I don’t have to wait long. In thirty seconds or so, a man in a suit appears behind the gate. He has an earpiece and a serious I’m-all-business expression, so I assume he’s Secret Service.
“Hello, Ms. Draper. I’ve been instructed to take you to the President, ma’am.”
The gates swings open and I follow after the man, feeling more like a tourist than a guest. Have you ever been inside the White House? I haven’t, so pardon my wide eyes and sweaty palms.
I’m guided through the lawn and then into the building itself. As I walk through the corridors I can’t shake the feeling that I’m on some movie set and not in the actual White House. Really - how many times have you seen it on movies and TV?
I’m guided to the White House Residence, where the President lives, and, with a final nod, the Secret Service agent leaves me in front of the double panel doors. With a deep breath to steady my nerves I rap my knuckles against the door. I stay there waiting, clutching the Trask folder close to my chest, until I hear footstep on the other side.
“And there she is!” Austin greets me as he opens the door, standing there like some Hollywood actor portraying the President. No, scratch that, a guy as young and handsome as he is would never be a believable President in the movies. Sometimes life is stranger than fiction. “Come on in.”
“Hey,” I say with my best smile as I step inside, trying hard not to show how much I despise him. I need Trask pardoned. “How are you?”
“How do you think? Perfect,” he grins at me, my heart starting to race as I get close to him. “I’m glad you came, ‘sis.”
“Yeah… I wasn’t really expecting your invitation. You know, we barely know each other,” I say, not believing that I’m actually being all smiles to this jerk. Think of the pardon, Ashley.
“That’s exactly why I’ve had you come over. I think it’s more than time we get to know each other, don’t you think?”
I nod, his eyes never leaving mine. I’m actually not sure if I should be looking at his eyes - they’re hypnotizing. I blink to escape my trance, and let him guide me to the kitchen. I can feel him stealing a glance at my ass whenever he has the chance. I can’t believe the cheek of it! This guy has no limits.
But a part of me sways my hips, anyways. I’m glad I do CrossFit.
As I step into the kitchen, I can’t help but notice how it all looks so suburban - I don’t know what I was expecting, but the President’s residence is like a house inside the White House, allowing him some privacy and a sense of normalcy. It almost reminds me of a tastefully decorated ranch house out in the country
On top of the marble counter there’s already an open bottle of red wine. He grabs two glasses and, half-filling them, hands me one.
“So, what’s it that you want, Ashley?” He asks me out of the blue, looking at my eyes as if he can see into my soul.
“Me…? I…”
“Yeah. I’ve noticed you’ve brought a folder with you. I guess you want me to take a look at it. Or why would you bring it to dinner?”
Damn, he’s good. He saw through me in under a minute.
“Don’t think I’ve accepted your invitation just to pitch you this”
“Of course, ‘sis. I’ll pretend that I believe you,” he says. Crap, he’s not going to make this easy on me. “Alright, let’s see it then.”
I open the folder and he grabs at the first page, a mugshot of Oliver Trask there.
“So, the thing is --”
He cuts me off in an instant.
“No,” he says curtly, placing the page back inside the folder.
“No? I haven’t even said what this is about…”
“You don’t need to. You want me to pardon Oliver Trask so that your institute gets funded.” How the hell does he know all this? Has he checked on me already? “Don’t look so surprised there. I’ve invested before in your backers’ company, and they’ve been lobbying for Trask’s release for a while now. It’s no big secret. But I can’t do that.”
No, no, no. This is looking bad. Have I already botched my one shot at this?
“Why not…?” I ask meekly, starting to feel out of options.
“I’ve been President for one week. I can’t start my first week handing out pardons to convicted felons. If all goes well with the July Constitutional Convention, I’ll have to take the reelection seriously.”
Crap, this isn’t going well.
“Please. This is very important. Not only to me, but to all the people that --”
He waves his hand and sighs, leaning against the counter as he swirls the wine in his glass.
