Billionaire Baby Daddy (An Alpha Billionaire Secret Baby Romance Love Story)

by Claire Adams

  But all he said was this, “Let’s get started on this statement.” He sat at the desk before me, offering me a chair beside him. I gulped, feeling a bit naked before him.

  I started wishing I had thrown my tights back on.

  “Here are my initial thoughts,” I began, my mind whirring. “We are not going to apologize for the dip in votes or outwardly acknowledge it in any way. We don’t even know the cause for the sudden drop yet, but my guess is it might have something to do with your stance on education getting a bit more focus from the 24-hour news networks, so I think that should be our focus. Let’s confront the fact that your revolutionary ideas about education are worrisome in people’s minds—and let’s tell the American people that you have a plan to keep going, to keep charging forward to make change, that there cannot be improvement without a move towards progress. Let’s anticipate what they might be worried about, and maybe convince a few more voters along the way that you’re enacting good change.”

  The president’s eyes were stern, so serious. “Amanda.” He tapped the paper before me. “This is assuredly the best plan. Let me speak to Jason.” He gestured for Jason to come toward him. Jason leapt up from his chair by the door and rushed toward us both, looking a bit like a schoolboy—or an excited puppy. I felt embarrassed for him. “This is Amanda’s rough plan,” Xavier began, stating the words I had just spoken with sincere precision. “What are your thoughts?” The president asked him, his eyebrows furrowed.

  Jason nodded, again padding at his hair with his right hand. “It’s brilliant, Mr. President. If you think it’ll work, I do.”

  Xavier turned his head back toward me, nodding. “Shall we proceed with the plan?”

  I began writing, then, feeling nervous with the president’s breath hot on my neck. I felt so earnest, so unsure in his presence. I wanted to create a smooth transition for him from this presidency to the next. I swallowed as I wrote, listening to the president as he continued his conversation with Jason. I wondered why he was there—why he was still there. Generally, Xavier hadn’t spent much time with the election crew the last time around.

  I began thinking, abstractly, that the president was only spending all this time with the election crew in order to see me. I felt the thought pass through me, and then I flung it to the side. These thoughts were so useless—so baseless. Don’t go there, I thought. He probably just wants to get away from his wife, after all. Camille probably made his life a living hell. He yearned for excitement. Or maybe just a friend.

  Certainly, he didn’t yearn for a lover.

  At three in the morning, after the statement was outlined, flushed out, critiqued and tweaked, I said goodnight to the bleary-eyed president. I walked outside, where Dimitri was waiting with a car in the lot. I popped into the rear seat, and I forced my eyes to stay open until we arrived home. Dimitri spun his head around and smiled at me. “I heard you did well in there,” he gestured with his head.

  I nodded, yawning wildly. I stretched my arms over my head. “I can’t even think straight. They’ll release the statement in the morning. Will you send the car for me, or are you off tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be here,” Dimitri said, laughing. “Come on, now. I don’t have a life.”

  I shook my head, feeling the heat from the president’s soul. I felt like there was so much I wanted to know about him—so much I wanted from him. I shook the thoughts from my head. “Neither do I, of course.”

  I jumped from the black car and ran toward my apartment, where I fell onto my bedspread and fell instantly asleep.

  Chapter Five

  I woke early, just three hours after I’d arrived home. I leapt into the shower and scraped my nails against my scalp, trying to wake myself up. I knew that Dimitri would arrive in only an hour and that the news would get the press release at around 9. I needed to be at the office when it happened. It needed to go well. I began counting the numbers in my head, hoping the polls would rise once more. This had been my first 24 hours on the job—well, less, actually—and already I was nervous, riddled with anxiety. And, of course, I was more excited than I’d been my entire life.

  I strapped my black dress over my body and shoved my feet into my black heels. I dried my hair swiftly, taking extra care to make it look prim and precise. I knew all eyes would be on me in my new position as lead of the campaign. Of course, I knew one pair of eyes in particular were interesting to me. But I couldn’t think about it. Not yet.

