Mr. President: A Billionaire & Virgin Fake Fiancé Romance Page 4

  “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 out. 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.”

  “If it’s going to be like that, I’m going to need a bonus. An extra $25 million will do it,” I say in a heartbeat. Tracy is about to protest the figure I’ve just thrown, but Austin doesn’t give her enough time for her to do so.

  “Deal.”

  “Also, if there’s any hint of a scandal with another woman… I’ll walk on the deal. And I’ll still expect to be paid.”

  “Surely you’re not saying that --”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” I shoot back, cutting Austin short. “No other women while our deal stands.”

  “Jesus,” Austin whispers, pursing his lips and exhaling sharply. “I guess you’re right, though. The risk just isn’t worth it.” Looking at me for a moment of silence, he then opens up into a grin. “We have a deal then.”

  “Good. Now, where’s my ring?” I grin back at him, raising my hand and waving my fingers at him. “A fiancée needs a ring. An expensive one.”

  “You’re a high maintenance one, aren’t you?” he laughs, running his fingers down the length of his tie. Pushing his chair back, he goes up to his feet and walks around the table, closing the distance between him and I. Sliding one hand inside his jacket, it comes back out holding a small square box. “There you go,” he says, popping the box open.

  I raise both eyebrows as my eyes fall over the biggest diamond ring I’ve ever seen. The diamond alone is probably worth a few hundred thousand dollars, for Christ’s sake.

  “Not that you asked, but the answer is yes,” I grin, offering him my hand. Holding it gently, he slides the ring on my finger and I hold my breath as I feel the touch of his skin on mine. His hand is big and smooth, and I start imagining what else he has that’s big and smooth… Ahem, anyway. Jesus.

  “Do I get to keep it?” I ask Austin while, at the same time, I try to pull my mind out of the gutter.

  “Sure,” he laughs. He could give two shits about this ring, and instead says, “You’ll want a memento.”

  “A memento, right,” I whisper, looking at the ring. The thing is huge and gaudy, completely inelegant, but so what? I can just sell it once I’m done with Austin. Besides, the secret deal we’ve cut inside this room is also an inelegant one, but it’s not like that matters.

  “Welcome to your new life, Ashley,” Austin says with a smile, and I can’t help but smile back at him, my lips reacting before I can stop them.

  A new life, huh? Doesn’t sound that bad.

  Good thing it’s not real.

  7

  Austin

  I'm standing in a small theater in the White House's West Wing—the Press Briefing room. Half a dozen rows of chairs are filled with eager reporters, each staring at me, waiting for me to begin the press conference.

  This is it.

  This is the moment I go out and lie in front of the country.

  I’m gonna look into the cameras and lie to 320 million Americans.

  Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t believe I’m having these qualms right now, you know?

  I mean, my administration doesn’t have any major scandals or anything. We’ve run a tight campaign. We didn’t do anything fucking crazy.

  It’s the damned media. They don’t care who fucking wins, ya know? They just want to pull down and tear down whoever is in charge. It sells newspapers or something. So they fixate on the fact that I’m a young, eligible bachelor. They pinpoint that and they start trying to destroy me. Doesn’t matter what party I am. Doesn’t matter what I believe in.

  And now I’m gonna lie to them. I have to. It’s the only way I can fend the media off long enough to actually help the American people.

  I'm standing at the podium, and I look over at Tracy, who's standing off to the side of the room. She gives me a nod, and that's my cue to begin. I take a deep breath, straighten my tie, smooth the lapels of my suit jacket, and begin.

  "Thank you all for joining me here today," I say. "I think we can all agree that the media has been trying to unfairly portray me in a negative light."

  I give this opener and look around at the crowd. I hear hushed murmurs ripple across the rows of reporters.

  I continue, "Today, I'd like to address the 'President Player' headlines."

  "Excuse me, Mr. Bain, what is your relationship to South Korean ambassador, Jia Park?" one pudgy reporter blurts out, interrupting my train of thought.

  I do my best to brush him off. "I'm getting to that," I say. "I would like to announce a new trade agreement between the United States and South Korea."

  I look around the room. Reporters are exchanging confused glances with one another.

  I continue, "I'm working very closely to hammer out the details of this trade with the South Korean ambassador. But one thing's for certain—we need to work together to meet these goals. United we stand—apart we fall. These salacious rumors need to stop."

