by Alexis Angel
I raise both eyebrows as my eyes fall over the biggest diamond ring I’ve ever seen. The diamond alone is probably worth a few hundred thousand dollars, for Christ’s sake.
“Not that you asked, but the answer is yes,” I grin, offering him my hand. Holding it gently, he slides the ring on my finger and I hold my breath as I feel the touch of his skin on mine. His hand is big and smooth, and I start imagining what else he has that’s big and smooth… Ahem, anyway. Jesus.
“Do I get to keep it?” I ask Austin while, at the same time, I try to pull my mind out of the gutter.
“Sure,” he laughs. He could give two shits about this ring, and instead says, “You’ll want a memento.”
“A memento, right,” I whisper, looking at the ring. The thing is huge and gaudy, completely inelegant, but so what? I can just sell it once I’m done with Austin. Besides, the secret deal we’ve cut inside this room is also an inelegant one, but it’s not like that matters.
“Welcome to your new life, Ashley,” Austin says with a smile, and I can’t help but smile back at him, my lips reacting before I can stop them.
A new life, huh? Doesn’t sound that bad.
Good thing it’s not real.
Austin
I'm standing in a small theater in the White House's West Wing—the Press Briefing room. Half a dozen rows of chairs are filled with eager reporters, each staring at me, waiting for me to begin the press conference.
This is it.
This is the moment I go out and lie in front of the country.
I’m gonna look into the cameras and lie to 320 million Americans.
Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t believe I’m having these qualms right now, you know?
I mean, my administration doesn’t have any major scandals or anything. We’ve run a tight campaign. We didn’t do anything fucking crazy.
It’s the damned media. They don’t care who fucking wins, ya know? They just want to pull down and tear down whoever is in charge. It sells newspapers or something. So they fixate on the fact that I’m a young, eligible bachelor. They pinpoint that and they start trying to destroy me. Doesn’t matter what party I am. Doesn’t matter what I believe in.
And now I’m gonna lie to them. I have to. It’s the only way I can fend the media off long enough to actually help the American people.
I'm standing at the podium, and I look over at Tracy, who's standing off to the side of the room. She gives me a nod, and that's my cue to begin. I take a deep breath, straighten my tie, smooth the lapels of my suit jacket, and begin.
"Thank you all for joining me here today," I say. "I think we can all agree that the media has been trying to unfairly portray me in a negative light."
I give this opener and look around at the crowd. I hear hushed murmurs ripple across the rows of reporters.
I continue, "Today, I'd like to address the 'President Player' headlines."
"Excuse me, Mr. Bain, what is your relationship to South Korean ambassador, Jia Park?" one pudgy reporter blurts out, interrupting my train of thought.
I do my best to brush him off. "I'm getting to that," I say. "I would like to announce a new trade agreement between the United States and South Korea."
I look around the room. Reporters are exchanging confused glances with one another.
I continue, "I'm working very closely to hammer out the details of this trade with the South Korean ambassador. But one thing's for certain—we need to work together to meet these goals. United we stand—apart we fall. These salacious rumors need to stop."
"But Mr. Bain, what are you hiding? Why do you insist on keeping your personal life shrouded in mystery?" another reporter jumps in, shoving his microphone over the heads of the crowd.
"I've said this before, but I want to make it clear that my private life does not concern the public," I reply. "My focus is on the country and politics shouldn't be personal."
"But Mr. Bain, are the playboy rumors true?" another reporter asks.
A number of reporters jump out of their seats at this comment, all of them vying for my attention and calling out my name, their cameras and microphones raised.
But I raise my hand to silence them.
"However," I say, "Since you've made this personal, I'd like to take the time to make a very personal announcement."
Now the crowd is hushed, a silence unlike anything I've witnessed falls across the room, like a silk blanket draped across everyone's head.
I clear my throat and say, "I'd like to introduce you to my fiancée, Ashley Draper."
Now cameras are snapping and reporters are practically falling out of their fucking chairs. Never in their wildest imaginations did they expect me to make an announcement like this. In their minds, I'm a playboy—not a family man.
But they're eating it up. Their scowls are now smiles.
I watch as Ashley approaches the podium, and joins me. She's wearing a classy white dress with smooth lines and figure hugging curves—curves that I can't help but stare at. She looks dignified, and dare I say angelic.
She's good at this, a real professional. If I didn't know any better, I'd believe she was my fiancée too.
The press is now clapping. One reporter is even yelling out, "Congratulations Mr. President!"
This is going just as I intended.
They're eating out of my hand.
I'm not even sure I need this fake fiancée, but God do I want to fuck her. I take another glance at her perfectly round tits and picture them both in my mouth and in my hands. My eyes travel further down to her ass, which sways with each seductive step she takes. I can picture bending her over my desk, hiking up that white dress and—
"When is the wedding?" a reporter asks, breaking my train of thought.
"We'll make that announcement soon," I reply, "But for now, I just want to reiterate the fact that I would never risk my relationship, or the reputation of the country. My priorities are on this great Nation, and on the future Mrs. Bain," I say.
