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

by Jennifer Rebecca

  “That you know that’s who I am.” I shrug my shoulders.

  “You are not them,” he says, his voice low in warning. “You are never going to be them.”

  “I hope not,” I admit. “I try not to be.”

  “You are not them.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Because I just know,” he says, his voice low. “I would not sink my dick in that, and if I thought you were like that, you would have never had me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay,” he agrees, and I squeeze my legs together at the thought of him sinking his dick into me. One would have to agree that Ryan definitely has a way with words.

  “So… Texas?”

  “Yeah.” He smiles now that we’re on even footing again.

  “What part?” I ask.

  “A little itty-bitty town in East Texas called Tall Pines,” he answers.

  “No kidding!” I laugh. “I have a friend there.”

  “I know. She married the ball player, right?”

  “Yes. Angie,” I answer. “She married Cody Reynolds, and they have a little girl now. Do you know them?”

  “I’m about ten years older than Reynolds and his crowd,” he says. “But like I said, it’s a little town, so everyone knows everyone else. I think one of my younger sisters knew him in school.”

  “You have sisters?” I ask as our lunch is served.

  “Two,” he answers. “MacKenzie and Amelia.”

  “What do they do?” I ask, and he smiles proudly.

  “They’re both Marines.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, Mack flies F-35s, and Amelia flies the Osprey.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “A big helicopter to move people and things,” he answers.

  “So you’re the only one who’s not a pilot?”

  “Who said I wasn’t a pilot?” He laughs. “Our granddaddy was a Marine, and when he got out, he flew oil pipeline planes, and the girls and I all used to love to go up with him. We’ve all been flying since we were kids.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “There’s not much to do in East Texas, and my mom threatened death if we got into trouble with drugs or booze or pregnancy scares, so flying was a lot safer.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “I have a little Cessna I can take you up in sometime if you’d like,” he offers, and I’m not going to lie, the idea of going up in the sky in a tiny little tin can with propellers kind of scares the crap out of me. That must show on my face, because laughter bursts from him. “I take it that’s a no.”

  “It’s not a no, per se,” I answer, and he laughs again, but this time it’s a handsome chuckle. “It’s more of a maybe.”

  “The kids love it,” he says. “One day, I’ll take you to Texas, and you can see the pipeline path we used to fly.”

  “I’d like that,” I say quietly.

  “You’ll like Mom and Dad,” he says. “Dad’s a bit of a loveable grouch, but then again, most old Marines are, and Mom’s a doll.”

  “I’m sure I will.” My heart flutters at the thought.

  “You ready to meet the kids tonight?” he asks me.

  “I’m terrified,” I answer honestly. “Last time they saw me was not good.”

  “It was not good, because you were worried about their old man,” he says. “They’re old enough to understand you care about me, and I care about you a great deal. They like that for me, and they’re glad I have it. Their mom has had it with Alan for years, and they’ve wanted it for me too.”

  “I love that.”

  “Lacy will like you, because you dress great,” he says. “Cabe will like you, because you’re hot.”

  “Ryan!” I gasp and toss my napkin at him, making him laugh again. “Shame on you!”

  “What?” He laughs. “He’s a seventeen-year-old boy. He’s going to notice.”

  “He is not.”

  “He will, and I’ll tell you how I know.”

  “Well, how do you know?” I snark.

  “Because I noticed right away too.”

  “You are not a seventeen-year-old boy,” I remind him.

  “No, I’m not,” he agrees with a mischievous smile on his face. “I’m a forty-seven-year-old man, and we all have the same parts.”

  “You are terrible.” I laugh.

  “I am,” he says. “But I’m also yours.”

  “That, you are.” It falls from my lips so easily I decide not to question it.

  And then the waitress brings our bill. Ryan doesn’t even let me look at it. He pays and then escorts me out of the building and back to the offices, where we get back to our day.