  I grabbed my bag and I fled down the steps, finding my trusty friend, Dimitri, already parked out front. I jumped into the back seat, and Dimitri sent a small coffee through the small portal between our seats. “Here you are, my lady.”

  “Oh, God. Dimitri, I didn’t have time to make coffee. Thank you.” I breathed in the beautiful aroma and felt my brain waking. “How’s the mood at the White House?” I asked him.

  “It’s anxious, of course. Everyone’s waiting for the press release. It was sent to the news this morning.”

  “Yes. Yes. Good,” I said, already deep in thought. I sipped the coffee and leaned forward, feeling the blood beating fast in my arms and legs.

  I was smart to leave at 7 since traffic was so bad. Finally, we pulled up in front of that White House, the very home I’d been fearful of only 24 hours before. It seemed that so much had changed. “I’ll catch you later, Dimitri,” I called to him, running from the car. I wouldn’t give him time to frisk me; not today. I rushed through the door, feeling my portfolio banging against my leg as I carried it, still holding the coffee cup in my hand.

  I flung myself into the West Wing. The campaign workers were still aligned at their computers, as if they hadn’t left the previous evening. Their eyes were bleak, working ever toward a future of continuous phone calls, campaign work, and seemingly gray days. But I understood; I had married my work years and years ago. I didn’t even understand who I was anymore.

  “It’s coming!” Jason called from the side, yelling at the campaign workers and I. I knew he meant that the press release was happening, then: that this was the very core that our cause relied on. This needed to go well. I rushed toward the television and pushed people to the side, knowing that it was up to me to save this re-election campaign.

  The news anchor stood with a microphone positioned near her face, her eyes bright. The White House stood far behind her, almost looking like a model. It was strange to me that I stood in that very building as I stared at it on the screen.

  “The president’s re-election campaign has released a statement regarding the drop in polls,” the woman began, her hair rattling around her slim face with the wind. “It states: ‘The president’s recent decision to enact positive change throughout the country’s education system has been misconstrued by a variety of people—and that is not the American people’s fault. Rather, our decision to make such change should be brought to you every step of the way for your complete comprehension and to ensure absolute transparency. We are working day and night for a better, brighter American future, and we need your involvement.’”

  The news anchor went on from there, stating that this was good news for the re-election campaign and for the president’s future. “A president that looks to the needs of America’s future is a president we can trust,” the news anchor finished.

  The re-election campaign team cheered all around me. I felt my heart grow in my chest; I felt so assured. I turned toward Jason, who was shaking his head in amazement. “It seems we chose the exact right words,” he said, his eyes wide in his head.

  Suddenly, I felt something else: a hand on my shoulder. I spun around and felt my heart drop into my stomach. There, before me, was the President of the United States. He was wearing another one of his dark, brooding suits. And his eyes seemed to tear into me with such expressiveness. He smiled for only a moment. “Thank you for your hard work,” he said. He spun around, then, and disappeared without a trace, around the corner. I wondered what he’d be up to in the Oval Office, all by himself.


  I wondered what he thought about in there.

  But I shook it off, and began clapping my hands in front of my crew. “Attention, all!” I called to them. “Please. Know that this was the first of many obstacles on our way to re-election. Get back to your computers, and let’s get ready to promote some votes!”

  Cheers rallied from all around. The people swept back in their suits, their trim dresses. Faces spun back into comprehensive work mode. I nodded primly toward Jason, as if to say: “That’s how it’s done.” But I knew he already felt a bit too shitty, as it is: after all, he’d been passed over as leader of the re-election team.

  But something still lingered in the back of my brain. What was going on with Xavier? Why was his touch on my shoulder so intimate, so outside of our surroundings for some reason? It felt like when he looked at me, we were the only two people in the room.

  This, of course, was silly; we were two people in outrageous exposure. We had no business looking at each other in any manner beyond a quick, furtive glance and perhaps a nod. I was his employee, I reminded myself. Nothing more.

