by J D Wade
In the end, when it was evident that it was time to call an end to the Q&A session, I indicated to Nathan to let voters know he would be sitting down at dinner to answer questions as well. Messages continued to roll in as I ended the live video and closed the social media apps. When I finally locked the phones and told Nathan that we were no longer live, he was still smiling. Seeing how he reacted to his interactions with the voters was nice. He seemed to genuinely enjoy talking to the American public so that he could find out how best to be their president.
Jesus Christ. Another reason to like this guy.
Can he get any more attractive?
“Do you want me to clean up?” I asked Nathan as I slipped the phones into my pocket at the end of the session. I’d return them to their owners once I left the suite. “Or do you want to finish your cold food?”
That chuckle reached my ears again.
“I’m going to eat,” He said. “I’m starving.”
“Okay.” I started to stand.
“Aren’t you going to finish yours?”
“Yeah,” I responded as though this hadn’t occurred to me—since it hadn’t. “I’ll warm it up in the microwave in my room.”
As I reached for my plate so that I could go eat my food and return the phones to the assistants, Nathan reached out and pressed my plate to the table.
“Just sit there and eat.” He said as though this were the most reasonable solution. “You’re always rushing off somewhere.”
“I don’t rush off somewhere all of the time,” I mumbled as I settled back into my chair to text the assistants to come retrieve their phones.
It seemed as though I was going to be in the meeting room a bit longer with Nathan.
“Do you not like it here on the campaign?” Nathan asked as he skewered a piece of fruit with his fork. “You didn’t celebrate with everyone after the debate.”
“The campaign is fine,” I said.
I finished my text and laid my phone on the table.
“That’s not a really strong answer.”
“Well, it’s still an answer, isn’t it?”
“Why do you do that?” Nathan asked as the sound of the suite door opening sounded.
“Do what?” I asked, just as one of the assistants—Katie—hustled into the meeting room.
I held the phones out to her. That was quick, I thought. Apparently, being without your work phone for over an hour is torture.
Katie and Nathan exchanged some pleasantries as he ate from his fruit bowl, then she advised him of a few agenda items for the day, then she was gone. Presumably, to return the other phone to her counterpart, David. Nathan went back to eating his breakfast as I sat there, trying to decide if I could leave without hurting his feelings.
Why do you care if you hurt his feelings?
“You aren’t eating.”
Without a word, I picked up my fork and cut off part of my omelet, then shoveled it into my mouth. I was ravenous, so there was no point in arguing with Nathan about whether or not I was eating, or where I should be eating my breakfast now that our job was done.
“So, why do you hate the campaign?” He asked, not looking up. “Not as exciting as Tuniverse?”
“It’s exciting.” I relented. “It’s fast-paced and interesting. I just won’t be here long, so there’s no point in settling in, is there?”
“You could always stay after Super Tuesday,” Nathan suggested. “Marty Goldman made that deal with you. Since she’s no longer here, I guess we can renegotiate.”
He looked up at me with a smile, obviously proud of himself.
“Super Tuesday is fine,” I replied around a mouthful of the omelet.
“Look,” Nathan set his fork down and laced his fingers on the top of the table, as though we were negotiating, “I know a political campaign isn’t as creative and exciting as making your own content for Tuniverse, but you’ve become a great asset to the team. In a matter of days. I’d be willing to offer you a bit more money to stay through the election. Who knows? If I win, maybe we could find a permanent spot as Social Media Advisor at the White House?”
He finished his thought with one of his signature chuckles, which almost made me say “yes” immediately to his proposition. Nathan fucking Reed. Being in his presence was like being in the presence of, obviously, the president. He was charismatic and funny and knowledgeable—and unlike former presidents, and most certainly the current one—he was incredibly attractive. I found myself staring into his eyes, a skewered strawberry on my fork halfway to my mouth. After a few moments, Nathan seemed to grow nervous.
“Obviously, we couldn’t match what you make with Tuniverse, but we could do better than what you agreed to with Marty.”
I stuffed the strawberry into my mouth, simply to make things less awkward and to give myself time to think. Nathan couldn’t expect me to answer with a full mouth. As I stared across the table at Nathan, I knew there was only one right answer to his suggestion. I had to tell him, “no.” If I stayed on the campaign past Super Tuesday, the odds that I would say or do something inappropriate would grow exponentially each day. Eventually, we would cause another scandal. I didn’t even know if Nathan was interested in me in a sexual—or even a romantic way—but I knew that I wanted him. Every second around him was impossible. If he demanded it, I would have let him fuck me right there on the meeting table next to our breakfast plates.
Calm down, Timothy.
“I’ll really need to get back to my job after Super Tuesday,” I finally answered him. “I think I might have some fresh ideas for the channel anyway. I’m sure my subscribers are ready for me to be back as well.”
Nathan sighed and picked up his fork. He looked grumpy.
“Well,” He finally said, “if you change your mind before then, the door is open.”
“Okay,” I replied, cutting into my omelet and avoiding his eyes. “Thank you.”