“Can you imagine the fucking optics of this, Ashley?” he asks me, looking at me. He’s right. I can. It’s not good.
But when I took this assignment, I didn’t care what it would look like for him. He was just another cocky Washington DC prick – the biggest asshole in a city known for them. Thinks he can sleep with as many women as he wants and it doesn’t matter. Only now, he’s also got his finger on the nuclear trigger.
I still think that.
I think.
“Austin,” I say, trying to drop all pretence. “I think my job is riding on this.”
He looks at me for a long moment.
“Alright, alright. I have a proposition,” he says.
A proposition? Hell yeah, I’m back in the game!
“I need someone respectable by my side… And since I don’t have a wife, I think that you might lend some credibility to my presidency. You help me out with this, I’ll have Oliver pardoned when all this commotion around me dies down.”
Did I hear him right? “Excuse me?” I ask, unbelieving.
“I’ll need you to be at my beck and call. Probably need to move into the White House Residence too,” he continues, not noticing my look of incredulity.
He wants me to put my life on hold to help him build his image as President? I’m just… me, Ashley. What the hell? I’m supposed to make him look good so he can continue sleeping around with half the population of the United States? So he can act the playboy and keep up his ridiculous antics while the country sees me and puts its stamp of approval on this man-whore?
I hate him!
How can I do what he’s asking of me? Besides, I don’t even know if it’s actually possible to make the public see him as someone respectable!
But then again, a voice inside my head rebuts, if that’s the way to get Trask, then just remember that nothing comes without a price. Especially in DC. Maybe I just need to swallow my pride and pay up?
“I get it. You need to think. Take your time and get back to me,” he says, walking me to the door and opening it for me, downing his wine in one motion. Grinning devilishly, he then adds, “do it for your country, ‘sis.”
I smile and tell him I’ll think about it before leaving. Inside, I’m seething!
It’s only outside that I realize that asshole sent me packing without any dinner. He must have had an agenda too when he invited me…
Damn. He’s good.
5
Ashley
It’s been our days since Austin’s arrogant asshole proposition and I hang up what feels like the millionth call with a Congressman or Senator.
No one is wanting to take up the cause of pardoning Oliver Trask.
I have nothing.
Carl is sitting across from me on the other side of his desk. He winces as I place another call and literally beg to be connected.
But word’s spread all through DC about what I’m looking for – and no one wants to get near me.
That’s it! I’ve had it!
I slam the phone down. Hard.
“Come on, kiddo,” Carl says, trying to comfort me. “It’s not the phone’s fault.”
I sigh. He’s right, but it’s so frustrating. I’ve never gone up against a problem that I wasn’t able to solve. I’ve never lost.
“I don’t like having to give up, Carl,” I say as I look out the window in defeat. “I don’t like losing.”<
br />
Carl is quiet for a moment and I know what he’s going to say. He finally says it.
“There’s one option that you still have left,” he says.
Boo! I already told myself I wasn’t going down that road. I didn’t want to tie my political fortunes to the Playboy President, as I was calling him.
No matter how good looking his body is…I think to myself. Seriously though. A girl could be happy for life with the ripped physique that Austin had. And that bulge that I thought I saw. That couldn’t be…could it? God, what kind of monster was hiding under his pants? What did it look like when it was hard? I’d never seen a large penis up close before. Jake was, well, that area wasn’t his specialty. But Austin. Lord, he had something to be cocky about, that was for sure.
I need to stop this! He’s my stepbrother and this is gross! Is this what all those years of playing by the rules were for? To fantasize about someone who broke them all? To fantasize about forbidden things?
I snap back to reality, as Carl is talking.
“There’s no other option, kiddo,” Carl is telling me, not noticing that my cheeks are flushed at my impure thoughts that swirl about my head. Thoughts about my stepbrother. “Besides, I’ll be here with you each step of the way.”
