by Alexis Angel
"That fucking bastard," I mumble to myself. He resembles more of a marshmallow than he does a man. I campaigned against him for the presidency. Walker thought for sure he'd be president, and so did everyone else. But in a surprise twist of events, he lost.
He's now Speaker of the House, but I know he's looking for any chance he can get to snatch the presidency.
"I agree," Reese Dawson, my VP, says, speaking up and breaking the silence. "He's been spitting venom ever since you beat him."
Then Tracy continues, "The press isn't going to let up, especially not with Bob Walker pushing them, but I have an idea."
"You do?" I ask, raising my eyebrows in disbelief. "Go on."
"Well, the way I see it," Tracy says, "is that the press is going to dig until they get something. It's like a dog digging up a bone in a yard—they won't stop until they have what they are looking for. So, I think we should give them something."
"Such as?" I ask, trying not to sound too skeptical.
"A wife," Tracy replies matter-of-fact. "Well … a fiancée. "
The entire Oval Office is silent. It's so quiet, I swear you could fucking hear a cotton ball bounce across the carpet. Everyone is staring at Tracy now in disbelief, including me.
But then it dawns on me that maybe she's right.
"We could hold a press conference," I suggest, standing up from my chair and pacing behind my desk. I tend to do that when I'm deep in though. Movement helps. "I understand that my negotiations with the South Korean ambassador were above board. I'll let the public know that I'd never do anything to damage the most important relationship in my life."
"Exactly," Tracy chimes in. "That's perfect. And then you can drop the bomb that you're engaged."
I hear murmurs of approval from my staff. They are all nodding their heads in agreement. While this plan does seem crazy, I also think it can work.
Then Tracy continues, "You can tell the press that you didn't want your engagement to distract from the country's real issues and that you and whatever woman we pick were on and off but you realized after the South Korean ambassador that you needed her in your life or something like that."
Jesus fucking Christ.
It might just work.
Tracy is right. Now I'm totally fucking convinced that this plan is just crazy enough to work … as long as I don't really have to get married. Because there's no way I can agree to that.
Tracy seems to know exactly what I'm silently thinking and she places one hand on my shoulder, "Don't worry, Austin, you aren't really getting married. We're just giving the press, and the public, what they want—a bone to dig up in the yard. Something to grab onto."
"Okay, now that we've got that figured out, who are we going to get to play the role of the fake fiancée? It's not everyday that a woman agrees to be put into that kind of spotlight."
"True," Tracy smiles, "but leave it to me. I'll handle it. I've got just the woman we need."
“Make sure you get me some sort of fucking ring too, I don’t care what. Something that looks expensive but doesn’t cost too much,” I tell Tracy. She rolls her eyes at me.
“What?” I ask. “I don’t want to use my grandmother’s heirloom. Not for a fake fiancée.”
As she smiles and walks out of the room, I begin to wonder … what have I just gotten myself into?
Ashley
I look at my computer screen and drum my fingertips on my desk. I’ve been staring at my schedule for the past five minutes, trying to figure out why the President’s Chief of Staff has decided to set up a meeting with me. My sources say that it’s connected with the recent scandal, the one with the South Korean ambassador, but I don’t see why the President would need me right now. At first I thought of turning her down straight away, but it’s not like you can shoot down a Tracy Comerford without at least waiting to see what she wants.
God, Tracy Comerford. I used to go to school with her. We haven’t kept in touch, and I’m more than a bit curious why now of all times she’s coming to me.
Just like everyone else on Earth, I’ve been following President Austin’s scandal. His Chief of Staff setting up a meeting at a time like this has managed to capture my curiosity, but again, I don’t see where I might fit in such a situation. Perhaps the President wants to use me as bait so that he can gather some blackmail material? That’s my bread and butter, I know, but when we’re talking about the higher echelons of politics … well, let’s just say that I don’t like to meddle with Presidents. It wouldn’t be the first time someone holding compromising material just vanishes into thin air, if you know what I mean.
I only turn my gaze away from the screen when I hear someone knocking at the door to my office.
“Yeah?” I say, raising my voice.
“Ashley, your ten o’clock appointment is here,” Mike tells me, stepping inside the office and running his fingers down the length of his tie. He’s been my assistant ever since I opened up shop and, more than his good looks, he knows exactly what I need and when I need it.
“Yeah, send her in,” I say, rubbing my temples and taking a deep breath. With a quick nod, Mike turns on his heels and waltzes out of the office. I look at him go, wishfully looking at how good his ass looks in his dress pants. 25 years old and with a body sculpted inside the gym, Mike is half-assistant, half-eye-candy. Don’t judge me; men have been employing eye-candy since forever, and who am I to buck that trend?
One minute later, Mike steps inside my office with a woman trailing after him, her button up shirt and pencil skirt telling me straight away that she’s a consummate professional.
“Thank you for taking the time,” Tracy greets me as Mike leaves and closes the door behind him. She takes a moment to glance around my office, and then she gives me an approving nod. “Nice taste,” she compliments as I stand up and offer her my hand.
“Thank you,” I tell her as she shakes my hand. “It’s not a high-rise corner office, but I like it as it is.”