  And that afternoon, the picture of serious Captain Ryan Black with his head thrown back and laughing at something I said with a happy but saucy smile on my face goes viral.

  • • •

  I have never been more terrified of a date before.

  I’ve never dated a man with children—grown or otherwise—before. Although, to be fair, I really haven’t dated many men, so there really wasn’t very much opportunity for me to date anyone with children.

  Ryan’s kids aren’t really kids at fifteen and seventeen. But they’re not quite adults yet either. It’s an interesting situation we find ourselves in.

  After lunch, Ryan had driven us back to the White House offices, where he went back to whatever it is he does for the president, which I hear is everything from getting coffee to handling his schedule and advising him on military situations. It’s an all-encompassing job.

  I went back to my office and back to herding the cluster of cats—both house and feral—who make up the associated press. They were a wild bunch after my lunch date with Ryan. Wanting to know how long we’ve been going out, if he’s the one, and if there are hearts and flowers in the future for us. What they did not ask about was House Bill 2250. A fact that I find most alarming, since Congressman Grissom has since reintroduced it to the House floor, knowing the president has every intention of vetoing it if it goes for a vote.

  After my last press briefing, Cara, Grace, and Carter ambushed me in my office, slamming the door behind them.

  “So you’re meeting the kids tonight?” Cara asked. “This is a big deal.”

  “This is huge!” Carter agreed.

  “Meh, you’ll be fine,” Grace downplayed the terror coursing through my body. “They’re good kids.”

  It was then I told them about my post Ryan being shot meltdown in the hospital in front of his ex-wife and children. I told them everything. How his son cottoned on really quickly to the fact that his dad meant something to me and how I should have been there, but they didn’t know about me to call me to tell me that he’d been injured. When in reality, Ryan and I were not officially a thing then, and my lying to the hospital staff, claiming to be his girlfriend, was more about getting intel than it was actual fact. And how I was afraid to meet them in a normal setting.

  “Yikes,” Carter said under his breath and Grace sent her elbow back into his gut with a savage smile on her face. My bestie is actually kind of terrifying.

  “It’ll be fine,” she repeated her previous statement.

  “What if they think I’m crazy?” I asked.

  “Oh, I’m sure they do,” Carter mumbled, and Grace went to elbow him, and he blocked her, but her body, rounded with pregnancy, was throwing off her balance, so when she went down, he moved to catch her and took her elbow to the balls, crying out as he did. It was kind of like watching one of those ESPN slow-motion replays during a boxing match where one fighter takes a right cross and their head swings to the side as spit and sometimes teeth come flying out, and we can see the flesh of their cheeks press in on one side and swing out on the other. Only it wasn’t cheek flesh that took the impact, but man parts.

  “Ouch,” I cringed.

  “Children!” Cara snapped. “Stop this nonsense. We have more important things to discuss.”

  “We do?”
we all asked in unison.

  “Yes!” she snapped.

  “Like what, dear?” Grace asked with an encouraging smile on her face.

  “Like what she’s going to wear.”

  “Oh my God,” I gasped.

  “What?” they all asked in unison.

  “What am I going to wear?” I shouted.

  “I got this,” Cara said in a “bitch, hold my beer” tone of voice.

  “Yeah, you do,” Grace said.

  “Get it, girl,” Carter added at the same time as Grace, encouraging Cara to do her thing. She is a professional stylist, after all.

  “Your blush-pink button-up blouse with the cuffed sleeves, your light wash skinnies with the distressing up the legs, and your bone-colored Louboutins with the pointed toe,” she says. “Normal jewelry, soft makeup, bone-colored suede moto jacket.”

  “Jesus, she’s good,” Grace muttered.

  “God, I think I just came,” Carter said, making us all laugh, but then again, he wasn’t wrong.

  After they left, I grabbed my purse from my desk drawer and made my way through the halls of the offices, smiling at those who smile at me. It surprised me, even though it shouldn’t have, that most of the people who knew me and worked with me in the industry for years, or even those who worked with me at the White House for the last few months, know what kind of person I am and stood by me through the sex tape scandal.

