Mr. President - A Hot Romance (Mr Series - Book #8)

by Ivy Jordan

  “At least I’ll get to see you,” she said lovingly.

  It had been nearly a year since I’d traveled to Foggy Bottom in Washington, D.C. where she lived alone in an upscale neighborhood. Her twins were away at college, and both determined to live on the west coast, somewhere warm and filled with women who wanted cosmetic surgery after they determined their specialty. Her ex-husband, Donald, still lived in the area, but they’d divorced right after she was diagnosed with cancer. I hated him, feeling as though he’d abandoned her in her time of need. She assured me it was her decision, not his, but I wasn’t sure if she was truthful, or just saving face.

  My week was filled with beauty salon appointments, shopping for dress suits that were professional enough for the White House, but flattering enough for Adam, and popping Tums like they were candy.

  “Hey, stranger,” Adam’s voice was so casual and soothing on the other end of my phone.

  “Hey, uh, Mr. President,” I stumbled as I struggled with the proper way to greet my old friend.

  His laughter roared through the phone. “It’s still just Adam.”

  “I’m sorry. This is all so new to me,” I admitted.

  “Me too,” he sighed.

  My bags were packed and on my bed—more than I would need, I was certain. I had no idea how long I’d be there, or if I’d even come back to my tiny apartment. “I’m glad you decided to come,” he said.

  “I wasn’t really given a choice,” I laughed.

  “What do you mean?” he asked with concern.

  “The woman on the phone wouldn’t give me any details, other than you requested my appearance,” I explained.

  “I’m sorry. I knew I should’ve called you myself,” he said.

  “Can I ask you, what this is about?” I asked.

  “I need you here. I thought from your plans to arrive in the morning, you’d accepted my proposition already,” he sighed.

  “I have yet to hear the proposition,” I replied.

  Voices in the background were pulling his attention away from our phone conversation and leaving me in the dark still about my upcoming trip. “Quinn, I’ll have to talk to you when you get here. You are still coming, right?” he asked.

  “Yes. Of course,” I assured him.

  “Great. I can’t wait.”

  The phone went silent as our conversation ended. He needed me? He couldn’t wait?

  I threw myself onto the bed next to my suitcases and let out a squeal. The president needed me; he couldn’t wait to see me!

  The driver arrived to collect me promptly at seven a.m. I’d been whisked away on business in fancy cars before, but this felt different, better. As we pulled into a private airport, my heart pounded hard against my chest. “Is this the right airport?” I asked cautiously.

  The driver nodded, offering a warm smile through the rear-view mirror. He stopped the car just a few yards from a large private jet. My door opened and the driver stood by, assisting me as I slid to my feet.

  It wasn’t Air Force One, but it was a private jet, chartered just for me. Adrenaline rolled through my veins as I watched two men scurry across the parking lot to grab my bags. Another man, tall, muscular, and wearing a blue Air Force uniform like the one I’d remembered on Adam, extended his hand to me. “Sergeant Glenn Peters, ma’am,” he said, gently taking my hand in his.

  “Good to meet you,” I said, still in awe of the situation.

  “I’ll be escorting you to Washington, D.C. Rest assured, you’re in good hands,” he said quickly, and then motioned for me to walk with him toward the plane.

  Inside, the seats were large, covered in leather, and each had a small table in front of them. This was first class on an entirely new level. I could get used to this.

  A blonde woman, tall and lean, offered me a glass of orange juice and a danish. My stomach was too upset to eat, but I accepted not to be rude. By the time the two-hour flight was over, I’d managed to eat about half of it and was feeling a little better.

  I felt like a special agent, being whisked from my private jet to another black vehicle, complete with a driver wearing an earpiece. I wondered if he had communication directly to the White House. Surely he did.

  He pulled up to the black iron gates that guarded the White House where a guard checked his credentials, scanned the backseat where I was sitting, and then opened the gate for us to enter. My skin crawled with goosebumps from the excitement, and the sheer sense of pride I felt.