Chapter 14
Nathan
Time Flies
Timothy and I were pretty successful if I did say so myself, with our first installment of Breakfast with Nathan Reed on Instagram and Facebook. Dinner with Nathan Reed later that first day was a bit slower since people were busier at that time of day. However, it went well, too. Timothy had a real knack for knowing when and how to engage on social media to have the most significant impact. He was also nearly a genius when it came to how to film, how to light me, and feeding me questions without disrupting the flow of everything. With the limited equipment and spaces we had to shoot with each stop on the campaign trail, I was even more impressed with his abilities. The only thing I wasn’t impressed with was how standoffish he was every time we interacted.
Okay, so I’m the boss. But I’m a pretty amiable boss—and I’ve been told that I’m pretty good at small talk, so I couldn’t figure out why he seemed to want to avoid me. After all, the whole point of his presence on the campaign was to help with the crisis and social media. He had almost singlehandedly figured out the best way to make the annulled marriage scandal go away, and he was wonderful with my social media presence. Maybe he didn’t enjoy the job he had been hired to do? Or maybe he didn’t like me.
It was odd wondering if he didn’t like me. One, it doesn’t matter if your employees like you, as long as they respect you. Two, why did I care if he liked me?
So, I found Timothy attractive. That wasn’t exactly appropriate, all things considered. I knew that I was too old for him. Not incredibly older than him, but I was still over a decade older. But that was beside the point. Thinking about things like that while he was my employee was wrong. Furthermore, I didn’t even know if he liked me at all—because it sure seemed like he couldn’t even stand to be around me.
There were times, over the first few days of us working together in the morning and evening, that I couldn’t help but wonder what his deal was. Often, he would simply perform his job duties, eat his meal with me, then escape to his own room. Everyone on the campaign loved having him around since he was such a
charismatic and nice guy, but he never really socialized with anyone. It takes a pretty unique person to pull off such a feat. It was apparent that he fit in well with the campaign dynamic and knew how to do the tasks assigned to him.
Then I’d find myself wondering if he found me attractive but just too old? Maybe he would have had more to say to me if we were closer in age or I was more attractive? After I went down that road, I started to wonder if maybe I should tell him that I enjoyed being with him? Tell him that I missed talking to him like I did that first night when we ran into each other at the vending machine. Could I confess to him that I wanted to have more talks like that? Learn more about him?
What was it about this guy that made me simply crave being in his presence?
Of course, a presidential candidate has to be charismatic. We’re used to being the most affable people in a room.
Maybe I was attracted to that same quality in Timothy? He made people want to get to know him and to talk to him. Of course, I didn’t just want to talk to him or learn more about him as a person—I wanted to touch him.
Those thoughts always made me feel guilty. He’d lean over me at a table to adjust a camera or to point out something, and I’d smell his cologne or deodorant, or maybe I’d feel his arm brush up against mine. In those moments, I wanted to grab ahold of him, though I wasn’t sure if that would be to shake him and demand an explanation for his coolness, or if I would end up kissing him.
He does have nice lips.
I’d stare across every table into his chocolatey eyes and find myself drifting off, wondering what was going on inside of his head. Usually, he was busy focusing on whatever task was at hand or whatever information was being relayed to us in a meeting. Though once or twice, he’d turn to look at me as I was staring at him, and our eyes would meet. Every time I could swear that his cheeks got a little pinker, and he intentionally averted his eyes.
Could he maybe feel the same way about me that I feel about him?
Obviously, I didn’t love Timothy. I barely knew him. But I knew that I wanted to be around him, learn more about him, talk to him, hold his hand. Maybe we could do other things? I felt like a wild animal on the scent of a mate’s pheromones. Everything about Timothy was enticing. I tried to push all of those thoughts out of my mind as the days flew by, and Super Tuesday approached. He wasn’t going to be with us after then anyway, so what was the point of torturing myself thinking about him as much as I did? The best thing I could do for myself was to try to ignore the feelings I had.
Fuck. He’s cute, though.
Chapter 15
Nathan
No One Likes to Dine Alone
“Everyone is going to some Italian restaurant tonight,” Timothy stated dryly as he set up the phones at breakfast. “A treat to themselves for so much hard work. Katie asked me to ask you if you wanted to come along because she could call the restaurant and tell them what to expect and connect them with Secret Service agent whoever.”
“An Italian restaurant?”
“Right?” Timothy smiled, his eyes on the phone. “Of all the choices.”
I chuckled, watching him work. “No. I think Italian is fine and all. I was just thinking out loud about whether or not that sounded good to Gordo.”
“Gordo?”
“That’s the name I gave him,” I explained as I patted my stomach.
Timothy laughed, which made me smile. For several days he’d been nothing but business as usual. It was nice to see him act a little less stoic.
“Well, if you think Gordo wants massive amounts of pasta, let Katie know.” He added.
“I’ll stay here,” I advised. “The agents get upset with me for weeks if they’re forced to go to a public place to watch over me if it’s not campaign-related.”
Timothy made a humming sound.
“Are you going with them?”