I actually considered a corner office in some high-rise building when I started hunting for a place where I could set up shop, but in the end, I decided for something more discreet. It makes sense if you take into account that one of the pillars of what I do is discretion. Besides, although my office is not a cavernous room, it’s enough to let anyone coming in know that I’m the one in charge inside these four walls. The décor –sleek, modern, and elegant, does the rest.
“So, to what do I owe the honor?” I ask Tracy as I sit back down, more than ready to get down to business. I’ve never liked to pussyfoot around anything. I wave at the seat in front of my desk and she sits down, crossing her legs and folding her hands over one knee.
Now let me be clear on one thing.
I know Tracy professionally and personally from the same mutual friends back when we were in school. But we never really interacted. This is all new for me.
“I have a proposal for you. But I guess you already figured out that much, haven’t you?”
“Yes, that much is clear,” I reply, locking eyes with her. Careful now, I think to myself, trying to read Tracy’s expression. You see, we’ve never crossed paths against each other before, I know enough about this woman to know not to fuck around with her. She’s professional, efficient, and shrewd when she has to be. You don’t get to be the President’s Chief of Staff just because you know the right people; no, it takes guts.
“Let me just make something clear, Tracy,” I continue before she can say anything, “if the President is looking to get some blackmail material on his opponents, I’m out.”
“Oh? I see,” she whispers while, at the same time, a hint of a smile dawns on her lips. “You’re in luck, though. What I came here to propose has nothing to do with blackmail. We want you to become President Bain's fiancée. A fake fiancée, sure, but it has to be believable.”
“Is this how you decided to fight against this 'President Player' scandal?” I ask her, cocking one eyebrow. My sources were right, but I never thought that Trac
y would come in here with something as crazy as this.
“You’re right. How do you know?”
“I have my ways, Tracy,” I simply tell her, not wanting to give her more information than necessary. Secrecy is another important pillar in this business.
“I take it you’re familiar with what has been going on then?”
“I am,” I reply, thinking back to the confusion outside of the Sofitel Hotel, and how every single channel on TV seemed to become completely obsessed with President’s Austin sexual escapade with the South Korean ambassador.
“Well, we’ve devised a PR strategy to pull the President out of the mess he’s in… And, like I said, that’s where you come in, Ashley. If you accept this job, you’ll become his fiancée so that he can rehabilitate his image.”
“That’s all fine and dandy, but why come to me? I bet there’s a small army of eager women more than willing to play that part. I mean, he’s the 'President Player,' after all.” I know, maybe I shouldn’t have jabbed at her like that, but what can I do? I’ve never been a big fan of President Austin, or any other politician, for that matter.
“Let’s just say I’ve been following your … career. You’re an interesting woman, Ashley, and I always thought that a woman with your skills could be needed in a time of crisis. You’re smart, discreet, and above all else, you won’t get personally involved. And that’s exactly what the President needs right now.” She makes a short pause, perhaps for dramatic effect, and then clears her throat. “I know this is a lot to take, so feel free to take a minute and let all this sink in.”
“I don’t need to take a minute,” I say right away, making my decision in a heartbeat. “My answer’s no. I’m not interested; a job like that would draw too much attention toward myself, and that’d be game over for my company.”
I’m saying no, but you wanna know something?
My brain is the one controlling me here. Because the reptilian part of me - the part that’s only thinking about sex – is screaming yes. It wants to take my body and lay it all over Austin Bain. To lick his abs. To rub his cock in my face. To grab his ass cheeks and squeeze.
The part of me that’s not talking wants to make a condition that I’ll be his fake fiancée only on the condition that he takes my virginity. Then cums buckets of cum all over me. Makes me scoop it up and swallow it. And then defiles me all over again.
Seriously, you gotta be insane to pass up sex with this President. Probably the hottest man who ever walked the planet.
But again, my brain says no.
“Ashley, please. Think this through. Your President needs you. Your country needs you. Austin is doing good work, and I believe he might be the change this country has been sorely missing. I believe in him, or else I wouldn’t be here right now, asking for your help. Please reconsider,” she asks me and, even though I’m more than used to this for-the-greater-good bullshit, I can tell that Tracy believes it.
“I don’t care if he’s the President. He’s still a DC politician, and I know the type. Forget about the United States or the greater good; Austin is President because he has a massive ego, nothing more. Besides, DC politics is something I’m really not interested in.”
“We’ll pay you. We’ll pay you very, very well,” Tracy says, switching gears in a fraction of a second. Maybe she’s thinking that if she can’t reach me through emotion, she might be able to do it through my bank account.
“Answer’s still no,” I sigh. “I’m doing well for myself, as you can see,” I say, casually waving my hand at the office.
“Twenty million,” she then shoots, and I have to take a moment. Did I hear right? 20 million to pretend to be someone’s fiancée?
“I told you, I’m doing well,” I reply, trying to sound casual even though my heart has picked up an urgent pace. 20 million is a lot of money, even if business is booming. That much money could be enough for me to change my life for good… I could stop seducing old men for a living. As fun as it is, it isn’t exactly something I want to be doing for the rest of my life.
