The Press Secretary's Passion (A Presidential Affair Book 3)

by Jennifer Rebecca

  “But don’t you want more?” I blurt, and I swear an annoyed look flits across his face, but it’s gone before I can be sure. “Don’t you want a love match?”

  “What good will that do me?” He laughs. “I need someone who can go the distance so I can sit in your boss’s office in a few years. Besides, who’s to say we won’t grow to love each other? Does that surprise you?”

  “Yeah, I guess it does,” I say before taking another bite of pasta. Suddenly, my favorite meal tastes like ash in my mouth. “I always thought you were different.”

  “I am different, honey,” he says gently. “But I’m also practical. You were the dreamer. I want the White House, and to do that, I need to be well-connected to strong political allies.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “So you understand?”

  “Yes, Gil,” I reply sadly. “I understand.”

  “Thank you,” he says, closing his eyes for a second before opening them. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “Of course. I’ll always support my favorite brother,” I reply cheekily.

  “Great,” he says, his voice full of feeling. “So you’ll have dinner with Senator Chancellor?”

  “Wait, what?” I ask.

  “You’ll help me make those political allies by aligning with the president’s father.”

  “Not so fast,” I hiss over the table quietly. “I said I would support you in making your political allies. I will not marry a man I do not love, especially one old enough to be my grandfather.”

  “But you said you wanted a family of your own one day,” he rallies. “Kids? How are you ever going to have kids if you don’t settle down?”

  “And you think a man in his early eighties wants to have babies running around?” I laugh. “I don’t think so. I mean, his own son is in his forties.”

  “You said it yourself,” he challenges. “That you’re excited about Grace’s baby. “You’ll make a wonderful grandmother to that baby.”

  “This is insane,” I whisper-yell at him. “I won’t do it.”

  “Please,” he begs. “I need this connection.”

  “You’ll have to make it another way,” I say sadly. “I can’t be bought.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he mutters under his breath, and I raise my hand and ask for a box. I’m going to go back to my house and binge this entire plate of pasta and whatever Real Housewives franchise or Cash Cab I can on demand tonight. There’s a bottle of wine and some yoga pants with my name on them. “Julia, you have to see reason.”

  “What I see is that you’re so much like them now,” I say as I box up my dinner. “I love you, and I always will, but this hurts.”

  “You’re being childish and unreasonable,” he snaps.

  “I’m being childish?” I ask. “You called me and set up this dinner to look good for the papers. Don’t pretend like this whole evening had anything to do with me.”

  “I love you, Julia,” he says with a sigh as he stands to hug me. When he pulls me close, he says in my ear, “Don’t make a foolhardy mistake that we’ll both regret.”

  “I won’t,” I reply quietly when I pull away.

  “Just… think on it, will you?”

  “Yeah,” I agree for lack of anything better to say. It’s a lie, and I think we both know it is. I won’t ever consider selling my body to a man I don’t love, let alone trust, just so my brother can one day be president. Those are his aspirations, not mine.

  I pick up my takeout box and my purse from the table and head out into the camera flashes of the local media with a fake smile on my face. I’m barely through the door when someone bumps into me and practically slams me into the ground, when I’m swept into a set of arms.

  “Excuse me,” I say until I look up at who has a hold of me, and then I want to throw up.

  “Fancy bumping into you here,” Senator Chancellor says as he smiles brightly at me.

  The media all around us is chomping at the bit for pictures and answers to questions. There’s not a damn thing I can do right now, because I’ve been expertly caught in his trap, one that’s very similar to the one his son set for his own wife. He’s much too powerful in the political arena, still, for me to take on all on my own. I’m going to have to wait and see if I can undo the trap that he so skillfully set for me.

  Carefully, I extricate myself from his arms with a polite but in no way inviting smile on my face and then head in the direction of my car. I’m seething by the time I beep the locks on my key fob and drop down into the driver seat.