  I sat at my desk at the helm of the great sea of workers and began analyzing the numbers. I buried myself in the work for a few hours, allowing the sun to ramp up in the sky over the White House.

  My phone started ringing, scaring me senseless for a moment. I brought my hand to my heart as I answered it, expecting to render another, short comment to a news source.

  “Hello, Miss Martin.”

  The words made my whole spine shiver.

  “Mr. President,” I said. I tipped my tongue to the top of my mouth after I said it, waiting in such apprehension. I watched a frenzied girl in the sea of people before me as she tapped at her computer keyboard over and over, her eyes anxious and wide.

  “I’d like it if you come to my office. I have something to ask you.”

  I stood unsteadily from my desk, feeling the world spin around me. I felt so many things when we were together around other people; what would I feel when it was just us? Together in a room, alone? My feelings from the day before had escalated greatly, I knew. Could I handle it?

  “I’ll be right there, Mr. President,” I said. I placed the phone down timidly and stepped toward the door, leaving the chaos behind me. I walked down the hallway, toward the Oval Office. I remembered the sheer anxiety I felt before the initial meeting with him. I was so sure I wouldn’t make the position! What anxiety—and all for nothing.

  I found Dimitri outside the door. He nodded at me, friendly.

  “He called me,” I shrugged, making light of it. “When the boss calls, you know.”

  Dimitri nodded, laughing. “Right? A bit scary when the boss is President of the United States. I suppose we’re united on that front now.” He winked at me and let me into the room, opening the door behind him.

  I found myself back in the Oval Office with the commanding president before me. He stood from his desk as I stayed, staring blankly forward. “Mr. President,” I addressed him, politely.

  He smiled in a small way and gestured toward the couch in the center of the room. “Please. Make yourself comfortable,” he said. It was a polite gesture, but it felt more like a command.

  I sat, obediently. I blinked toward him. “Can I help you with anything?” I asked him coolly, not wanting to seem eager. Truly, however, his entire ego, his beautiful smile, the stunning way he walked toward me—it all made me crazy.

  “You did something really incredible back there,” he stated, bringing his hand through his dark hair. “You saved the campaign. On your first day.”

  I shrugged lightly, still allowing the compliment to glimmer through me. “It was worth saving.”

  He sat across from me, digging his hands into his pockets. “Have lunch with me,” he suddenly said, his eyes still far away.

  I swallowed. “Lunch with you?”

  He nodded, almost half-heartedly. “I want to thank you for turning the news around, for making today a triumph instead of a disaster. Please. Say you’ll come with me. Just a private lunch downstairs, near the kitchen. You’ll love the room.”

  I felt the word come from my lungs so swiftly, like I couldn’t stop it. “Yes.”

  And from there, I felt my future forming before me. Like I couldn’t stop it, suddenly. Like it wasn’t mine to create.

  Chapter Six

  The president led me downstairs. I felt my hands shaking a bit at my side as I walked behind him, almost in his shadow. I’d never been in anyone’s shadow before, but I knew this was my natural place: he was President of the United States. That mansion was his home.

  The various staff passed us and nodded to him, not even looking at me. I felt invisible.

  He led me through the kitchen, through the bubbling soup pots, the fiery oven. I was amazed at the many workers who were poised over the heat, spinning their spoons wildly over the water. One of the chefs—a man with a white, poufy hat—turned toward me in an instant and winked at me. He pulled back to his work so quickly that I almost didn’t believe I’d seen the entire thing.

  Xavier pushed the final doors open and led us into a tiny nook with these incredible windows. The windows were open, allowing the breeze to waft over the perfectly-set table. The white tablecloth seemed to glow in the sunlight.

  “Wow,” I couldn’t help but say.

  “I always have them make this table up for me when I’m feeling a little low,” he said, pulling the chair out and allowing me to sit. “I always come here to think. And eat, of course. But nearly no one knows this room exists. It’s my secret hideaway, I suppose.”