Ashley walks up to me, joining me at the podium, and she laces her arm in mine, giving me a soft peck on the cheek.
"Ashley, how did you meet Mr. Bain?" one reporter yells.
Another one asks, "Are children in your foreseeable future?"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Ashley smiles, fielding the last question. "One step at a time. I think we have our hands full enough just planning a wedding, let alone future children."
The press reporters love her comeback. They laugh and nod in agreement.
“How do you respond to the fact that the President has had sex with numerous women before you?” a reporter calls out.
I close my eyes and cringe.
I mean, I barely know Ashley and already I feel bad for her having to deal with this.
And what kind of asshole is this, asking that kind of question.
In a heartbeat the cringe is over and I’m about to fucking address this myself when Ashley steps in.
“Well, we just recently decided to get back together again, so I can understand that the President had to go through a number of different options until he realized that I was the best choice,” Ashley says with poise and grace. “We’re not all perfect like me, after all.”
Again laughter.
Jesus Christ. She’s good.
“Any plans on the wedding?” someone asks. Softball question.
“Just me and Austin and 300 million of our closest friends,” she says with a smile and the room laughs again.
They fucking love her.
It quickly becomes apparent that they love Ashley. I feel a tinge of jealously settle in my mind.
It's as if the press likes Ashley more than they've ever liked me. I decide to jump in.
"I know this is exciting news," I say, "but I'd like to bring this press conference back on track. It's my intention to keep our country's best interests in mind and work hard to boost our economy by facilitating important international trade agreements—such as the one with South Korea."
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This time, there are no questions about Jia Park. Instead, my comment is greeted with a full round of applause.
Arm in arm, Ashley and I exit the stage, along with Tracy and my office staff. We walk into an office, away from the prying eyes and ears of reporters, and when it's just Ashley, Tracy, and I alone in the room, I turn to Ashley and say, "You're supposed to be too shy for the spotlight."
"You're jealous, aren’t you?" she smiles.
I laugh. "You can't be serious," I lie.
"Look, the press loved me, and that's good for you."
"What are you? A professional liar?" I ask. "How is that good for me?"
"The professional liar is you, Austin," she grins. "Don't kid yourself."
There's something about Ashley that I don't trust, but one thing's for certain, she's sexy as hell when she stands up to me. Most women don't.
"Let me remind you that I'm the President," I say.
"Well, I didn't vote for you," she laughs.
I stare at her, mouth agape.
She looks at Tracy and then toward me. "I have some business of my own to attend to this evening. I have to go."
"That's fine," I reply. No sense keeping her around the White House anymore today.
And with that, she turns on her heels and leaves. I silently watch her saunter out of the room, her perfect ass swaying as if it were waving goodbye.
Once she's gone, I turn to Tracy. "Do you think Ashley's really the right woman for the job?" At this point, it feels like I have more questions than I do answers. There are so many unknowns.
Tracy smiles, "Ashley is perfect."
Washington Beat
Hitched!
From the desk of Margie Preston – our intrepid and slightly kooky political reporter.
Holy cow! Did you just catch the news the other day? Or are you one of those people who relies on my column for news? In which case, I’m sorry!
But in all seriousness, unless you live underneath a rock or have been living without access to newspapers, television, radio, Internet, or word of mouth, then you will have seen that the President of the United States is now engaged!
That’s right. The world’s most eligible bachelor is off the market, ladies. And a million pairs of panties probably came back on.
It’s not so much that President Player seems to have cleaned up his act, it’s almost as if his latest stunts were enough to get his head back on towards being the stable and solid Commander-In-Chief that the United States is used to.
For those people wondering if the President has been cheating on his fiancée while they were dating, the White House Press Secretary was quick to clear up any misconceptions.
“The President and Ms. Draper have had a casual relationship for much of the time that they have known each other, despite the fact that both of them cared about each other deeply,” Cheryl Maddox, the President’s Press Secretary was quoted as saying. “When it became clear that President Bain was not happy in his life, he and Ms. Draper rekindled their romance, and it was rather whirlwind, culminating in an engagement.”
So at least President Player isn't a Cheater-In-Chief. Even if he is settling down. And what a sad day for the country, ladies, when our beloved President settles down. At least when he was out sowing his wild oats, I used to think that if I managed to score tickets to the right party or the right meeting wearing a particularly low cut dress that had slits that ran high enough I’d somehow manage to attract the attention of President Playboy. That he would take me in his Presidential limo and make me his Chief of Staff. And oh, how I would worship that Staff of his. With my mouth and with my hands. Until it came forth his special “Executive Orders” all over me.
But that day may not come now. Because the President of the United States is engaged to be married. I don’t know whether to wear black or not that day. But I will say know one thing. That this handsome President with his bedroom eyes and 8-pack abs that we’ve all seen on camera can’t simply belong to one woman. I refuse to accept that such a national treasure can be hoarded by one woman. And by Ashley Draper? We don’t really know much about her anyways.