  I thought I was having dinner with my brother.

  I was sure I was being used.

  I had absolutely no idea he was setting me up for a fall.

  I drive myself home like a little old lady, although in hindsight, maybe a reckless driving ticket would have made me less appealing to the president’s father. Who knows? I toss my dress in the dry-cleaning bag, even though I contemplate burning it or throwing it in the trash, and pull on my ugly period sweats and eat my leftovers in bed, leaving the carton on the nightstand. I’ll pick it up tomorrow, when I’m on my way back to work—that is if this doesn’t screw me again.

  And then I tuck myself into my covers and promise myself that after work tomorrow, I will adopt eight cats like Grace and never even look at a man ever again. And then I fall asleep, and it won’t be until much later that I would realize Ryan never showed.

  “Pretty Press Secretary Swept off Her Feet by New Beau”

  Chapter 15

  Armor

  I did not see that coming.

  This morning when my alarm rang, I felt relieved. I missed being in the office. I thrive on being at the heart of the news day. And to be at the heart of the nation and see first hand the making of that news is awe- inspiring, so even though my personal life is an absolute shambles, I was ready to be back, and I jumped out of bed with excitement and a grateful heart.

  I showered and dressed with care in a black suit of skinny-cut slacks, a matching tailored blazer with a peplum waist, and a taupe silk blouse underneath. I dried and curled my hair in soft waves around my shoulders to soften the look and applied tasteful makeup in soft pinks and shimmery golds. I pushed my diamond studs through my ears and wrapped my watch around my wrist, and I stepped into a pair of sky-high Louboutins.

  I know it seems weird and most wouldn’t feel the same way, but my heels are my armor. They give me confidence. There’s just something empowering about donning a great pair or a red lipstick. It makes me feel bold. And something tells me that after last night, I’m going to need to be bold today. So I’ll take my armor in any way it might come.

  Even though I was excited to go back to work, it was not without a fair amount of trepidation. Gil and Senator Chancellor set me up last night, plain and simple. I trusted my brother as the only member of my family who deserved my faith in him, and I’m not ready to completely give up on him, but he chose to side with my parents in my current battle, so I need to keep that in mind. Not because Gil can’t be trusted, but because the trust I had already given freely—even if a little misguided—is going to cost me, and I won’t know just how much until I hit the office this morning and see if I’m still on house arrest.

  I stopped in the kitchen and made myself a cup of coffee and a bagel with cream cheese at home. Usually, I’m a breakfast skipper, but I was so excited to start my day that I blew through my preparations in record time.

  I still stopped for my latte on my way into the capitol. I parked in my usual spot in the staff lot, and I made my way through security like I always do. I kept to myself, not on purpose but because I was lost in my own head. I didn’t notice the weird looks I was getting from the people around me.

  I made my way down the hallway and into the staff offices. I fired up my computer and logged in, but I didn’t have time to tap into the press wires yet, because my office phone started ringing, bringing me to the now.

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “Ms. Fairc
hild, the president needs to see you ASAP,” the bitchy secretary says without greeting. Weirdly enough, there’s a hint of a smile in her voice that sends a chill down my spine. If she’s happy about calling me, things are not going to go my way.

  “I’ll be right there,” I reply before hanging up.

  I drop my purse in my desk drawer and secure it, even though there’s a strong chance I’m about to be fired. Shit. I make my way down the hallway quickly, knowing it won’t bode well to keep the president waiting when I’m being called down to the carpet.

  The secretary smiles like the cat that got her cream when she sees me, and I feel sick to my stomach. This is not good. Regardless, I look her square in the eye and hold my head high. She smirks but doesn’t say anything, and I raise my hand to knock on the door.

  “They’re waiting for you,” she purrs, and I don’t look back at her. I let my fist knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Jake barks from the interior. Shit, shit, shit. He’s really mad.

  I square my shoulders, push the door open, and step inside.

