The Daddy Series Books 1 - 4

by Hamel, B. B.

  I bite my lip, shake my head, and get myself together. I hurry back to the office before Roger beats me there and gives me shit.

  I have a lot of work to do.

  2

  Adam

  I kick my legs out, feet up on the little coffee table sitting between the two couches in the Oval Office.

  This coffee table probably has some fancy name, like the Freedom Table. I bet it was carved by Thomas Jefferson himself. Everything in the White House has the stink of history all over it.

  Sometimes it’s overwhelming. Mostly I try not to think about that stuff.

  The past is a mess. I close my eyes, and I can still see Marci and Travis, smiling at me, waiting for me to come join them.

  I can’t do that anymore. Not since the car accident.

  I take a breath, let it out. The past has never been a good place for me, which is why I’ve thrown myself into the future. When my wife and child died, I thought I’d give up on the world, give up on life.

  Instead, I doubled down. I told myself I’d use the fortune I’d made to try and better the world around me. Maybe save some families from the fate I’ve had to suffer.

  That’s been my goal. Helping people, first and foremost.

  It’s never easy, not in politics. I’ve had to put myself aside, my wants and needs. That was easy for a long time.

  Now though…

  I take a breath, let it out. I have to push the thought of that young pollster girl from my mind. I had no clue she was going to be so fucking attractive. Otherwise, I don’t think I would’ve wanted her directly on my staff.

  Too late for that now, though. She’s beautiful and she’s working directly underneath me.

  Fucking hell.

  I haven’t had a girlfriend since my wife died. I’ve taken lovers, gone to bed with some women, but nothing more. Now that I’m President, I have to avoid all that.

  Except Maggie is tempting. Very, very tempting. She’s incredibly smart, incredibly attractive, and a huge liability.

  I hear the door behind me open. I look over the couch as Charles comes toward me, looking grim as always.

  I first met Charles years ago at some fundraiser. We got along naturally, actually became real friends. We’ve been in touch for years, and when it was time to pick a chief of staff that the leadership would approve of, he came to mind.

  He keeps me centered. He can be annoying as fucking hell about it, too.

  “Sir,” he says, hovering in front of me.

  “Hi, Charles,” I say, sighing. The man is seventy years old but has the stamina of a man half his age.

  Hell, half my age.

  “What did you and the pollster talk about yesterday?” he asks. “I got distracted by the Saudi briefing and forgot to ask.”

  “Her name’s Maggie,” I say, snorting a little. “And you never forget anything.”

  He doesn’t react. “And?”

  “Too much data,” I say, sighing. “I told her to focus it all. Or, well, I told her we’d try to find something for her to focus on, at least.”

  He nods sharply. “Good idea, sir.”

  “Don’t be a kiss-ass, Charles.”

  He grins. “Never.”

  “I’m still not sure what I want to lean into. Everything is so broken and everyone has their own agenda.”

  “The world is a mess,” he agrees.

  “We’re supposed to be fixing it.”

  He shrugs. “Not me. I’m just the party planner.”

  I sigh. That’s what he thinks his job is. He’s an old military man, an ex-Marine and a three-star general. He thinks this work is beneath him, and loves to remind me of that fact as often as he can.

  “When are you going to accept the job and move on?”

  “When you finally quit whining about it.” He grins at me.

  I shake my head, unable to stop myself from smiling. “Seriously, Charles, what do we focus on?”

  “Healthcare,” he says immediately.

  I hesitate. “You don’t think that’s too much?”

  “It’s time,” he says. “You have the political capital. You won the election by a landslide. People want change, and you’re it.”

  “Healthcare,” I say softly. “Not exactly sexy, huh?”

  “Saving lives never is.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t be so fucking dramatic.”

  He shrugs. “So, is that it, then?”

  “Let me talk to the girl,” I say, standing.

  He hesitates. “Do you need to?”

  “I want her input.” I walk past him, patting his shoulder as I go. “Come on, Charles. You can chaperone me.”

  He grunts and follows as we leave the Oval Office. I sense my security detail fall into place as I walk through the halls.

  This is the part of the job I like the most. I love walking these halls, smiling at people, nodding hello. People get a real kick out of being greeted by the President, as if I weren’t just a regular man like them.

  Still, it makes people happy.

  The pollsters are sequestered in a little office in the back of the West Wing. My security clears it first, gathering most people in a separate room. I’m ushered into an office, probably Maggie’s boss’s spot.

  She comes in the door a moment later. Charles is hovering near the back, looking bored like always.

  She looks at me and at Charles, then back at me. “Hello, sir,” she says.

  I grin. “Adam,” I correct.

  Charles doesn’t react.

  “Okay, Adam. What can I do for you?”

  I look her up and down, not bothering to hide my stare. Pretty, thin legs, milky light skin, firm breasts. Her lips are full, her eyes are deep brown, and her dirty blonde hair is slightly wavy, long, and full. I can imagine wrapping it around my hand as her lips bob up and down the length of my cock.

  But I’d better not think about that. Otherwise, I’m going to get fucking hard, right here and now.

