President Stepbrother...With Benefits: A Bad Boy Alpha Male Stepbrother Romance

by Victoria Cabot

  18

  Ashley

  Its been a day and a half and I'm still not going to take Austin's calls even though The White House has tried nonstop until I turned off my cell phone and unplugged my land line. I never knew why I had the land line in the first place. It came with the cable TV subscription, but maybe it's time to seriously cut the cord. Then I wouldn't have to watch what's left of my life being destroyed on television.

  "Cheer up, kiddo," Carl says as he brings me a cup of tea. I'm in my pajamas sitting on the sofa, watching the preliminary news analysis prior to the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia. "We still have each other. Have you talked to your mom?"

  I shake my head. "She emails me before she tries calling because I've cut myself off from the world forever," I tell Carl.

  For the last day and half, I've spent the days either crying on Carl's shoulder at losing Austin or angrily sitting in front of the television wondering how he could betray me in such a fashion.

  "I mean, come on, Carl," I begin for the millionth time. "How could Austin just throw me under the bus like that? Maybe I can understand that he couldn't pardon Trask, but then to explain it all away by leaking that I was trying to seduce him and that he's always suspected that the entire Institute itself was related to organized crime and all..." I trail off and just look at Carl, tears threatening to come out of me all over again.

  For the last day and half, each news organization has tried to grasp for sources, but all they can do is report off of what one news organization is saying. And that one source seems to be repeating the same thing over and over. Namely: Austin and I had an improper relationship where I traded sexual favors for a pardon because I worked at an organization that was a front for the worst people in the world. Austin, as President, knows all this and because I've stopped giving him sexual favors, is thinking of backing out.

  I just don't get how I misjudged Austin Bain so badly. I mean to want to keep the highest office in the land is one thing. To drag someone's name through the mud - someone you proposed to - to keep it just to protect yourself and win a convention is quite another.

  "Come on, kiddo," Carl says gently sitting next to me. "Don't worry about it. I mean, we're both out of jobs anyways, so the worst is really over, no? Once the media move on to the next thing, people will have forgotten."

  Carl has a certain morbid truth to what he's saying. The first thing the Institute had to do was inform Carl that he had to let me go. That's actually how I found out in the first place. He told me to turn on the news. The next thing they did before boarding up their windows was to give Carl his severance package and escort him out of the building as well.

  "Sure, people will forget," I say bitterly. "But my career is over. Everything I spent so long working for is gone. All those late nights are worthless."

  I feel sorry for myself as Carl shrugs and watches the television, which currently sits on mute. Then I realize that Carl is right there in the same boat with me. I reach over and hug him. "I'm sorry," I say. "I know you lost your job too and it sucks to be you too right now, Carl. I've just been talking about myself."

  He smiles that paternal smile at me and pats my hand. "You lost the love of your life, Ashley," he says. "I'll always be here for you until you get over that."

  I smile. If one good thing has come out of the hellish last couple of days, it's that Carl really has been a true friend to me. He's even lent me his cell phone to call home.

  At first, both Mom and Jonathan were aghast at the news of what was going on. They were also a little bit confused about the whole pardon business. It took me to sit and talk to Mom for hours, using up Carl's minutes on his phone to explain how the situation came about. As soon as she realized that we hadn't done anything wrong, she switched into Momma Bear mode. I didn't bother asking what was going on with her and my stepdad. Jonathan was nice enough, but I think he realized that he should let Mom handle this one on one with me. He kept saying however that it wasn't like Austin to purposely hurt people. That's all he kept telling Mom when she brought it up and that's what she kept telling me.

  She had a lot of faith in my stepdad, I guess because if Jonathan was convinced that there was some other explanation and that his son couldn't have purposely done this, then Austin had to be given the benefit of the doubt. Well, at least, according to her.

  "So if Austin is really that culpable, Ashley," Carl and Mom had both asked at separate points, "Then why did The White House operator try to call so many times?"

  I couldn't grasp my head around that one either. I mean, how deluded and how much of a narcissist did my stepbrother need to be to think he was going to keep kicking me and I was going to keep taking it. That I'd stand there by his side as his "unnamed source" kept leaking lies about me to the media?

  "Do you really think the man you fell in love with would be capable of all this, Ashley dear?" Mother had ended up asking me yesterday.

  "If he wasn't, then why did he only have an operator try to reach me? He knows I'm gone. He knows there's only a handful of places I could go. I mean, it's not like I'm at work or anything. Why didn't he knock on the door?"

  "Maybe he wanted to give you some privacy? Some time to gather your thoughts? Think about it Ashley, he's the one they're going after," she had said to that.

  I did think about it. Endlessly over and over I played it in my mind.

  The fact of the matter was that even if Austin wasn't as culpable as I thought, there were two damning things that I had to consign myself to.

  The first was that there was no defense of me from The White House at all. It's like they had gone dark. They didn't even refute any of the rumors that were flying around. They just cancelled the press briefings and hunkered down, waiting for the Convention. In the absence of any word from the Press Secretary, the media began to speculate and it became like a giant game of telephone, with every news outlet running analysis pieces on the two of us.