  It’s still available on the internet with millions of downloads per minute, but who cares? It doesn’t change who I am and what I stand for. I didn’t make it, and it does not define me. I’m just a woman who was a victim for whatever reason. The public thinks it’s a classic revenge porn case, that I dumped the guy in the video, and he got mad and took it to the internet. That story couldn’t be further from the truth, but then again, who would believe the story of unknown sources trying to blackmail the President of the United Stated and his inner circle? I wouldn’t if someone would have told me it was a possibility a year ago, or even a month ago.

  So it is what it is, but the people closest to me stood by me. My family, not so much. Even Gil has been surprisingly absent, but then again, in one of my mother’s voicemail tirades, she announced that Gil cannot be associated with trash like me, because it would hurt his political career. That is, unless I decided to marry the president’s father and let his people spin my current public crisis.

  I had my finger in the air and was getting ready to press the Delete button, when the answering machine was swiped out from underneath my hand and ripped from the wall, cords still dangling. I stood there with my jaw dropped as Ryan hurled the entire thing at the wall, where it smashed into a million pieces. Then he just looked at me and said, “Problem solved.” And we never talked about it again.

  I drove to my home in the suburbs and parked in the driveway. I waved to the last remaining media crews on the lawn. Ryan and I being in the love bubble is not as exciting as a sex tape, so the crowds are thinning. I let myself in and then began my preparations. Cara was right. The outfit was stylish enough to impress but casual enough for dinner at a pizza place.

  I’m just transferring the stuff from my regular bag to my cute bone-colored clutch when the doorbell rings. I pull open the door, and Ryan is standing there looking supremely handsome in jeans and a button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled up.

  “Hi,” I greet him with a nervous smile on my face.

  “Babe,” is all he says.

  “What?” I ask, unsure of how I fucked up before we even get to the restaurant. I figured even I would make it farther than the first two minutes.

  “Did you even look to see who it was?” he asks.

  “No, why would I? I knew you were coming,” I explain, and he looks like he’s praying for deliverance—from what, I do not know.

  He lets out a heavy sigh before he steps inside and picks up my jacket from the back of a chair. He holds it out for me, and I turn and slide my arms through the sleeves before fluffing my hair out of the collar.

  “Ready?” he asks, and I scoop up my bag and grab my keys.

  “Ready,” I reply, smiling at him.

  I lock my front door, and we head down the walk to the driveway, where his SUV sits. Ryan walks me around to the front passenger door and pulls it open for me before offering me a hand to hold as I climb up.

  He shuts the door behind me, and I pull my seatbelt across my chest as he walks around the hood and pulls open the driver door and climbs in before looking at me and shaking his head.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Babe, those shoes are ridiculous.”

  “I’ll have you know I love these shoes,” I tell him. “In fact, I could probably run the New York City Marathon in these shoes.”

  “Really?” he asks.

  “Probably not,” I admit with a silly smile. “But I’d give it the old college try.”

  He throws his head back and laughs, and I smile until I hear a delicate giggle and an almost masculine chuckle coming from the backseat and realize we’re not alone. I turn and wave with a surprised look on my face.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi,” they both say back with friendly smiles on their faces.

  “Kids, this is Jules,” Ryan introduces. “Jules, this is Cabe and Lacy.”

  “Hi,” I say awkwardly again.

  “For the record,” Lacy says. “I love those shoes.”

  “Me too,” Cabe adds. “They’re sexy as hell.”

  Ryan laughs again then backs out of my driveway and takes us to dinner at a fabulous pizza place near the capitol. Apparently, the Black family dine here every other Friday night when they’re with their dad for the weekend. It’s their thing, and they included me. I’ve never been included in a family thing like this before, and being welcomed into the fold so instantly hits me hard, in a very good way.

