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 ta
ble, 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.”
But the beautiful brunette wouldn’t meet my eyes, merely staring out the window.
“You know that mid-term elections are coming up soon?” she asked in a wooden voice. “And your party’s in big trouble?”
I snorted.
“Yeah, but what does that have to do with this NDA? It’s not like I’m up for re-election.”
Her head snapped back my way.
“You’re not,” she said in a tight voice. “But they’ll use anything against you to bring you down. You know how many enemies there are? They’re everywhere, from Oklahoma to Idaho, not to mention within your very own party.”
And that took me aback. Because I’d forgotten just how smart Susie was. Or more accurately, I’d been mooning on and on about her jiggly curves and sweet personality, forgetting that there was an intelligent girl with a college degree beneath the stripper exterior. She was a go-getter and fierce in her own way, which only made me love her more.
Wait a minute. Love? What the hell was that? Frankly, I haven’t been in love since my dog Buddy died when I was thirteen. So what in the world was I thinking?
But having Susie in the car with me caused emotions to roll over my frame because suddenly, I realized it was true. I’ve been thinking about the BBW brunette non-stop, from her laugh to her witticisms, to the way she moaned as I stroked those heavenly curves. I was in love with the woman from tip to toe. So I had to try and make the best of this unfortunate situation.
“Sweetheart,” I rumbled again. “I swear, Josh Cotton was doing this on his own. Or someone else authorized him to make this payment. I don’t know, but I’ll find out.”
And suddenly, Susie’s head swung towards me, those brown eyes blazing with fury.
“So you know the payment’s already been made,” she hissed. “Because when I woke up this morning, there was a hundred thousand dollars in my bank account!” she cried, tears filling her eyes. “Is that all I am to you? Some hooch that you throw money at?” she asked angrily, swiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I get it. I’m a dancer at the Flamingo, but still, Mr. President,” she said, her voice shaking with rage and hurt. “I would have thought you were better than that.”
And even with the car speeding along the highway, the curvy female put her hand on the door, ready to make her exit. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stand the thought of Susie being hurt, emotionally as well as physically. So moving like lightning, I blocked the door.
“No,” was my low growl. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Try and stop me!” she shrieked, clawing at my face like a kitten gone mad. “You fucking wretch!”
And we engaged in a wrestling match of sorts except that my lover’s about a hundred pounds lighter than me, not to mention a foot shorter. The scrabbling was over in about five seconds flat, with the curvy girl pinned beneath me on the limo seat.
“Stop it,” I barked. “Stop it right now.”
She struggled some more, only to bring those heaving curves in closer contact with my body.
“Try to stop me,” she hissed again, eyes blazing. “Get ready for a fight, big guy.”
Of course, this whole thing was ludicrous. The girl was pinned beneath my massive form, those huge Double Ds pressed up against my chest, her legs tangled with my long ones. And I did it then. I swooped down and pressed my lips to hers, infusing the kiss with everything I felt for her. Because Susie is my dream come true. Sure, it’s ludicrous. She’s a librarian cum feature dancer and I’m the President of the United States. Bu that’s the thing. This is the United States, where anyone can meet anyone else, and for whatever reason, there was a real spark between us.
Susie fought it at first. She struggled and mewled, trying to push my heavy weight off of her. But I was relentless.
“You love me,” I muttered against her lips. “I know it. You do.”
And finally, the girl gave up, melting against me with warmth and passion.
“I hate you!” she managed to gasp, half-crying and half-aroused while
still trying to batter my shoulders. “I hate your guts!”
It only spurred me on.
“No, you love me sweet thing,” was my fevered reply. “We’re made for each other, however unlikely. Because sweetheart, you’re the good to my bad, the heaven to my hell. You’re what keeps me going when I have nothing to look forward to. Shit, you made tonight’s dinner that much better by showing up.”
And for a moment, Susie stills, just looking at me.
“So you didn’t order your lawyer to prepare that NDA?” she asks in a teary voice. “That was his idea and not yours?”
“His,” I nod curtly. “And fuck but I’m gonna tear him a new one. Or whoever organized this shitshow because honey, you know the White House is a machine. It’s called the Deep State and fuck, but I have no idea myself how it works sometimes. Someone ordered something from somewhere and that piece of crap NDA is the result. But someone’s gonna pay, I can guarantee you that.”
The brunette relaxed a little bit, her curvy form going still beneath me.
“So you never wanted to shut me up,” she said quietly, a hitch to her voice. “It’s all a misunderstanding.”
Fuck, I didn’t know what to say. It was more than a misunderstanding. It was a giant clusterfuck which wires were crossed in the worst ways possible. No wonder nothing ever gets done around this shithole! I didn’t order the contract drawn up and yet somehow, my personal lawyer had come up with this grand idea from who knows where. Probably the Office of Professional Ethics, those asshats. They always think they know what they’re doing, when in fact they’re the new SS come to life.
His Baby: A Babycrazy Romance Page 15