  And the second, more damaging fact was the following: Even if somehow Austin, as President of the United States, had come out and actually said anything, it wasn't going to be any use. The damage was done. They had taken the love that we had for each other and turned it into something completely different. Into something tawdry, dirty, and taboo. There was no way that Austin could recover from this, and if he was all of a sudden listening to his advisers, then he would do what any DC political operative would advise - which would be to ditch me to the wolves so that he could climb to a bit safer ground and not get as burned. I'd seen it before at the Institute. I just never thought I'd see it in my own personal life.

  "Are you going to shower today?" Carl asks me with a wry grin that instantly makes me think of Austin. It's true - very little doesn't not make me think of Austin. But I look at him and I hear his question and it brings me up short.

  What have I come to? Is this really rock bottom?

  And if it's not rock bottom, do I really want to be smelly and gross from not having showered two days straight? Did I really just fall that far from thinking about buying sexy lingerie to not getting out of my pajamas?

  It's time I turned this ship around.

  "Yes!" I exclaim with enough excitement to startle Carl. "I'm going to go shower and then we're going to watch President Asshole and then we're going to get drunk and commiserate!"

  Carl claps his hands together at my enthusiasm. "Sounds like a plan!" he yells. But I'm already running towards the bathroom.

  My one-bedroom apartment off of Dupont Circle may not be huge like what I was accustomed to in the White House Residence, but it gets the job done. Half an hour later, I've changed into a nice dress. Why not dress up for the final nails in your professional and personal coffin to be put in by your stepbrother?

  "Are you ready for this?" Carl asks, holding the remote.

  I nod. All day the Convention has been going on, as surrogates for each side make the case for and against HR-222. The President is scheduled to speak as the debate wraps up, and
then afterwards there's going to be a vote. Each state has sent in a set of special delegates who hopefully are listening to their constituents back home.

  In a way, I'm looking at this as closure. Austin is going to skin me alive and then I’ll have nowhere to go but up. I'll get back on my feet. The shower was good for me. I'm done being sorry for myself. I'll still cry, but I'll survive.

  It'll just be a really awkward Thanksgiving this year. If he even shows up.

  Carl nods to me and raises the volume on the television just as Austin, in all his charm is walking up to the podium.

  The silence from The White House has made this telecast one of the most anticipated viewings ever according to the commentator. More than 200 million Americans are apparently watching. An even larger number of people around the globe are tuned in. It's so big that the networks are making their yearly advertising revenue in just one day, gleefully selling 30 second spots at Super Bowl prices.

  I lean back as Austin takes the stage. He scans the crowd, and then begins. "My fellow Americans," he starts with. "Over the last couple days, the allegations thrown against me have been varied in both intensity and scope. For the last day and half, it seems that the only thing that's brought both the left and the right together is the shared endeavor to take me down."

  There's a slight murmur of laughter from the 30,000-person arena. Apparently there are roughly 25,000 delegates and their broken down by congressional district. But on top of that, regular people have been flocking to try and get one of the 5,000 tickets - just to see what the billionaire bad boy President is going to say.

  "Over the last 48 hours, people have called into question my judgment to be President. They've stated that I exchanged sexual favors for reduced jail times and pardons for criminals. That I may have collaborated with people who work for organizations that are run by the mob. That I engaged in an improper relationship that destroyed the ethical lines protecting the Presidency. That I'm fit to be impeached, even if I do manage to convince the country to vote for HR-222."

  Carl's nodding. He looks at me as he says, "I think that about it sums it up, no?"

  I ignore Carl as Austin continues, "Well, I'm standing here before you today, to tell you that it's all 100% true."

  There are stunned gasps from the audience. You can hear it come across the television. I've stopped breathing. I look at Carl who is looking at me.

  "Well, this ought to be interesting," he says wryly.

  19

  Austin

  The shit really started fucking piling up the the moment I got back to The White House and I discovered Ashley was gone and not picking up any calls to her.

  I assemble Leon and my senior staff. Asking for suggestions. Just five minutes and I want to punch a fucking wall.

  "We have to disavow all knowledge of ever seriously considering a pardon," a speech writer opines.

  "We have to lay the blame on the Institute," another adds, thinking they were helpful.

  "We have to make Ashley the bad guy here to save the Presidency," another staffer weighs in.

  Fuck me, they were all much older than me and doing this for longer than me. And they're telling me to throw the love of my fucking life under the fucking bus. This is how Washington fucking works, I guess.

  Senior pollsters, consultants, staffers and strategists all come to the same conclusion: Distance yourself from the Institute and Ashley, go dark on wanting to pardon Trask and announce we never had any serious intention of pardoning but wanted to explore just how deep the corruption in the Institute ran, and begin Justice Department investigations to quell the fucking media.

  "Even if we know everything that Nadia is leaking right now is horse shit?" I ask the group.

  "We only have two days’ sir," Leon is trying to give me counsel. "We can retract everything later and deal with the fallout. Right now we just need to stop the bleeding."

  "But are we seriously going to stop the bleeding by throwing someone else in front of the bullet? Am I supposed to go out and say that I knew all along I wasn't going to pardon but I wanted to understand the depth of my stepsister's criminal activities? Give me a fucking break!" I explode out.