I look at him for a long moment.
Finally, I sigh and nod. Then I pick up the phone to make the hardest call of my life.
“I just hope I don’t regret this,” I say through gritted teeth.
But, a part of me already does.
6
Austin
I should already be fucking used to it. Since I first held office, people always want something out of me. I’ve gotten very good at spotting it. Now that I’m President, of course that’s going to ramp up even more. But then, when I invited Ashley for dinner, I wasn’t expecting her to come asking for favors.
Fucking hell.
And, of all the fucking things she could ask for, she wants me to pardon a goddamn felon. Yeah, that’s going to go well with the electorate. But fuck it, life’s too short as it is. I can do it, yeah, but I have to get something in exchange. So what better than having her around to establish me as a nice family guy? A docile beta-male with declining testosterone levels to make the country feel comfortable. That’s a trade-off I can get behind.
Alright, fuck you, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m just doing it so that I can spend some more time around her. And what if that’s true? To start with, it’s none of your fucking business. Second, I’m the motherfuckin’ President.
Let me say that again - I’m the fucking President. I came from the most desolate shitholes in Afghanistan to being master of the whole fucking universe. I’m the R-rated version of the American Dream, baby.
I lean back in my chair and prop my feet up on the same desk used by John Kennedy. It’s a desk so important it even has its own name - the Resolute Desk. Fuck, my life is awesome, sometimes. I’m actually fighting against the urge to pinch myself and make sure that I’m actually sitting in the Oval Office.
But don’t believe it’s all rainbows and sunshine. Being the President is fucking tough. You might be seeing me here with my feet propped up on the desk, but this is actually the first time I actually have more than fifteen seconds to myself. Everyone wants me up to the date on… well, on fucking everything – the economy, Iran, Russia, legislative bills. You name it, I have to deal with it.
The phone rings and I pick it up, getting ready for another barrage of last minute meetings.
“Sir, I have your sister on the line.” Ashley? Good, seems like she has already reached a decision. I tell my secretary to put her through and wait until I hear Ashley’s voice on the other side.
“I’ll do it,” she says immediately. “You have a deal.”
Well, that was easy. I actually didn’t expect her to accept my proposition at all when I made it four days ago. But it’s a fair trade that I’ve proposed, anyway, so maybe it shouldn’t be such a surprise.
“Good. It’s a deal then.”
“But I want to go over some things first,” she says. “I have some conditions.”
“Sure --” My secretary knocks on the door and peeks inside, pointing at the watch in her wrist and then at the phone. I raise one eyebrow at her and she mouths the word Russia. Fuck, that’s right - I have a call scheduled with the Russian President. “Why don’t you come over later today and we’ll discuss it in person? Check with my secretary, I’ll let them know to take you to me whenever you get here.”
With that settled, I end the call. There’s a red light blinking on my desk phone, indicating that the Russian President is already on the line. Fuck, I need to focus. It’s not an easy thing to do, I can tell you that - just hearing Ashley’s voice made my mind conjure a mental image of her body… Why does she have to be so fucking hot? How am I supposed to focus on international affairs when my mind is busy peeling off the tight red dress my stepsister was wearing the other day? How amazing would it be…
I need to fucking shut the fuck up. She’s my fucking stepsister. That’s wrong on so many fucking levels, Austin.
It’s so not easy to be The fucking Man.
I take the call and, luckily, the only thing he wants is to congratulate me on my ascension to the presidency. Good, I don’t really want to start World War III because I make a blunder while thinking of Ashley’s perfect ass.
Thankfully, I’m so fucking busy that I don’t even have the time to think of her that long. As long as I’m working, my mind is fully focused. What? You’re surprised that I’m actually capable of working? Fuck you - you don’t get to be a billionaire in your twenties by lazing around on the couch while you munch on snacks and watch fucking reruns of some 90’s TV show. No way.