  "But Mr. Bain, what are you hiding? Why do you insist on keeping your personal life shrouded in mystery?" another reporter jumps in, shoving his microphone over the heads of the crowd.

  "I've said this before, but I want to make it clear that my private life does not concern the public," I reply. "My focus is on the country and politics shouldn't be personal."

  "But Mr. Bain, are the playboy rumors true?" another reporter asks.

  A number of reporters jump out of their seats at this comment, all of them vying for my attention and calling out my name, their cameras and microphones raised.

  But I raise my hand to silence them.

  "However," I say, "Since you've made this personal, I'd like to take the time to make a very personal announc
ement."

  Now the crowd is hushed, a silence unlike anything I've witnessed falls across the room, like a silk blanket draped across everyone's head.

  I clear my throat and say, "I'd like to introduce you to my fiancée, Ashley Draper."

  Now cameras are snapping and reporters are practically falling out of their fucking chairs. Never in their wildest imaginations did they expect me to make an announcement like this. In their minds, I'm a playboy—not a family man.

  But they're eating it up. Their scowls are now smiles.

  I watch as Ashley approaches the podium, and joins me. She's wearing a classy white dress with smooth lines and figure hugging curves—curves that I can't help but stare at. She looks dignified, and dare I say angelic.

  She's good at this, a real professional. If I didn't know any better, I'd believe she was my fiancée too.

  The press is now clapping. One reporter is even yelling out, "Congratulations Mr. President!"

  This is going just as I intended.

  They're eating out of my hand.

  I'm not even sure I need this fake fiancée, but God do I want to fuck her. I take another glance at her perfectly round tits and picture them both in my mouth and in my hands. My eyes travel further down to her ass, which sways with each seductive step she takes. I can picture bending her over my desk, hiking up that white dress and—

  "When is the wedding?" a reporter asks, breaking my train of thought.

  "We'll make that announcement soon," I reply, "But for now, I just want to reiterate the fact that I would never risk my relationship, or the reputation of the country. My priorities are on this great Nation, and on the future Mrs. Bain," I say.

  Ashley walks up to me, joining me at the podium, and she laces her arm in mine, giving me a soft peck on the cheek.

  "Ashley, how did you meet Mr. Bain?" one reporter yells.

  Another one asks, "Are children in your foreseeable future?"

  "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Ashley smiles, fielding the last question. "One step at a time. I think we have our hands full enough just planning a wedding, let alone future children."

  The press reporters love her comeback. They laugh and nod in agreement.

  “How do you respond to the fact that the President has had sex with numerous women before you?” a reporter calls out.

  I close my eyes and cringe.

  I mean, I barely know Ashley and already I feel bad for her having to deal with this.

  And what kind of asshole is this, asking that kind of question.

  In a heartbeat the cringe is over and I’m about to fucking address this myself when Ashley steps in.

  “Well, we just recently decided to get back together again, so I can understand that the President had to go through a number of different options until he realized that I was the best choice,” Ashley says with poise and grace. “We’re not all perfect like me, after all.”

  Again laughter.

  Jesus Christ. She’s good.

  “Any plans on the wedding?” someone asks. Softball question.

  “Just me and Austin and 300 million of our closest friends,” she says with a smile and the room laughs again.

  They fucking love her.

  It quickly becomes apparent that they love Ashley. I feel a tinge of jealously settle in my mind.

  It's as if the press likes Ashley more than they've ever liked me. I decide to jump in.

  "I know this is exciting news," I say, "but I'd like to bring this press conference back on track. It's my intention to keep our country's best interests in mind and work hard to boost our economy by facilitating important international trade agreements—such as the one with South Korea."

  This time, there are no questions about Jia Park. Instead, my comment is greeted with a full round of applause.

  Arm in arm, Ashley and I exit the stage, along with Tracy and my office staff. We walk into an office, away from the prying eyes and ears of reporters, and when it's just Ashley, Tracy, and I alone in the room, I turn to Ashley and say, "You're supposed to be too shy for the spotlight."

  "You're jealous, aren’t you?" she smiles.

  I laugh. "You can't be serious," I lie.

  "Look, the press loved me, and that's good for you."

  "What are you? A professional liar?" I ask. "How is that good for me?"

  "The professional liar is you, Austin," she grins. "Don't kid yourself."