  I clear my throat. “Healthcare,” I say.

  She raises an eyebrow. “Healthcare,” she repeats.

  “I want you to focus on healthcare. Find out what people want, what problems we need to solve.”

  “Still a big problem,” she muses, biting her lip.

  “But possible?” I press.

  “Yes,” she says, nodding. “I think we already have some data, too.”

  I glance at Charles. He’s studiously pretending not to be studying this interaction very closely.

  I know what he’s thinking, but fuck him.

  I should’ve left him back at the Oval Office.

  “What do you think?” I ask her. “Is it something I can push through? Reform, I mean.”

  She shrugs. “I’m not sure, honestly. The country has been begging for real healthcare reform for a long time, but it’s so complicated and difficult and there are so many competing interests.” She shrugs again. “I really don’t know.”

  “Guess,” I say.

  She hesitates. “I hate guessing.”

  “Give me an educated one, then.”

  “Okay,” she says slowly. “I think you have a majority in the house and the senate. I think it’ll eat up all your good will right now, but… it’s possible.”

  “Good.” I grin at her. I want to walk over and kiss her.

  I’m fucking insane. I think I’m legitimately insane.

  “Okay,” she repeats. “I’ll look into healthcare. Should I, uh, tell my boss?”

  I hesitate. “Tell him you’re working for me directly now. I want you focused on this task exclusively. It’s going to be big, Maggie.”

  She can’t help but smile at that. “I hope so,” she says.

  I hesitate, looking at her, maybe longer than is necessary. I still have that insane urge to walk across the room and kiss her.

  But I manage to tear myself away. “Report in soon,” I say as I leave.

  Charles files out behind me. Security blends in all around us.

  We wa
lk in silence back to the Oval Office. Charles looks inscrutable, but I know he’s digesting that little impromptu meeting. I want to hear what he thinks, but I know I just have to be patient.

  Charles is not the type to hold back.

  We get to my office and head inside. I shut the door and tell my secretary, Susie, to keep everyone out.

  Charles sits on a couch. I sit behind the Resolute desk.

  “Why that girl?” he finally asks.

  “Did you read her blog?”

  He hesitates. “No,” he admits. “Couldn’t figure out how to make the damn thing work.”

  I grin. “You really are old.”

  “Don’t give me that,” he snaps. “Why that girl?”

  “She’s smart, capable, and I think she has the pulse of what people want already in her blood. I think she can cut through the bullshit.”

  He stares at me. “A million girls exist just like her. Why that one?”

  I sit back, narrowing my eyes. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  He sighs. “Yes, you do. We don’t have to say it out loud if you don’t want, but I can already see it.”

  “See what?” I’m getting angry, even though I know he’s right. Even though it’s obvious what I want from her.

  “Listen, sir,” he says, standing. “People talk about you all the time in the media. They talk about you being single, about you being eligible. Your dating life is going to be scrutinized so closely it’ll scare you. There will be no privacy, not for you.”

  I stare at him. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t date.”

  “I know that,” he says softly. “But you’re still a man, and that’s a pretty girl.”

  “I don’t like this implication.”

  “I’m sure you don’t. Just keep yourself under control, Adam.”

  I glare at him, but I know he’s right.

  I’ve been thinking about Maggie. Picturing her body against mine, the way her moans sound, the way she writhes when she gets fucked. I want to taste her, smell her, bite her, take her.

  I want that fucking girl, and that could be the end of me.

  “You have a meeting in ten minutes,” Charles says, walking to the back door. “Just think about it.”

  I look away, out the side window. I hear Charles leave quietly.

  Being President means I have to put myself aside. I have to leave my wants and desires at home, every single day. I have to quarantine them, at least for four years.

  Except that’s not what I want.

  I’ve gone so long living life in a cold daze. I’ve taken women to bed but they’ve barely ever excited me, not like I feel right now just looking at Maggie.

  It’s bizarre and terrifying. It’s the worst possible time to suddenly wake up to a woman.

  My life has been in the past for so long. Even working for the future, I’ve been stuck in the past.

  My wife, my child. I’ve been broken.

  Hell, I still am broken.

  But maybe I’m starting to mend. I’ll never be fixed, but maybe I can be patched together, just enough.

  Just enough to feel again.

  3

  Maggie

  I lean forward against the bar, sipping a weak gin and tonic, trying not to look around the room too much.

  Iris gabs on next to me, talking about some minor policy initiative she’s been assigned to. I like Iris a lot, but she really can talk. Like, a lot, almost to the point where you wonder if she saves it all up throughout the day just to spew all over you.

  I’m sulking and I know it, although I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the atmosphere. We’re in Poor David’s, which is like the quintessential DC insiders’ bar. It’s full of guys with clean haircuts, American flag pins on their lapels, and straight white teeth.

  It’s basically like a frat house for political geeks. Everyone in here is some kind of junior aide to this or that senator, and everyone thinks they’re going to be the next big political mover and shaker. It’s all a bunch of glad handing, smiling, laughing, political bullshit.

  It’s what I hate most about DC. I started a blog for a reason. I hate being in these places, talking with these slimy people.