I actually only have two modes - work hard and party hard. Okay, ladies, there’s also a secret mode reserved for some of you. Want to guess which is it? Exactly. I fuck hard.
So, yeah, I can spend six hours straight taking calls from leaders all around the world and not cause a major political embarrassment on my first week of office. I stumbled into the presidency, but I’m not some fucktard - I’m more than cut out for this.
Of course, after eighteen hours of back-to-back meetings, even I need to unwind. Give me half an hour and a fucking bottle of scotch and I’m ready to get back on the horse. I actually think of heading to the Capitol Grille, but I quickly give up on the idea.
Shit, whenever I get out of the Oval Office I get immediately mobbed by all kinds of aides and secretaries, every single one of them pushing some kind of inane agenda. I’d be surprised if I managed to walk down the hallway, let alone go down to the restaurant. Fuck, but I do need a drink.
I pick up the phone, call my secretary and order a bottle of scotch. Of course, I ask her to make it discreet. I don’t want anyone to leak to the press that the President hasn’t even warmed his chair and is already getting his buzz on. No more than two minutes pass and a maid appears pushing a small serving bar car. She throws me a coy smile and, even though she’s a cute one, I manage to restrain myself. It’s probably for the best that I avoid a sex scandal just now.
I throw her a simple smile and, when she leaves, I jump out from my chair and pour myself a hefty dose of that burning amber scotch. I throw my head back and down it all at once. The minute it goes down my throat, I immediately feel better. What better medicine than whisky? Scratch that. Pussy is better.
Talking of pussy, I need to get fucking laid. It wouldn’t be hard for me to arrange something - even before I became President I had my inbox filled with booty call requests. Now that I’m the most powerful man in the world, I gave up on having a cellphone when Agent Daniels took it away – citing security reasons. I can’t exactly sneak out of the White House and go on a bang-’em-all tour, either.
I’ll have to solve this, of course. You don’t want me to push the red button just because my balls are full and I can’t think straight. The Secret Service would probably
be helpful in sneaking girls inside, but there’s always the danger of having someone out for money, fame or whatever. I’ve dealt with gold diggers all my life, but now that I’m the fucking President I’m not risking this just to get some random pussy.
It doesn’t help that I can’t fucking stop thinking of Ashley. It’s already late evening and she still hasn’t dropped by. I hope she isn’t having seconds thoughts on our arrangement. Somehow, I can’t help but feel eager at the prospect of having her by my side. At least that way I have somewhere nice to lay my eyes on. Don’t get me wrong, there are hot female staffers on the White House, but Ashley…
Man, Ashley is so fucking hot it almost hurts my eyes. And to think that the last time I saw her she was nothing more than a scrawny little girl. I wonder how long she’s looked so good. Really fucked that one up, not keeping in touch more often.
I sigh to myself. I have to calm the fuck down. I don’t know if it’s the whisky or the pressure that’s getting to me, but my mind is already bursting at the seams with thoughts of Ashley. I have to rein this shit in.
I down one more glass of scotch and head for my desk. I check my schedule, and the meetings I still have are all classified as non-essential - meaning it’s probably some fucking bullshit about redecorating the Oval Office or whatever. Good, I’ll probably be able to steal an hour for myself now and hit the gym. Nothing better than lifting hundreds of pounds to clear your mind.
I warn my secretary that I’m heading out of the office and exit through my private door. I go to the residence and change into track pants and a shirt before navigating my way to the gym.
I don earbuds and turn on my iPod, and, before I know it, I’m tuning out the whole world. Working yourself to exhaustion has its benefits, you know? Not only you look good, you feel good. I know you know I look good, so you know I’m not bullshitting you.
Half an hour into my workout, I’m bench pressing when I hear someone tapping against the glass walls. I put the bar onto the rack and sit up, looking over my shoulder to whoever’s calling me.
President Stepbrother...With Benefits: A Bad Boy Alpha Male Stepbrother Romance Page 4