  “Shut the door behind you,” he orders, and I catch the bitch’s eye as I turn and close the door. She’s smiling full-out now, and I want to throw up.

  “You wanted to see me,” I say, and I’m proud of the fact that there’s only a hint of a tremor to be heard in my voice. I look around, and the room isn’t full, but it’s not empty either. Jake, Ryan, Rick, and Gus all stand around. They are an intimidating group of men, I’m not going to lie, but I’m a badass too.

  “There’s something you need to see, Jules,” Rick says softly.

  “If it’s photos of me leaving a restaurant last night,” I begin and look to Jake, “you should know that while I haven’t seen them, I know it was a setup. I was there to have dinner with my brother, Gil, and your father waylaid me on the way out. It was a photo op ambush.”

  “This isn’t photos, Jules,” Jake says, and I tip my head to the side, letting my confusion show on my face.

  “If it’s not photos, then what is it?” I ask.

  “Come here,” Rick says, handing me an iPad.

  I press Play and watch as my entire life implodes.

  “Ohhh… yes. Yes!”

  I watch as a strong, masculine hand—Ryan’s hand—thrusts two fingers into my pussy. My hips arch up to meet him. Swirling wisps of color tease and twirl around his arm in the form of a tattoo, but from this angle, you can’t tell what it is in the video. But I clearly have firsthand knowledge of the soldier’s cross tattoo that sits on that tan stretch of skin.

  “Please!” I hear myself beg. And oh, how I’ve begged for this man’s touch. The way he burns me up from the inside out should be criminal.

  “Mmm.” He chuckles, low and throaty, because he was enjoying teasing me, keeping me on the edge. He always loves to torture me, to touch me, and to fuck me. It’s weird standing here, watching this all play out with him standing on the opposite side of the room.

  “Please!” I needed him so badly. Truth be told, I still do, and thankfully, he’s inclined to oblige me, because he shows up in the middle of the night almost every night. Even now that I’ve sworn off men, I know that if he comes to me again, I would let him inside me, and I would beg him to do it.

  My cheeks heat, and I try to clench my thighs without anyone noticing, but he notices. I see him smirk out the corner of my eye. He knows what he does to me and how well he does it too. There has never been, and I know in my heart of hearts that there never will be another man who knows my body and how to play it like Ryan Black does.

  I watch the screen as he grips his thick, veiny cock in his fist before rubbing the flushed tip through my wetness and then up to stroke my clit, making me bite my lip to keep from crying out, because my torture only seems to egg him on. The higher my passion climbs, the more turned on he gets. Ryan seems to thrive on pleasing me, at least in bed. In life, I’m not so sure.

  It’s weird being both humiliated and turned on in a roomful of your friends and colleagues, but it’s also nothing I’m new to. I had a full career as a primetime news anchor. You don’t make it that far without a few scars on your arms and knives in your back. Although, even I have to admit this one takes the cake.

  My parents are going to kill me. Whatever reprieve I bought myself by blocking them has now been laid to waste. Good news is, I can’t see Senator Chancellor wanting to marry me anymore after this. At least that’s one line item I can check off on my “Julia Fairchild’s Epic Lemons to Lemon Vodka Life List.”

  “Ahhh,” I moan as he finally notches the very tip of him at my center and slides in all the way. That sound is embarrassing. It’s a high keening sound kind of like a cat in heat, although I guess that’s what I was. The knowledge that Ryan can turn me into an animal is not a happy one.

  “Kill me now,” I mumble under my breath, and I watch as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. It’s a subtle gesture, but it’s also a telling one. He’s not as unaffected as he seems. Good. He should feel as hot and bothered as I do.

  I remember the moment so well, not only because he showed me a repeat performance the other night, but because it was that memorable. He had my body strung so tight and pushed me higher and higher. I was like a lit fuse on a bomb.

