding me for a moment. But like a veteran, I moved on forwards, striding confidently into the building. An old lady rushed over, wearing a ball gown studded with millions of shiny beads. Oh, it was Helen Monroe, who always asks the first question during press conferences.

  “Hello Helen!” was my jovial greeting. The old woman leered in a malicious manner.

  “Nice to see you, Mr. President,” she cackled. “Hope you brought your sense of humor.”

  Oh god. It was gonna be bad tonight because obviously, no one was in the mood for civility. Fuck my life times three. Plus, there was the usual crowd of hangers-on and a scrum to push my way through.

  “Mr. President!” the dude representing Al Jazeera called. “What’s your rationale behind moving the embassy?”

  He was shut down by Daniel.

  “We won’t be discussing that,” interrupted my aide. “The President is here to enjoy himself tonight, and we hope you will too,” he said with a pointed look.

  Finally, I was escorted to the first table, right in front of the stage. A practiced smile wreathed my lips, and I hoped to god that there was something edible. But unfortunately, Daniel leaned forwards once more.

  “Sir,” he murmured. “Remember, there are cameras trained on us at all times, so no eating. We’ll get you a real meal once we’re back at the White House.”

  I nodded in understanding, smile still firmly in place. Fuck my life times four. I was set to starve on top of all this.

  And finally, the dinner started. There were the speeches. The introductions. Even my talk went off without a hitch, with people laughing during all the pre-assigned pauses. So when it was time to leave, I was plenty relieved. Nothing had gone wrong, and I couldn’t wait to be alone in my office once more.

  But suddenly, there was a commotion by the door.

  “Thomas, Thomas!” came a woman’s cry. I started for a moment. No, couldn’t be. She was up in NYC, leading a completely different life. Our paths were never supposed to intersect. So what was she doing here?

  But I had to know because images of the curvy brunette have been ruling my mind ever since our hot encounter two months ago. So I shook off the Secret Service, turning to where the woman stood.

  And it was her. Susie Hemphill aka Pearl Evanesence. Out of place, yes, because she wore a plain sweater and skirt, nothing like the glitzy ballgowns that graced the other attendees. Yet she was a thousand times more beautiful with those big brown eyes and curvy figure.

  “Hey,” I said in a low voice. “Is everything okay?”

  There was a crowd forming around us, and Daniel went to step between us.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry but you can talk to me,” he said in a firm voice. “The President is very busy. He has another function to attend right after this, and he needs to ….”

  But Susie held a piece of paper in her hand towards me, eyes pained.

  “Why did you ask me to sign this?” she said in a broken voice. “I never meant you any harm.”

  What? I took the paper from her and scanned it quickly. This was no place to get into the fine print, but the title itself said enough. “NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT.” Hmm, what in the world? Who had prepared this thing?

  I flipped to the last page, and sure enough, there was the signature of my personal attorney, Josh Cotton. Fuck that guy. What was he doing, sending something like this over to Susie without my knowledge?

  Quickly, I grabbed the woman’s arm and escorted her into my limo.

  “Sir,” panted Daniel, eyes practically bugging out. “This is not the time! Ma’am, please step out of the car.”

  But I merely slammed the door
in my staffer’s face. This was the time because what the hell was going on? And once in the privacy of the limo, I turned towards Susie.

  “Hey sweetheart,” was my raspy greeting. “I’ve missed you.”

  She didn’t move, merely looking at the ground. But then those brown eyes snapped my way.

  “What is this piece of paper?” she asked, brandishing it at me once more. “What’s behind this?”

  I took it from her, again shaking my head.

  “I have no idea, sweetheart. Can you give me a minute to look at it? Just hold on a sec.”

  And using my lawyerly training, I scanned the document more thoroughly this time. Evidently, it was a non-disclosure agreement which offered Susie a hundred thousand dollars in order to keep mum about her encounter with me.

  I looked up at her, fingers still paging through the document.

  “I swear, sweetheart. I’ve never seen this NDA before.”

  But Susie’s eyes were shuttered.

  “Do you recognize the name at the bottom though?”

  My nod was slow.

  “Sure. Josh Cotton is my personal attorney, but I never authorized him to prepare this document. I swear on my mother’s grave, sweetheart. I’ve been thinking about that night non-stop for the last two months, and I’d never offer you hush money to keep our meeting under wraps.”