THE PRESIDENT’S BOYFRIEND
BY
MALLORY MONROE
Copyright©2020 Mallory Monroe
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This novel is a work of fiction. All characters are fictitious. Any similarities to anyone living or dead are completely accidental. The specific mention of known places or venues are not meant to be exact replicas of those places, but are purposely embellished or imagined for the story’s sake. The cover art are models. They are not the actual characters.
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THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND SERIES
IN ORDER:
1.THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND
2.THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND: HIS WOMAN AND HIS WIFE
3.THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND: A SCANDAL IS BORN
4.THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND: AFTER THE FALL
5.THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND: THE POWER OF LOVE
6.THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND: THE SINS OF THE FATHERS
7.THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND: WHAT HE DID FOR LOVE
8.THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND: FOR THE LOVE OF GINA
TEDDY SINATRA SERIES
IN ORDER:
1.TEDDY SINATRA: CHAINS FOR LOVE
2.TEDDY SINATRA: HER PROTECTOR
3. TEDDY SINATRA: A HOLD ON ME
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
She woke up, the way she did most mornings, to the sound of silence in her home. Why did she buy such a big one, she wondered for the hundredth time as she stretched and yawned and tried to focus her eyes. Maybe it was for appearances’ sake, because big league politicians couldn’t appear to be too humble in a place where humility equaled weakness? That would be the D.C. answer. Everything was for appearances’ sake in the Beltway. But Kay Laine knew better. She once expected a husband and children to fill up the rooms. That was why she bought it. But dreams and ambition filled those rooms instead, and she found herself climbing that ladder of success to such a degree that she forgot she was climbing alone.
She sat up on the edge of her bed, her pajamas wet with the sweat of another night of dreams you didn’t want bright-eyed little girls to dream: those dreams filled with regret and terror.
She did it. She was in position to make it to the very top of her profession. But did she do it wrong? There were women the world over who had great careers and great families too. Why wasn’t she able to pull off both?
But Kay, being Kay, wasn’t about to sit around moping in that land of coulda-shoulda-woulda. She had to get out of her own head. She had to realize she was the dream those little girls were dreaming about. And it was far from a nightmare. She couldn’t let them down.
She grabbed for her TV remote on her nightstand, but found that it was still in her bed. She didn’t sleep alone after all, she thought with a smile. She had her TV remote to keep her warm!
Some warmth, she thought cynically, as she aimed the remote at her television set, and turned it on.
Another murder in Chicago, according to the morning news anchor, but that wasn’t news, Kay thought as she made her way to her en-suite bathroom. The mayor promising to crack down on the violence wasn’t news either. He’d been promising to crack down for years- and never did. But he won a second term anyway.
Then the national news. Her news. She stood at the vanity washing her hands after peeing, and listened for any new developments. Were the polls still shifting in her favor? Did her opponent, the Governor of Iowa, misspeak again? That, for her campaign, was a gift that kept on giving. Or was she the one stumbling this time?
“Another busy week on the campaign trail,” the news anchor began, “as Chicago’s own, Katherine Laine, is just ten days away from what she hopes will be a victorious day: election day. And what an historic event that will be. She’s on the precipice of greatness as she seeks to become the first woman, the second African-American, and, at thirty-eight, the youngest person ever to ascend to the highest office in the land. She’s leading in the polls, too, by the way.”
The precipice of greatness, that news anchor said. But it made Kay cringe. Was that anchor talking about she was on the brink of great peril? Or great success? And not just locally, but all of the news outlets around the country were fawning over her as if it was in the bag already, that the victory was hers to lose, that she had it all sewn up. She was a black woman in America, running to become the first black woman to occupy the presidency of the United States. She didn’t have shit sewn up. But that was how the media was hyping it.
She looked in the mirror over the sink. She was known for her high cheekbones, her smooth brown skin, her big, bright, almond-shaped eyes. But was that all people saw when they looked at her? Men seemed to like what they saw, although only to a degree. The vibe she always got from men was that she was smart enough. She was perhaps even beautiful enough. But was she good enough to love, to marry, to have children with? She was good enough in conversation, and even better in bed - their actions seemed to say, but not good enough where it mattered. And that was the rub for Kay. That was what affected her all her life. That she was always perceived as good, but never perceived as good enough. Now she was angling to take all that baggage right along with her: all the way to the White House.