  There’s probably more than one lobbyist in here too, trying to bribe some of the more ruthless idiots.

  I sigh and sip my drink. I need to get it under control.

  “Maggie?” Iris cocks her head at me. She’s small, almost petite, with wide brown eyes and frizzy brown hair. She looks like a mouse, almost literally. “Did you hear me?”

  “No, I’m sorry,” I admit, forcing a smile. “It’s just loud in here.”

  “That’s okay,” she says brightly. “I was just saying, isn’t President Clark hot as hell?”

  I sputter while sipping my drink and laugh. I glance around us, wondering who overheard that. I recognize a guy two seats away, he’s the environmental aide to a New York congressman, but otherwise I don’t see any familiar faces.

  “I guess so,” I manage to say.

  She grins at me. “You guess so? Come on. Everyone’s talking about it.”

  “The media, you mean.” I make a dismissive gesture.

  “Everyone,” she repeats. “I mean, look at him. Did you know that he got over seventy percent of women? Can you freaking imagine that?”

  I shrug. I can totally imagine that. People are super shallow.

  Including me, apparently.

  “He’s charming,” I say. “He was a good candidate.”

  “He was great,” she corrects. “But that wasn’t it.”

  “You think people voted for him because he’s handsome?”

  “Hot as hell,” she corrects, “and yes, pretty much.”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “No way.”

  “Way. We have data.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

  “I may have slipped an extra question or two into my last round of polling.”

  I sigh. “Iris, you’re not supposed to do that.”

  She gestures with her wine glass. “I took the initiative, Maggie!”

  “But it’s about data integrity.”

  She scoffs at that. “Integrity, my butt. Half the people in this town are bought and sold by the bloodsuckers.”

  I can’t help but smile at that. Her pet name for lobbyists is pretty accurate.

  “Maybe, but still. You should follow the rules.”

  “Well, I didn’t. Wanna hear what the data says?”

  I hesitate. I should say no. I shouldn’t encourage this sort of stuff.

  We’re supposed to stick to the questions we’re given. Asking anything else can mess with the data in unexpected ways. Everything is strictly regulated and controlled so that our data is as accurate as possible.

  But I really, really want to know.

  “Fine, tell me.”

  She grins. “I asked two extra questions at the end. The first question was, ‘Do you find President Clark physically attractive?’ And the second question was, ‘Is that why you voted for him?’”

  I snort. “Seriously? Not beating around the bush, huh?”

  “Nope,” she says. “Eighty percent of people said yes to the first one. Guess the percent of the second?”

  “Ten,” I say.

  She raises an eyebrow. “Nope.”

  “Twenty.”

  “Try again.”

  “Thirty? Are you kidding?”

  “Forty-two.”

  I stare at her. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Forty-two percent of people that said yes to the first said yes to the second.”

  I gasp and laugh, unable to help myself. That’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard.

  I mean, voting for the President based on looks…

  It doesn’t matter if President Clark is gorgeous. It doesn’t matter if he’s austere and handsome and the sort of man we should have leading us. Nobody should vote for him based on looks.

  And yet apparently, lots of people did.


  “It was a small sample size,” Iris admits when I get myself under control. “Only a little over a hundred people. But still, that’s pretty crazy, right?”

  “Right,” I agree. “Hopefully those numbers don’t scale.”

  “Hopefully,” she echoes, and grins some more. “But I wouldn’t be shocked if they did. That’s why I voted for him.”

  “Iris!”

  “What? He’s really hot.”

  I groan and laugh. I sip my drink, hoping nobody overheard that conversation. The wrong ears listening in could lead to some serious repercussions for the both of us.

  Iris is absolutely insane. It’s part of why I like her so much. We’re the youngest pollsters on staff, and we’ve sort of gravitated toward each other. I half expected her to be this super serious geeky girl, but instead she’s the total opposite of that.

  She’s fun, she’s funny, and she’s constantly breaking the rules. I don’t know where they found her, but she’s absolutely fantastic.

  I gesture at the bartender for another drink as Iris starts to break down what the results mean for the midterms, using ideas like his “hotness quotient” and his “bangability factor.”

  As my drink arrives, I feel my phone start to vibrate. I take it from my clutch and frown at the private number. I silence the vibration, figuring it’s just some telemarketer.

  But as soon as it stops, it starts ringing again.

  I frown, holding my phone up. “This asshole keeps calling,” I say to Iris. “Sorry. I should get it.”

  “Go ahead,” she says. “You’re just going to miss some really erudite analysis of President Clark’s slightly cleft chin.”

  “It’s not cleft,” I say, standing.

  “Isn’t it?”

  I shake my head. “Look closer,” I say, walking away.

  “This changes everything!” she calls after me, and I grin to myself as I head back toward the bathrooms.

  It’s quieter back here. I pick up the phone this time, the third time this person has called.

  “Hello?” I say.

  There’s a short pause. I’m about to hang up, annoyed about this telemarketer, but something stops me. “Is this Maggie Thomas?” a voice says. It’s familiar, but I can’t place it.

  “Er, yes,” I say. “Who is this?”