  "Sir," Leon says calmly. "If someone doesn't take the fall to protect you, there won't be any Presidency left to save."

  The last statement hits home for everyone. This shit is real. We're playing with real live fucking ammunition here.

  I sigh and take a deep breath.

  "I need to think," I tell Leon.

  "Of course, Mr. President. What should we do about the pardon?" he asks me.

  My first inclination is to jump in and try to control the story now, but if Ashley has taught me anything is that there's a wisdom to sitting back and calmly taking stock of whatever the fuck is going on all around you.

  "Nothing," I say. "In fact, I want to go dark. The entire fucking White House. I want to go completely silent."

  "No briefings or rebuttals at all, sir?" a staffer asks incredulously.

  I shake my head. "No. Fucking quiet, like a fucking submarine. That way, when we do say something, people will pay that much more attention to it."

  Leon's nodding at my suggestion - that's the first good news in all this. We've finally found an approach that we can fucking agree on.

  "Alright. Next, draft me a speech where we try to protect this administration with your suggestions just now, but for me and Leon only," I say with the bitter taste of betrayal in my mouth. "I swear if it gets fucking leaked, everyone in this office is out of a fucking job."

  The staffers nod.

  "That'll be all," I say and hope to holy hell that it will be.

  Amid murmurs of 'Thank you, Mr. President', Leon hangs back.

  "Sir," he says when everyone's exited. "This isn't the approach we like, I know. But I can't think of any other."

  The problem is as I stare out the windows of the Oval Office is, that I can't think of any other either.

  That was two days ago. The White House went dark and we prepared for the Convention, going all in and putting all our chips on the table in one final gamble.

  I'm sitting in the Convention Center in Philadelphia now looking through the speech that they're going to put on the TelePrompTer and sighing. This speech is going to tear Ashley apart. There’s going to be nothing left of her, and with her sacrifice, maybe I’ll protect my office and stay as President. The last two days have been the fucking worst in my life. Secret Service tells me that Ashley is holed up in her apartment. At least Carl is with her.

  Shit, she probably hates me right now. I could have gone over in person, but what would I do? What could I tell her? No, fuck that. My actions are going to have to speak louder than any fucking words.

  I'm looking out at the Convention floor. This arena is packed. Everyone wants to come see the boy fucking wonder fall to earth. Icarus flying too close to the fucking sun. They smell blood.

  I don't notice that the door opened until I hear it close. I turn around. It's Dad.

  He takes one look at my face, and he comes over and gives me a fucking hug. I don't even care that he's hugging me. I'm fucking hugging him back. Is it real manly? I don't fucking care. And fuck anyone that says shit about it to me.

  Finally, we break our embrace and Dad looks at me.

  "You all set, son?" he asks, with genuine concern in his eyes.

  "I don't fucking know, Dad," I say. "This speech is a bunch of fucking bullshit. Everyone's saying that to minimize damage this is what I need to say."

  He takes a step back and looks at me appraisingly. "Save the day or save the girl, huh?" he says with a wry smile. I'm no superhero, but I get the fucking connection.

  "Yeah," I say with a wry laugh. "Wish I could do both."

  "When you told me, in my library, that you loved Ashley, did you tell me that you loved being President more than her?" Dad asks. "I think I missed that part."

  I look up at him. What the fuck is he talking about?

  "Beca
use when you go out there, in front of those thousands of people, you're going to only get a chance to give one speech. And that speech is going to have to tell them what you care about the most. And whatever it is, that's what you'll probably get a fighting chance to save. You need to be prepared to sacrifice everything else, son," he tells me, looking right at me.

  "And if you don't do that," Dad continues, "Then you'll lose your soul. And anyone who sacrifices their soul to win the world is still the biggest loser."

  Fuck.

  "I know you'll do what you think is best, son. I've always been proud of you," he says. I nod and thank him before he leaves before looking out the window of the prep room towards the interior of the arena.

  There's got to be at lest 25,000 people in there. If Ash were here, we'd have a bet about the size of the crowd and she'd lose and I'd get to put the bullet vibrator inside of her again and drive her insane. I smile at the thought.

  That's when Leon comes into the room. "They're ready whenever you are, sir," he says.

  I nod at him. It's showtime.

  I'm standing at the podium reading the lines. Then I stop. I’ve read as much as I’m going to. Now it’s fucking game time.

  "Well, I'm standing here before you today, to tell you that it's all 100% true," I say, no longer following the speech. I've can hear the gasps from all around me. It's like everyone drew in their breath at the same exact time.

  I can see Leon in the corner going crazy. He thinks the TelePrompTer has malfunctioned and he's talking to a technician who is most likely telling him that everything is working fine. So he's probably trying to comprehend why I just went off script.

  Because I'm done reading the fucking TelePrompTer. I'm done being fucking nice.

  "Did I tell you I was going to pardon some guy? Yes," I say, just going off the cuff now and speaking from my fucking heart. "But guess what? I made a judgment call. Because at the end of the day, that's what you pay me to do. Make judgment calls so you don't have to always make them."