  Two men, both wearing black suits, stood at the front steps as the car pulled forward. One leaned in, opening my car door, while the other spoke to someone through his ear piece. “Welcome,” the man who opened my door spoke kindly.

  “Right this way, Ms. Hamilton,” he said, taking my hand in his.

  “I have bags. I’ll be staying at my sister’s,” I explained.

  “Of course. The driver will drop them at the location you desire, and then retrieve you once your meeting has concluded,” he stated firmly.

  I rambled off Rowena’s address to the driver, who signaled with confidence that he’d heard and understood the directions. The two men in black escorted me inside the White House where my heels clanked against a perfect marble floor with a shine so bright it was almost blinding me with the late morning sun coming in through the tall windows. A woman greeted me, her voice familiar from the phone call I’d received. “Glad to see you made it safely. The president is waiting,” she said without so much as a smile.

  Her face was tight and unfriendly, her build slim with broad shoulders. She didn’t look as she sounded on the phone. I’d pictured someone manlier, heftier, but she was a petite little thing.

  I followed her through the White House, in awe of the dramatic décor, red carpets, and grand staircases.

  She stopped and turned to glance at me, as if to ensure that I was suitable to be presented. She opened the door leading into the Oval Office, a room I’d seen reproduced in many movies, but never in person until now.

  The door closed as I took a quick look around, soaking in the surrealism of what was happening. “Quinn,” Adam’s voice pulled my eyes toward him.

  He stood behind his desk, somehow looking as if he already belonged there. “Adam, uh, Mr. President,” I stuttered, quickly looking around to find the woman who’d escorted me in was already gone.

  “It’s just Adam,” he said with a warm smile.

  “This suits you,” I said, fondly gazing upon my dear friend.

  “You think so?” he chuckled, moving towards me with open arms.

  He smelled just as I remembered, of lavender and spice, as he pulled me into his arms. He drew back, holding onto my hands and giving me a once-over. “You look good,” he said.

  My cheeks started to burn and my palms sweat. “So do you,” I stammered, swallowing hard to rid my throat of the lump growing.

  “Have a seat,” he offered, motioning to the couches in the center of the room.

  I sat, expecting him to take a seat across from me, but instead he sat right beside me, close.

  He turned to face me, his knees grazing against mine. His blue eyes filled me with that familiar feeling of longing I’d missed so much, and his smile made me dizzy as it slid upward on his face. “So, I guess you want to know why I asked you here,” he said.

  “Yes,” I replied softly, still feeling buzzed from the hormones flooding my body.

  “I am offering you a position as a senior communications advisor and public liaison,” he said.

  My throat began to swell once again, causing me to swallow hard as his eyes relentlessly gripped mine. “Why me?” I asked, my voice shaken.

  “You’re the best,” he said with a smile.

  “That’s very kind of you to say, but I’m sure there are others more qualified,” I argued the same case from the night he was elected.

  “Quinn, you sell yourself short,” he said quickly.

  His hand moved to my knee, resting just at the seam of my skirt. “We have che
mistry. We work well together, don’t you agree?” he asked.

  My panties clung to my pussy from his touch, but I couldn’t move to adjust them. Why did I wear silk?

  “I do,” I agreed.

  “Then say yes,” he urged.

  “Yes,” I gasped before I had time to think.

  Chapter Three

  Adam was quick to turn me over to Michael Guidry, a top advisor on his team that would get me the clearance needed to begin my new position. It was a whirlwind as I was escorted through the White House, through many rooms I didn’t know existed. The doors and private hallways were everywhere, leaving me to believe I’d get lost the first time I was left on my own.

  I thought I’d get to see Adam again before I left, but instead I was ushered to my driver outside the White House doors. I had one week to get my affairs in order, to brief myself on instructions for the position, and be ready to prove myself worthy.

  “I can’t believe you took the position,” Rowena said as I unpacked my suitcases.