“Why?” He grinned as he worked, though he didn’t look up. “Gonna change your mind if I say ‘yes?’”
“Obviously not.” My chuckle that followed sounded more nervous than I would have liked. “Just wondering if you’re going is all.”
“I don’t know yet,” Timothy said. “I should probably do something with everyone before I leave, but I don’t know if some run-of-the-mill Italian restaurant is how I want to achieve that goal.”
“How do you know the restaurant is average? Maybe it’s good?”
“We’re in the Midwest,” He said. “I have a feeling I know which Italian restaurant they are thinking of going to, Nathan. And I can make any of those dishes at home. Probably taste better, too.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at Timothy’s assessment of Midwestern eateries. I knew exactly which restaurant to which he was referring.
“Fair enough,” I said. “Well, if you need a dining partner for room service tonight, just let me know.”
Too much, Nathan. Too much. Don’t freak him out.
“All right,” Timothy answered.
Score!
Maybe?
So the morning went. Me thinking inappropriate things about having dinner—possibly with Timothy—and not just for the Q&A sessions we did on social media, but to actually have a conversation with him. I did my Q&A for breakfast and hoped that Timothy would stick around to eat with me, but he took his food and left immediately afterward. He said he needed to return the phones to Katie and David, but I knew he was avoiding me like always. It definitely didn’t bode well for him actually deciding to have dinner with me. However, an hour after breakfast, as I was in the middle of a strategy and polling meeting with other staff members, my phone buzzed.
Timothy: Yeah. Okay. Dinner sounds good. Seven? Skip the Q&A tonight for a regular dinner?
As though to not draw attention to myself too much in the meeting, I tapped out a quick reply, hoping that no one noticed my eyes were on my phone instead of on whoever was speaking.
Me: Sounds great. Social media can take a break for one night. I’ll order food?
I set my phone down, suddenly feeling very giddy and unable to pay attention to what was going on in the meeting at all. It wasn’t until I got an “Okay” response text from Timothy that I settled down and started to pay attention once more.
Is this how a president should behave?
The rest of the day was similar. I’d try to pay attention to everything going on around me. Still, I’d often find my brain veering off to think about Timothy. Halfway through the day, I began to wonder if maybe I didn’t just like Timothy because he was the first person in my campaign to tell me the truth. He had come in from virtually nowhere and said the one thing I had needed to hear—and he didn’t care if I liked it. He simply did his job. He wasn’t a Yes Man or some other sycophant who just wanted to work on a possibly winning campaign. Furthermore, I had a feeling that after speaking with me the night we ran into each other at the vending machine, he felt I was the best choice of the two people campaigning for the nomination. That meant he was doing a service for his fellow Americans as well, whether he knew it or not.
He’s kind of a great guy.
He’s not just cute and funny.
He’s a good person.
What isn’t attractive about that?
Chapter 16
Timothy
The Hitch
After I got showered, shaved, and presentable—dressed as though going to do another Dinner with Nathan Reed—I exited my hotel room just before seven o’clock, ready to walk down to Nathan’s suite for dinner. My knees felt like jelly, thinking about having dinner with the man. Would I be able to make it through an entire evening, even if that evening only lasted a few hours, without saying or doing something stupid? Would he? How did he even feel about me? Did he think my bones were as jumpable as I thought his were? As I shuffled down the hallway, the agents in my line of sight the entire time, I wasn’t so sure that I didn’t want to just go back to my room and text Nathan. Tell him it was a bad idea for us to have dinner alone. Of course, he would have question
s. Maybe he’d even figure out why I thought this was a bad idea, but that didn’t matter.
What responsibility did I have as an employee to do the right thing?
Of course, I only had two more days as Nathan Reed’s employee to worry about that. Maybe it would be okay to do something a little inappropriate since we both knew I was going to be leaving his employ in forty-eight hours? People have done far worse than simply have dinner with their boss. Thoughts swirled through my head, the angel and devil on my shoulders, advising me with conflicting ideas, as I made my way down the hallway. However, I barely made it halfway down the hall before I passed one of the rooms whose door was already open.
“Hey, Timothy!” I immediately recognized Katie’s voice.
My feet responded immediately, and I stopped in front of the doorway. Inside the room, Katie was preening in front of the mirror, though she looked nervous, glancing in my direction as she messed with her hair.
“Hey, Katie,” I replied.
For a few moments, Katie just messed with her hair as she stared at me, as though she were considering what else to say. Was she as bad at making small talk as myself?
“Do you have a second?” She asked, indicating that I should enter her room.
“Sure,” I agreed, stepping into her room. “I’m surprised you’re not out to dinner with everyone else.”
“They’ve all left already, but I’m going to catch up with them.” She replied quickly. “Close the door, will you?”
“Um, okay.” I frowned as I grabbed the door handle to swing it shut.
Once the door clicked shut, I turned back to find Katie standing there with her arms crossed over her chest and a concerned look on her face.
“What’s up? I asked.
“I know you were brought on by Marty to handle Nathan’s little non-scandal.”
“Yeah. That’s correct.”
“I guess, as a Crisis Manager?”