  I nodded, sitting across from him. I couldn’t believe he’d brought me there. I couldn’t think about what to say, and I sputtered, “Where do you see the campaign going over the course of the re-election season?”

  I almost wanted to bury my face in my hands. My words lacked so much tact. I’d jumped too far. He wanted to be friendly with me, and I’d stepped on his friendliness with formality. I bit my lip.

  But he took it in stride as he splayed the napkin over his lap. “Honestly, I’m open to much of what you stated in your interview. It seems that you have a good way of going about it—about the election. You have enough vision that you could be my competition.”

  The waiter came then, and poured us both a small glass of white wine. The president brought his glass toward me, and I tipped my glass to his, offering a slight clink into the world. I shivered once more, sipping the wine.

  The president called back to the waiter. “Hey! Grant! Might we start with some of that fine garlic bread Yvonne made last week?”

  “Very good, sir,” Grant responded, darting back into the kitchen.

  I looked at the president, taking him in. “Anyway. I don’t know what you mean, running for the presidency,” I continued, laughing a bit to myself. “I’m not even eligible at my age.”

  He tipped his head to the right, eyeing me serenely. “Ah. Yes. You’re 29, correct?”

  I nodded, feeling my face grow hot. It was strange that we were there together, so intimately in the secret room of his mansion.

  “And already you are chief of the re-election campaign for the President of the United States. You must feel pride in that, no?”

  My face continued to burn as I searched for what to say. “I am very honored to be chosen for this position, sir,” I said, trying to project an air of confidence fitting of my job title.

  A stagnation occurred between us, then, as we searched for things to say. The waiter burst back into the room and placed the garlic bread between us. “Enjoy,” he said, winking at me. What was it with all these winks?

  I turned back toward the president. “Anyway. I just work too hard, that’s what my mother says,” I stated, digging into the garlic bread. My stomach was eating me alive.

  But the president laughed at this, good-naturedly. “Yeah, my mother says that, too. You should be proud of all you’ve worked for. I admire it, you know. I was backed by some very important pe
ople when I was quite young, charging me into my future. But you; it seems you’ve worked from the ground up. And look at you, Amanda.”

  I felt so strange, like I was on display in that moment. I turned my head down, gazing at my slim-cut power suit. I bit my lip. “I don’t know. I had a great deal of support.”

  Xavier placed his wine back on the table. He positioned his fingers only a few inches from mine on the white cloth. “I just want you to know, Amanda, that you have a future here at the White House. Chief of Staff, maybe. Secretary of State. Even the presidency itself,” he smirked.

  My eyes began to water as a mixture of emotions welled up inside of me. On one hand, I felt pride in the fact that he could see great things in me. On the other hand, I felt as though he was playing a game. Chief of Staff? Secretary of State? He could see me in those roles based on a press release? And that smirk—what did it mean?

  I felt so restless, so unsure. His eyes seemed so focused on me; I suddenly wanted to burst from the windows and fly across the green lawn, back to freedom. But this place, I knew, was where I belonged.

  I cleared my throat. “I appreciate your assurance in me, Mr. President.” I said the words with sterility. “Of course, you’ll understand that I’m not so sure of myself just yet. It’s only my first day in the position. I think I should test myself a bit more before I go entertaining such grand ideas.”

  “But look at you. You’re here in my secret lair, eating garlic bread—only one day into your job,” he laughed, bringing his arms wide with a bit of charisma. “Surely you must be special.” I liked this side of him; the playful side.

  But I needed to change to topic, to find another course. “So. Your wife. How is she doing, these days?”

  He brought his hands down slowly, down to his side. The garlic bread sweated before us, emitting such amazing smells throughout the small breakfast nook. “Camille?” he asked.

  I nodded, knowing that I had suddenly touched on a sore spot. I felt terrible, knowing in my heart that I had asked for inappropriate reasons. I wanted to know what was behind the curtain; I wanted to discover the intricacies of their relationship. I tried to tell myself I needed to know for professional reasons, to manage his image.