  “Yes, it just fell out of my face. It was like I didn’t have any control,” I explained, feeling the same anguish for my rushed and hasty decision.

  “I wish you’d at least given yourself time for all this to soak in,” she complained.

  I growled, knowing she was right but not willing to admit it.

  “You look good,” I said, quickly changing the subject.

  Rowena ran her fingers through her short hair and smiled. I knew it bothered her to lose her beautiful, long locks, but it was growing back quickly. “I feel good,” she said softly, sitting on the edge of her guest room bed.

  She had that motherly look in her eyes, the one she’d always get before giving me life advice. “Are you sure this isn’t about Adam?” she asked.

  “Maybe a little,” I giggled.

  Her eyes narrowed, and her lips tightened as she worked on wording her next comment carefully. “Quinn, he’s twelve years older than you, divorced, and he is the president of the United States,” she warned.

  “He’s still the same Adam,” I defended.

  “No, he’s not. You don’t want a scandal to ruin your career,” she added with her lecturing tone.

  I fought back giggles as I thought about my fear of becoming the next Monica Lewinsky. “I won’t let him stick any cigars in my hoo haa,” I snorted, laughing hysterically after I spewed out my comment.

  Rowena’s eyes widened as she stared at me with dismay. Her lips curled upward, and it was obvious she fought to keep her smile at bay. I continued to laugh, falling onto the bed until finally she couldn’t hold back and joined me.

  My week of getting my personal affairs in order flew by. I’d contacted a moving company and a neighbor to oversee the job, and paid out of my lease. It was official. I was living in Washington, D.C., working as a senior communications advisor to the president—to Adam.

  “We have a press conference today at one o’clock. You’ll need to review the speaker’s speech, prep him on anything he’s missed, and be ready for a meeting in the oval office in fifteen minutes,” Michael Guidry spouted out orders as quickly as I could jot them down in my notebook.

  Holy shit, there was no settling-in phase to this job: just go, good luck, and fuck off.

  Michael’s eyes lingered on my yellow blouse, steadying on the open button that revealed more flesh than he obviously approved. “Did you not have time to dress this morning?” he snapped with a sarcastic tongue.

  My hands quickly gripped my thin blouse, furiously buttoning the top two buttons. Ugh, I felt constricted and uncomfortable. As Michael turned to walk away, I unclasped the top button to relieve the painful suffocation it caused.

  I’d been following Michael around as he barked his orders since I walked through the front doors. I barely knew where I was, let alone how to get to the Oval Office.

  I walked in the direction Michael had gone in, but at the end of the hall, he was gone. The hallway opened to the left, and to the right, each with sets of doors that looked unfamiliar.

  “You lost?” I turned to see Adam standing behind me.

  I knew I was blushing. I could feel the heat flowing from my cheeks. “Yes. Actually, I am,” I admitted.

  “Walk with me,” he said firmly, but offered a friendly wink.

  I took note of the path, knowing there’d be no way I’d get lost again. “So, first day going well?” he asked as he walked, not taking his eyes from his path.

  “Yes. It’s a little overwhelming,” I admitted.

  “I kept a map in my pocket the first few days,” he laughed.

  “So, they follow you everywhere?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at the two men in suits.

  Adam didn’t bother to look; he just smiled, and nodded. “I assume I’ll get used to it, eventually,” he said softly.

  A group of suits gathered outside the office, all clearing a path when Adam and I walked towards them. “Good morning, Mr. President,” each one chanted like clones before Adam smiled, and opened the door to let them inside.

  The meeting was simple, just a quick itinerary for the upcoming week. There were several events in the immediate area and a few in other states that needed to be weighed by importance. Myself, Michael, and the other top advisors would create a schedule, and if there was to be travel, Adam immediately assigned me to be his personal liaison.

  I could feel the looks in my direction, all questioning the real reason I was even there. I couldn’t blame them. I questioned why I was really there.

  “Thank you, everyone. Let’s have a great day,” Adam said, clearing the room within seconds.