Her cell phone rang just as she was about to turn on the water tap to take a long tub bath. But when she walked over to the nightstand in her bedroom and looked at her phone’s Caller ID, she realized a long bath was probably not in her immediate future. A fifteen minute shower was probably going to be more like it. Because it was Roger Pettway, or Rog as they called him: her campaign manager.
“We’ve got a problem, Kay,” he said before she could say hello. And when Rog added: “Are you coming here, or do I need to come to you,” her heart dropped. A problem ten days before election day was always major. But a problem ten days before election day that required a phone call from Rog even before she could arrive at campaign headquarters, and with him insisting it had to be a face-to-face, was a monum
ental problem. So monumental she dared not ask what the problem was. Which meant counting her eggs before they hatched or pretending she had that election in the bag was ludicrous, as she already knew. “No,” she said to Rog, “I’ll come in. I’ll be there as soon as I can shower and dress.”
“Do it fast,” Rog said, as if she didn’t feel enough stress. “Do it fast,” he said again. And then he added something that astounded her. “And Kay,” he said.
“Yes?”
“I hate to say it, and I know you’re not going to like it, but only one man can help us out of this jam. And you’ve got to ask him.”
Kay was shocked when Rog said those words. Because it didn’t take a second for her to know exactly who he meant. And because he meant him, it had to be an out of this world problem. Beyond major. Which took Kay’s stress level through the roof.
But nothing, in her book, was that major for her to go crawling to him. “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t like it.” And then she ended the call.
CHAPTER TWO
The steps to the Cessna Corporate Jet dropped down, and the boss made his way down those steps and onto the tarmac. The limousine that had just arrived sped up just as his shoes hit the ground, and he got in on the back passenger seat. Then the limo sped away.
“Welcome back, Boss,” Carmine Jusseppi, his bodyguard, glanced back at him and said. Carmine was seated on the front passenger seat. “It’s good to see you again.”
Nicholas “Nico” Bacard didn’t respond. He, instead, pressed a button that lifted the privacy window separating the backseat from those up front, a maneuver that allowed him to avoid all communication. Because Nico was not in the mood. Because he could have been on his plane, heading back to France the way he had planned all along, but was instead where he didn’t want to be. Every time he was anywhere near the Windy City, he thought about her. And it was always a depressing thought.
He sat in the back of his limo, his Driver and bodyguard getting the message and not bothering him, as they made their way through those busy city streets. When the call came in he was in his office in New York, wrapping up a business meeting, and was about to head to his plane ready to head back to France.
But the call came in. One of his crews managed to get themselves in a fix last night that even his number two couldn’t get them out of. And that situation was in Chicago; in the one town he avoided going anywhere near for years. One of his corporate offices was located in that town, employing over two thousand people, and he owned property there too. But after the breakup, he phoned it in, allowing his people on the ground to handle all of his business interests. But he couldn’t phone his other business interests in. Not this time. He had to handle it himself, before matters got even more out of hand. And that was why, instead of flying back to Europe, he was in that very town again, heading to a warehouse where his guys were holed up. But remarkably, he wasn’t thinking about those guys nor the mess they were in. He was thinking about her.
The fact that there were billboards all over the city with her face plastered all over them didn’t help during his ride to the warehouse. Because even on those billboards he could see beyond that pantsuit, beyond those folded arms of authority, beyond that big welcoming smile on her face. He could see the pain in her eyes, and the dread behind that pain. And he knew he should have been there for her. And with her. Every step of the way.
But he also knew he was the absolute wrong man for a woman with her goals in mind. And when they broke up, she had only just been elected to the House of Representatives. Anything higher was just a pipedream back then. Now she was on the verge of becoming POTUS? That sassy lady that used to be his woman? The only woman he’d ever loved? He still couldn’t wrap his head around that shit.
He knew, even before she had any inkling about running for the highest office in the land, that his background would destroy her career. He knew, even back then, that his lifestyle would be an anchor dragging her down, rather than a sail to lift her up where she belonged. She didn’t need a man like him. He knew it the very moment she told him she was going to run for Congress. He faced that fact a decade ago, and moved the hell on. But even now, ten years later, he still felt tied to her.
It was the memories of her: of being with her, of holding her, of loving her, that kept flooding back like a tsunami of regret. And it didn’t take much. He’d smell her perfume on another woman. Or hear a laugh that sounded like her laugh. Or he’d use an internet search engine, and her face would pop up as a part of his algorithms, because he searched her name so many times before.
She was the one that got away.
The one he had to let go.
And not one woman, after her, came even close.