  The muscles in his thighs and ass flex and ripple as he pulls out to the tip only to thrust back in, making my tits bounce like a porn star. Is that what I am now? A porn star? He grips my hips so tight in his hands that I wore marks for days, just like the ones I carry on my skin now under my slacks.

  I feel my eyes glaze over. I’m lost in the moment, watching as he pumps into me over and over again. I watch as my hands grip the sheets of the hotel bed tight as I arch my back while he fucks me into oblivion.

  And then I watch with everyone else as my jaw drops down on a silent scream and my eyes close when I find completion in the mystery man’s arms.

  Jake clears his throat. “I think we’ve seen enough,” he says uncomfortably, and I hit Pause on the iPad.

  “The video was released thirty-seven minutes ago,” Rick says. “And has been viewed twenty-six million times.”

  Jesus Christ.

  There’s a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” Jake says.

  “I was looking for Jules,” my assistant says as he pokes his head in the room. “The Press Room is ready for you to brief them on HB 2250.”

  “Great,” I say, not feeling it at all. I kind of feel like throwing up. In fact, I think I might.

  “You don’t have to go in there, Jules,” Jake says gently. “We can send in someone else. Hell, I’ll do it myself.”

  “Normally, I would say no to that,” Rick adds. “But for you, I’d even do it.”

  “Come on, guys.” I laugh, but it lands flat even to my own ears. “This happens every day. I’ll be old news by tomorrow. Time to get back on the horse.”

  “Jules, you don’t have to be brave in here,” Jake tells me. He knows me well for someone who’s new to my life. Marrying my bestie, Grace, was the smartest thing he ever did, and he loves her so much he’d do anything for her. Including protect her idiot best friend from a sex tape scandal.

  I shrug one shoulder like it’s no big deal. “Nah, I can’t let them smell my fear. Besides, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened before now.”

  And then I walk out of the Oval Office and down the hall toward the White House Press Room to brief a bunch of great white sharks on a Congressional Bill that the president vehemently opposes and—plot twist—all while my boobs are bouncing around the internet like a porn star and the knowledge that the world has now seen my “O” face.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” I say, stepping up to the podium in the press room. “Let’s talk about the elephant in the room.”

  The cacophony of sound from everyone jumping to their feet and shouting their questions at me is overwhelming, but I don’t let it startle me. In fact, it calms me down. This is my zone. I’m in my ele
ment, and here, no one can hurt me.

  “Quiet and I’ll get to your questions in a minute,” I order, and they settle a little, but I can tell they’re chomping at the bit. “This morning, a tape was published to the internet. A tape of me and a gentleman in an intimate setting. This tape was made without my knowledge or consent and also without that of the gentleman in the tape. It is currently under investigation. That is all I know at this time.”

  “Jules!” someone shouts. “Who’s the man?”

  “That question, I will not answer… ever,” I say calmly.

  “Come on, Jules. That’s not fair.”

  “What’s not fair is a private citizen of the United States having his nude body in a very private setting blasted all over the internet for mass consumption,” I reply sternly. “He is not for you to pick apart over and over.”

  “Don’t you think we deserve to know his identity, since he’s involved with a public figure?”

  “No, I do not,” I answer. “Also, he and I are no longer involved, so that’s a nonstarter. Next question.”

  “Senator Chancellor has publicly claimed that it is him in the video,” someone shouts. “Can you confirm that?”

  Now that surprises me. Damn. Double damn. I had thought this video would finally get him off my back, but apparently it just made him double down.

  I smile before I answer. “Have you seen the tape?” I ask the reporter who posed the question.

  “Yes.”

  “Does that look like the body of an eighty-year-old man to you?”

  “No,” he answers to the sound of snickers all around the room.

  “The senior senator is in great shape, no doubt,” I reply. “But I have no carnal knowledge of him or his body. So I will repeat one more time for the people in the back. I have not now or ever been romantically or intimately involved with the president’s father, nor will I. We are not engaged, and we are not getting married.”