  There's something about Ashley that I don't trust, but one thing's for certain, she's sexy as hell when she stands up to me. Most women don't.

  "Let me remind you that I'm the President," I say.

  "Well, I didn't vote for you," she laughs.

  I stare at her, mouth agape.

  She looks at Tracy and then toward me. "I have some business of my own to attend to this evening. I have to go."

  "That's fine," I reply. No sense keeping her around the White House anymore today.

  And with that, she turns on her heels and leaves. I silently watch her saunter out of the room, her perfect ass swaying as if it were waving goodbye.

  Once she's gone, I turn to Tracy. "Do you think Ashley's really the right woman for the job?" At this point, it feels like I have more questions than I do answers. There are so many unknowns.

  Tracy smiles, "Ashley is perfect."

  8

  Washington Beat

  Hitched!

  From the desk of Margie Preston – our intrepid and slightly kooky political reporter.

  Holy cow! Did you just catch the news the other day? Or are you one of those people who relies on my column for news? In which case, I’m sorry!

  But in all seriousness, unless you live underneath a rock or have been living without access to newspapers, television, radio, Internet, or word of mouth, then you will have seen that the President of the United States is now engaged!

  That’s right. The world’s most eligible bachelor is off the market, ladies. And a million pairs of panties probably came back on.

  It’s not so much that President Player seems to have cleaned up his act, it’s almost as if his latest stunts were enough to get his head back on towards being the stable and solid Commander-In-Chief that the United States is used to.

  For those people wondering if the President has been cheating on his fiancée while they were dating, the White House Press Secretary was quick to clear up any misconceptions.

  “The President and Ms. Draper have had a casual relationship for much of the time that they have known each other, despite the fact that both of them cared about each other deeply,” Cheryl Maddox, the President’s Press Secretary was quoted as saying. “When it became clear that President Bain was not happy in his life, he and Ms. Draper rekindled their romance, and it was rather whirlwind, culminating in an engagement.”

  So at least President Player isn't a Cheater-In-Chief. Even if he is settling down. And what a sad day for the country, ladies, when our beloved President settles down. At least when he was out sowing his wild oats, I used to think that if I managed to score tickets to the right party or the right meeting wearing a particularly low cut dress that had slits that ran high enough I’d somehow manage to attract the attention of President Playboy. That he would take me in his Presidential limo and make me his Chief of Staff. And oh, how I would worship that Staff of his. With my mouth and with my hands. Until it came forth his special “Executive Orders” all over me.

  But that day may not come now. Because the President of the United States is engaged to be married. I don’t know whether to wear black or not that day. But I will say know one thing. That this handsome President with his bedroom eyes and 8-pack abs that we’ve all seen on camera can’t simply belong to one woman. I refuse to accept that such a national treasure can be hoarded by one woman. And by Ashley Draper? We don’t really know much about her anyways.

  If that’s one thing official Washington has been wondering it’s who exactly is Ashley Draper. We all know what we’ve been told. That she’s a close
friend of the President that he met through mutual friends. But what does she do? Who did she do before the President? These are all questions that need to be answered.

  Maybe it’ll be a fun summer after all.

  9

  Ashley

  I’ve never had a baby, but I imagine this is how it feels to place your own child in the care of strangers.

  “Yeah, Kayla. That’s how it’s going to be for the next year,” I say, placing my phone on speaker as I bring a bottle of Pinot Noir and a glass to the living room. I sit down on the couch and pour myself a glass as Kayla replies.

  “Are you sure? We never run things without you…” she says, and I notice the apprehension in her voice.

  “I trust you. You’ll do fine,” I reply, although I feel my heart tightening inside my chest. My company has been my baby for so long, and it hurts to let go of it. Still, there’s no way around. It needs to be done and, besides, I’m leaving my most experienced operative in charge.

  Kayla Combs came on board during my first months of operation, and she quickly became my right hand. Older than me by a few years, she’s in her early thirties now, she brought some experience to the table when it came to handling business. While I focused on getting shit done in the field, Kayla handled everything else while, at the same time, she provided live support whenever I needed her to. More than that, she also took to the field a few times, and she did great. If there’s anyone I trust to run things in my absence, it's Kayla.

  “I sure hope so,” she sighs. “I did as you told me to. I cleaned all records of your involvement with the company, so hopefully nothing will lead back to you. The press will be digging for dirt, but I think we did a good job in covering our tracks.”