  “Quinn,” he said as I started to follow the crowd of suits out the door.

  I stopped, turned, and nodded as he held up his index finger to motion me to wait. Michael gave me a quick glance, letting his eyes fall to my opened button with disapproval.

  “Yes, sir,” I said as Michael closed the door behind him as the last man out.

  Adam motioned for the two servicemen by the door to exit, which they quickly obeyed.

  “I don’t know how you expect me to focus on running the country while you’re wearing that yellow blouse,” he said with a smile.

  His dark hair had speckles of gray that glistened when the sunlight brushed across them. I wasn’t sure what to say, or how to react. My pussy was already swelling against my panties, and my nipples were gnawing at the material on my bra as they fought to push through. “I’m sorry. Is this not appropriate?” I asked, flushing with embarrassment.

  It was a designer blouse, and the light-gray jacket and shirt that it was paired with gave it a professional, but feminine style. Maybe it was too feminine. Oh God, did I dress to turn on the president? I knew better than to do that. I was a professional, and Adam or not, this was my job.

  “No. It’s stunning,” he said, leaning back against his desk.

  His back shifted against the hard wood of his desk as my eyes accidentally glanced toward his package. My cheeks burned as I quickly moved my eyes to the windows behind him. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “I don’t mean to be so forward. It’s ju—just, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he stammered.

  My knees weakened, almost buckling beneath my small frame. I nervously pressed the material of my skirt flat against the palms of my hands as he stared into my eyes. I wanted to tell him I’d thought about him too, but I was frozen, speechless, delightfully stunned.

  “I may be reading things wrong, but I thought we had a real connection out there on the campaign trail,” he said nervously.

  My heart pounded, my breasts swelled against the thin yellow blouse. The president of the United States was flirting with me, nervously flirting with me.

  “Is that why you wanted me here?” I asked, suddenly finding his advances offensive.

  “No, of course not. I mean, I would love for something more, but you are the only one for this job,” he said convincingly.

  “Something more?”
I asked softly, loving the sound of those words.

  He pushed away from the desk and moved toward me quickly. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me into him. God, his scent was enough to make me weak, and his hot breath enough to drop me to my knees. “We couldn’t,” I whispered.

  “Couldn’t what?” he leaned in closer, letting his lips barely graze against mine. “We couldn’t kiss?” he whispered, pressing his mouth to mine.

  My eyes closed as his soft, sensual lips covered mine and his tongue glided to part them. He tasted so sweet, so delicious, that I found myself lost in a passionate embrace.

  He pulled away slowly. “That’d be a shame,” he said softly.

  “A crying shame,” I gasped, still dizzy from his aggression.

  “What else couldn’t we do?” he asked, his hands moving to my ass and squeezing my cheeks.

  My head fell back and a soft moan escaped my lips as his mouth consumed my neck. He pressed into me, letting me feel his excitement hard against my side as his tongue traced the length of my neck until it wended its way back to my lips.

  I was lost, in passion, in pure heat, in a fantasy. What was I doing? What were we doing?

  I pulled away, adjusting my skirt and struggling to calm my heavy breathing. “We can’t,” I scolded mournfully.

  “We’re both adults,” he argued convincingly.

  Damn, he was gorgeous.

  “Yes, and one of us just happens to be the president of the United States,” I pointed out.

  “John Tyler, Woodrow Wilson, and Grover Cleveland all married while in office. You know they had to have dated as the president,” Adam spouted off his history facts quickly and with confidence.

  “You’ve done your homework,” I chuckled.

  “I have,” he admitted.

  “I think people will believe I was hired only for your personal pleasure,” I said sternly.

  “Once they see what an amazing job you do, they’ll know that isn’t true,” he argued.

  “Yes. But the people hate scandals, and you’re fresh. Your divorce still has some damage control yet,” I added.

  Adam sighed, pushing his hand to his chin as he stared at me with his dreamy blue eyes. “I can handle the divorce problems,” he said.