If that’s one thing official Washington has been wondering, it’s who exactly is Ashley Draper. We all know what we’ve been told. That she’s a close friend of the President that he met through mutual friends. But what does she do? Who did she do before the President? These are all questions that need to be answered.
Maybe it’ll be a fun summer after all.
Ashley
I’ve never had a baby, but I imagine this is how it feels to place your own child in the care of strangers.
“Yeah, Kayla. That’s how it’s going to be for the next year,” I say, placing my phone on speaker as I bring a bottle of Pinot Noir and a glass to the living room. I sit down on the couch and pour myself a glass as Kayla replies.
“Are you sure? We never run things without you…” she says, and I notice the apprehension in her voice.
“I trust you. You’ll do fine,” I reply, although I feel my heart tightening inside my chest. My company has been my baby for so long, and it hurts to let go of it. Still, there’s no way around. It needs to be done and, besides, I’m leaving my most experienced operative in charge.
Kayla Combs came on board during my first months of operation, and she quickly became my right hand. Older than me by a few years, she’s in her early thirties now, she brought some experience to the table when it came to handling business. While I focused on getting shit done in the field, Kayla handled everything else while, at the same time, she provided live support whenever I needed her to. More than that, she also took to the field a few times, and she did great. If there’s anyone I trust to run things in my absence, it's Kayla.
“I sure hope so,” she sighs. “I did as you told me to. I cleaned all records of your involvement with the company, so hopefully nothing will lead back to you. The press will be digging for dirt, but I think we did a good job in covering our tracks.”
“Good. One less headache.” Raising the glass, I swirl the wine around and then take a sip, the strong flavor of oak and morning rain embracing my taste buds.
“But … I gotta ask. Are you sure of this…? I mean, he’s the President. That kind of title comes with some baggage.”
“I know, Kayla,” I sigh. “But this is too good of a chance to pass.” $50 million, a $20 million bonus, plus a diamond ring worth more than a few thousand? Yeah, that’s the definition of a chance too good to pass.
“Got it, boss. Alright … there’s nothing left but to wish you good luck. I’ll do my best to keep things running smoothly while you’re gone.”
“Thanks, Kayla. Best of luck to you too,” I finish, and then shut down my phone and lean back against the couch. I’ve finally tied up all loose ends with my operatives, and I’m ready to fully devote myself to this new mission. Which, truth be told, should be easier than anything else I’ve done; I mean, all I gotta do is pretend I’m head over heels with a guy. I don’t even have to bother with seducing him. It’s all for show.
I rest my phone on top of the coffee table but, the moment I do it, it starts to buzz again. Laying my already empty glass of wine by its side, I pick it up and read Tracy’s name on the screen.
“Hey,” I say, putting the phone against my ear.
“Hi, Ashley. I’m calling you to let you know that the President is taking you to dinner tonight. It’s going to be your first public appearance as a couple, so make sure that you’re ready to dazzle the press.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m always ready to dazzle,” I tell her.
“I sure hope so,” she chuckles. “We’re counting on you,” she finishes off and then ends the call.
Stretching, I go up to my feet and yawn lazily. I was looking forward to a quiet evening, but what is a girl to do? I guess you don’t get to earn millions of dollars by sitting on your ass.
I put the cork back on the bottle of Pinot Noir and then head toward my bedroom. My eyes fa
ll over the engagement ring, sitting on the nightstand. God, that thing is ugly; it’s too large and too obvious. It just isn’t my style, not at all. But whatever, it’s not like I’ll have to wear that thing for too long.
If I’m not mistaken, Austin isn’t going to last one single month. Even if he impressed me with his little speech this afternoon, I know that it’s all a facade. He’s no different from any other man in DC, and I’ll be surprised if he lasts more than a month without ‘cheating’ on me. Not that I care; it’ll just make it easier for me to earn my money.
“Alright, let’s get ready,” I whisper to myself as I undress, throwing my dress and underwear on top of the bed. I step inside the bathroom and turn the water on; I test it with the back of my hand and, once it’s warm enough, I step inside the shower stall and throw my head back. I close my eyes and run my fingers through my hair as the warm water caresses my naked body, my muscles relaxing from the day’s stress.
I sure would prefer to have a date with my bottle of Pinot Noir this evening, but I guess I’ve got to try and be optimistic about the whole thing: as much of an asshole as Austin might be, at least he’s good looking. Some of my previous marks were men that I’d classify as an eyesore, so I’ll take Austin as an improvement.
Okay, sure, to say he’s an improvement is putting it lightly. Austin is probably the most handsome man I’ve ever met. To think that he holds the most powerful office in this country (and on this planet) is almost unbelievable; I mean, he’d look good playing the President on some Hollywood movie, but c’mon! How does a man like him end up leading this country?
I can’t say I’m surprised he has such a reputation. Powerful and handsome, he must turn all women’s panties into a wet mess whenever he enters a room. I know it because it happened to me. What? Don’t act all judgmental on me. Just because I don’t appreciate politicians, that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate their bodies. And Austin has exactly the kind of body I like to appreciate…