  After dinner, they drop me back at my house with smiles and waves from the kids, and then Ryan walks me to the front door. After I unlock it, he places a sweet but claiming kiss on my lips and wishes me good night. He waits until after I shut and lock the door behind me, and then he and the kids go home.

  It’s official. They have claimed me. And Ryan and I have gone public with our budding romance.

  Too bad in the days to come that the very foundation of our lives would be shaken, and everything would change.

  “Chancellor and Fairchild Shippers Hold Out Hope.”

  Chapter 19

  King

  Oh. My. God.

  That’s all that keeps circling around and around in my brain. The images play over and over on replay in my mind. This can’t be happening.

  This morning when I woke up, I would have sworn the birds were singing and the sun was shining. It was like I was living in a fairy tale book. The pages of drawings are so bright and happy. I was happy. I had dressed for work with care in a pair of winter-white wide-leg slacks and a dove-gray silk blouse. I threaded a silver belt through the loops and slipped my feet into a pair of dove-gray Louboutins. I curled my hair delicately around my shoulders and applied soft makeup to my face before threading my diamond studs into my ears and wrapping my watch around my wrist.

  I climbed into my car and drove toward the capitol, stopping at my favorite coffee drive-thru for a skinny vanilla latte and a sesame bagel with cream cheese. You can take the girl out of New York, but you can’t take New York out of the girl. I ate in the car and wiped my mouth with a napkin as I pulled into my usual spot in the White House staff parking lot.

  I turned off my car and pulled my lipstick from my purse to touch up my face in the sun visor’s mirror. I flipped it back up, tossed my lipstick tube back in my purse, and grabbed my keys from the ignition. I made my way through the security line and then headed down the hallway toward my office. I dropped my purse in the bottom desk drawer and fired up my computer.

  And that was the last normal thing I did today, because after that, everything changed.

  I spot a large manila envelope in my inbox
tray, and I scoop it up. My name is printed on the front in bold handwriting, and I wonder what it could be. I don’t usually get big packages like this, so it surprises me.

  I fold open the little silver prongs and peel back the flap. The envelope is stuffed solid with papers, and I turn it upside down over my desk and shake the contents out.

  A stack of glossy black-and-white eight-by-tens and a note scrawled in a masculine hand fall out all over my desk. I pick up the note, and when I read it, my blood runs cold in my veins.

  Dear Eagle,

  You were warned. Make sure you let Black and Ghost know they were too and that they had this coming. See you at your funeral.

  XO

  I drop the paper the threat is scrawled on as if it’s a coiled-up rattlesnake preparing to strike. And then, as if my hands have a mind of their own, I reach down and pick up the stack of photos. They’re of Ryan and me at lunch laughing, of me in a silk robe getting ready for our pizza date, of us with his kids at dinner, of him making love to me in my bed, and of me alone and asleep in my home.

  Someone is watching me.

  I look around the room and over my shoulder. It’s a weird feeling to know someone is watching you without your knowledge. It’s a violation. I feel sick to my stomach, and I drop to my knees and lose my bagel and coffee into the wastepaper basket.

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and scramble back to my feet. I’m unsteady as the room spins. I grab my phone off the desk and call a number of the only person who I know can help.

  “Hello?” Rick answers.

  “Rick,” I say quickly, and I can hear the tremor in my voice. I know he does too.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” he asks immediately.

  “I need to show you something in my office.”

  “I’ll get Black,” he says. “He’s in a meeting right now.”

  “No!” I shout. “Don’t do that until I’m sure how to approach it.”

  “It’s that bad?” he prompts, his voice low so others can’t hear him.

  “It’s worse.”

  “I’ll be there in five,” he says. “Lock the door until I get there.”

  I hurry to stand and have to steady myself with a hand to my desktop, and then I race over to the door and flip the lock. I press my back to the cool wood and try to still my racing heart and my tumbling stomach. I still feel sick. My forehead is clammy, and I feel hot all over.