“How much do you want then? Our pockets are deep.”
“50 million,” I reply, my heart now beating so fast that I feel lightheaded. With 50 million in my pocket, I could just pack my bags and leave this world of intrigue behind me. I could start a new life wherever I want. Maybe try and do something that really matters.
“50 million then,” Tracy whispers after a short pause, and I can tell that she wasn’t exactly prepared to settle for a sum that high. Well, tough luck.
“We have a deal then,” I tell her, offering her my hand once more. Gripping it, she shakes it as she looks into my eyes. I look back at her but, really, all I can see right now are fat stacks of bills.
50 million.
One last job.
And then…freedom.
Ashley
The White House—there’s no other building on Earth quite like it. Over the past 100 years it has carved a place for itself in the psyche of billions of people, and it stands as the epicenter of the modern world. As for me, I think it stands for the epicenter of hypocrisy. Not that I should be complaining, I mean, it’s exactly that hypocrisy that will net me a cool $50 million. How does that saying go? If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.
“Are you following all this?” Reese Dawson, the Vice President herself, asks me from across the table.
“I am,” I nod, looking around the table and offering a smile to the few anxious faces looking at me. There’s the Vice President, the Chief of Staff, and a few other members of the President’s inner circle, and they’re briefing me on the backstory I’m supposed to sell to the press. “I met Austin at a charity event two years ago and we started out as friends who knew each other through other mutual friends. After realizing how big of a heart Austin has, that friendship turned into something more … I didn’t want to be in the spotlight, and so Austin did his best to protect me from it. We’ve been dating on and off for a while but have grown closer and only after the latest scandal did Austin and I realize that what we needed in our lives was each other,” I repeat, summing up everything I’ve been told during the past hour. “I got this. Let’s just make sure that Austin can do his part.”
“He will,” Tracy tries to assure me, but she does that while looking at her wristwatch. You see, Austin was supposed to be here with us, but I guess he deemed himself too important to meet his faux fiancée on time. “He’ll be here soon, anyway,” Tracy continues, almost as if she could read my mind.
“Maybe he’s banging some intern,” I chuckle, letting the words out without a second thought. Hey, it’s not like I’m being mean; it’s very probable that Austin is really banging an intern. He wouldn’t be the first, anyway.
“Banging an intern,” Reese Dawns snorts, repeating my words under her breath and chuckling after me. Then, noticing that everyone is looking at her, she takes one clenched hand to her mouth and clears her throat, pretending she didn’t say a word.
I’m about to say another joke when the door to the meeting room swings open abruptly and President Bain steps through. He walks toward his seat at the head of the table, adjusting his cuff links as he goes.
“Glad to see you’re on board with this,” he tells me as he sits down, leaning back on his chair and grinning at me. What a smug asshole, not even a word of apology for coming in late. I guess that he’s more than used to doing what he wants, when he wants. Exactly the kind of man I’m used to luring into my traps, except this time, I’m part of the asshole’s team. I guess $50 million has helped hide my moral qualms out of sight.
“Tracy here was very persuasive,” I reply casually, offering him a cool stare. I don’t even bother with greeting him; if he thinks he’s above that, so am I.
“Good. It looks like she made the right choice with you,” he continues, talking to me as if we’re the only two people in the room. He’s looking me in the eyes, but I can tell that, somehow, the first thing he did when he entered the room was check me ou
t. Not that I can blame him; I did exactly the same thing.
The moment he entered the room my eyes were drawn to him. To start with, it’s not everyday I get to see the President of the United States up close. Sure, I’m going to be playing a key role, and that means I’ll have to spend some time with him … but first impressions are always first impressions. And, hell, I gotta give it to him; he looks even better in the flesh than on TV.
No, I’m not changing my opinion. All I’m saying is that, even though he might be an egotistical asshole, he has the kind of looks capable of provoking a very physical reaction in a woman. Do I need to explain that one? I hope not.
Tailored suit, dominant posture, and arrogance as the cherry on top of the cake; Austin knows people think he’s the shit, and he behaves like it. Of course, it also helps that he’s extremely handsome. Not only is he the youngest President in the history of the United States, he’s probably the most ripped one. Seriously, he wouldn’t look out of place in a movie set, one where guys hang around shirtless while kicking the shit out of each other. Makes me wonder—did he win the elections because of his know-how, or because he looks good? No need to answer this one.
“So, you’ve been briefed on what’s expected of you, right?” he asks me, his eyes never leaving mine. I feel a pleasant warmness spreading through my body as I hold his gaze; running my tongue between my lips, I give him a quick nod.
“Yes, I have.”
“Good,” he smiles, leaning back and crossing his legs. “We’ll keep this up for a year. Then you’ll be able to end our fake engagement by claiming I’m just too devoted to the country.”
“How noble of you,” I whisper, rolling my eyes and drumming my fingers on the table. “But one year? I was thinking of something more short-term.”
“No. Anything shorter than that and it won’t work. The public needs time to accept the President’s new image,” Tracy cuts in, her smart eyes going from me to Austin. “It’ll have to be one year.”