He pressed the button from his back seat, a button that alerted his Driver. “Speed it up, will you? The sooner I get out of this miserable town, the better.”
“Yes, sir, Mister B,” the Driver responded quickly, and did as he was ordered. He hit the gas, and fled.
CHAPTER THREE
“We need to get our stories straight.”
“Nothing to get straight, what are you talking? They came at us. And we took it to them, like we were supposed to. How were we to know?”
“But he’s going to be so pissed! I’m with Pauley. We’ve got to get our stories straight. We’ve got to be on the same page on this here thing.”
Dill frowned. “Will you two stop worrying like two hens? We got this. We are on the same page.”
“But you know how Nico is. He likes his shit tight.”
“It is tight. Who say it’s not tight? It is tight! You and Pauley just need to calm your asses down and let me do all the talking. Nobody says nothing but me. He knows I don’t bullshit with him. He’ll understand if it comes from me.”
But none of them were certain of anything. Not even Dill, who was the most senior of the three and the one who wanted to do all the talking. Pauley was the newest and wanted to shit his pants just thinking about what Nico could do to him. And even Tagglia, who was almost as senior as Dill, didn’t like it either. Nico Bacard was unpredictable. You could never tell which way the wind was blowing with that guy. Because Nico always knew the ramifications. He always had that sense how shit was going to end and he responded based on how to mitigate that ending, not how he felt about the guys involved or the actual situation. And the fact that he would respond to them, not based on what they had actually done, but based on what could happen as a result of what they’d done, was what scared the crap out of all three of them.
“He’s here,” said Pauley, who was standing at the window on the second floor of the warehouse. “He’s here!”
Tagglia hurried over to the window, too, as Carmine the bodyguard got out of the front passenger seat and opened the back passenger door of the limousine, looking around as he did.
When Nico stepped out and buttoned his knee-length coat to ward against the stiff Chicago wind, he bristled. “When since Chicago was this damn cold in October?” he asked Carmine. “What is it, ten-below-zero?” He blew into his hands.
“Maybe it’s cold like this because you’re in town,” Carmine replied with a smile, since he knew Nico was rarely ever in town. “Maybe hell’s freezing over. Ever thought of that?”
Nico smiled. “Fuck you,” he said, and began heading toward the backstairs.
But because he could banter with his longtime bodyguard should not have given solace to the three men waiting upstairs for him. And Tagglia knew it. But Pauley didn’t.
“He’s smiling,” Pauley stood erect and said when he saw that momentary smile on Nico’s face. He leaned up from the window frame he’d been leaning against. “He’s smiling, Dill!”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” said Tagglia. “That smile don’t mean shit for us. He was supposed to be on his plane heading back to France. You think he’s smiling because we’re delaying his departure? Get real!”
Pauley’s hopes dashed once more. “We need to get our stories
straight,” he said again. But then all three men could hear Nico making his way up the back stairs.
When the door was opened, and they saw their boss standing there with Carmine at his back, they could feel the tension rise. But Pauley and Tagglia looked to Dill. He said he could handle it. They were more than willing to let him.
But when Nico saw the badly battered faces of the three men, he frowned. “What the fuck happened?” he asked them.
“It was a war, Nico,” said Dill. “They came at us with all barrels blazing. They took out three of our guys before we even knew we were under attack.”
Nico’s number two had already told him that much. “They took out three of ours. How many of theirs did we take out?” he asked them.
Dill didn’t expect that response. He somehow expected sympathy, not recriminations. “One,” he admitted.
Nico was angry. “They took out three of our guys and your asses only took out one of theirs?”
“It happened so fast, Boss,” Dill said. “We didn’t know what hit us at first. We were in the club, minding our own business, when they came over to us talking trash. What could we do? So we talked trash back. And that was the end of that. They go on about their business, do their own thing on the other side of the club, and we do our own thing. We thought that was the end of it. But then we get outside and those fuckers are waiting for us. We didn’t know what hit us, Boss. But it’s hand to hand combat. We can handle it. And we were winning. But then we hear gunfire. Not from the guys fighting us. But from somewhere else. That’s when we knew the fight was staged. That’s when we knew it was an ambush.”
“And what did you do?” Nico asked.
“They didn’t give us time to do anything,” said Tagglia. “Before we could even reach for our hardware, they’d already shot three of our guys.”
“So you what? Surrendered?”
Nobody responded, which gave Nico his answer. And Nico was shocked. “Motherfuck!”
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