by Hamel, B. B.
President Daddy
A Dark Daddy Romance
B. B. Hamel
Contents
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1. Maggie
2. Adam
3. Maggie
4. Adam
5. Maggie
6. Adam
7. Maggie
8. Adam
9. Maggie
10. Adam
11. Maggie
12. Adam
13. Maggie
14. Adam
15. Maggie
16. Adam
17. Maggie
18. Adam
19. Maggie
20. Maggie
Also by B. B. Hamel
About the Author
Copyright © 2018 by B. B. Hamel
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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1
Maggie
He sits behind the Resolute desk like a general, hands clasped in front of him, handsome face smiling slightly.
I can feel myself tremble. I’ve never been this close to the President before, and it hits me just how handsome he is.
I mean, I knew he was hot. The media loves to go on and on about how attractive our new President is. He’s only forty-five, and he’s the first single man to win the office, although he is a widower.
People can’t help but make jokes. He’s the most eligible bachelor, way too hot to be single, all that stuff. I mean, it’s crass, but it’s totally right.
Dark hair speckled with gray and perfectly styled. Light blue eyes that look almost gray. His chin and cheeks are covered in perfect stubble. His lips are full. His jaw is square. The man looks like more a super model than the leader of the free world.
And yet here he is, smiling at me. I’m totally freaking awestruck.
I’d only ever seen him on TV. He’s hot on TV, but in person…
He’s stunning.
It’s freaking terrifying.
“Are you okay?” he asks in that freaking voice of his.
Low, rumbling, almost sultry.
I clear my throat. “Uh, yes, sir. I’m fine, sir. Just gathering myself. sir.”
He laughs softly and glances to his left. His chief of staff, Charles Gray, smiles wryly. Charles is older than the President, wrinkled but stock-straight, the perfect soldier.
“I’m not sure I got that, Charles,” the President says. “Did she call me sir?”
“I think so, sir,” he says, grinning.
I cough again as the President laughs. “Relax,” he says to me. I glance at my boss, who’s smiling tightly, but I can tell he’s about to have a freaking seizure.
“Okay, sorry, sir,” I say.
“Listen, please, call me Adam. That’ll help you relax.”
“Thank you, sir.” I cough. “I mean, Adam.”
He grins. “Go ahead. Give me the numbers.”
I take a deep breath. “Yes, sir. I mean, Adam. We’ve been poring through the data, and I think you’ll find it interesting.”
I run through the data, starting with the most recent polls. I work for the President’s personal polling staff, and I’ve been charged with running surveys for him. I’m supposed to find out what the American people think about every topic imaginable, from birth control to fixing roads.
Which is easier said than done, of course. America is freaking huge and freaking diverse, but it’s my job to try and distill it all into something easily digestible.
President Clark runs under one simple idea: he’s going to do what people want him to do.
He’s not beholden to special interests. He’s independently wealthy and isn’t interested in getting richer, so he’s going to do whatever he can to help average people, not big corporations or other rich people. He wants to bring American manufacturing back, help raise up the middle class, get people out of poverty.
That’s all nice and pretty and whatever. But he can only do any of that if he actually knows how people want him to do it.
As I get halfway through my numbers, he sighs and glances at Charles. He raises a hand, interrupting me. “Maggie, right?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
“Listen, can we have the room?” He looks around at the man standing in the corner, at the Secret Service agents, and at Charles and Roger.
I hesitate, start moving, but he calls my name. “Not you,” he says as the room clears. “You stay.”
My heart beats faster. President Clark gets up from behind the desk and comes around toward me.
“Okay, sir,” I say.
He winces. “Please, call me Adam. Especially now that we’re alone. I hate that “sir” stuff, it’s so… clumsy.”
“I know what you mean,” I say.
“Do you?” He arches an eyebrow and grins.
“I hate calling people ‘sir.’ Always feels so awkward.”
“Right? It’s an antiquated thing. Nobody does it anymore.” He walks over to the couches and gestures at the one across from him. “Take a seat, Maggie.”
I sit down across from him. He sighs as he gets comfortable.
I fidget nervously as he watches me. I’m afraid I just screwed this up badly, and he’s about to fire me. Frankly, I’m freaking terrified.
I’ve never done this before. I’m twenty-two, the youngest person on the polling staff, and I barely feel like I belong.
“Do you know how important you are?” he asks me finally.
I blink. “Uh, no,” I admit. “I’m just a pollster.”
He laughs. “But an important one. I used to read your blog.”
That surprises the hell out of me. “Are you serious?”
“Sure. I loved Accidentally Serious. Some of the best political data journalism I’ve ever read. It almost made the numbers seems interesting.”
I shake my head, totally shocked. I used to write a popular blog about political science using strictly data-focused ideas. I looked at the facts, at the numbers and the figures, and I dissected what worked and what didn’t.
I had a pretty good following. I figured that’s why I was hired, but I had no clue the President actually read my blog.
“I’m flattered,” I admit. “I’ve always been a fan.”
“I know. You wrote a nice post about some of my policy ideas a few years ago.”
I laugh. “Oh, god, I did, didn’t I?”
“Yep. Said some other flattering things, too.” He grins at me, leaning back, legs crossed.
I blush. I remember that post. I remember calling him the hottest man in the senate, both policy-wise and looks-wise. It was a stupid joke at the time, and he was just a freshman senator from Philadelphia, but now…
He’s the freaking President, and he read my stupid little fan-girl post about him.
He sighs. “So look, here’s the deal. I loved your blog, loved the way you could distill big, difficult ideas into relatable stories.” He pauses, head cocked. “That’s what I want from you.”
I bite my lip. “That’s hard to do, Adam.”
It feels weird saying his name. I like the way he smiles slightly when I do. I can feel myself getting warm.
“I know. It’s a hard job. But I think you can do it.”
I shake my head. “Honestly, this much raw data is just… it’s a mess. It’s unfocused. I’d need weeks to get it all
into good order, and by the time I did, it’d be out of date.”
He nods, frowning slightly. “What do we do about that?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit.
“We’ll have to work on that, then.”
“I’ll think of some ideas.”
“Good. I really mean it when I say that your work is important. I need to know what people want if I’m going to be successful.”
I nod once, feeling a thrill run through me. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good.” He takes a breath and lets it out. “I’m glad you’re on our team, Maggie. And please keep calling me Adam. I like hearing my name come out of your mouth.”
That surprises me a bit, but I don’t miss a beat. “I’ll do what I can, Adam.”
“Good.” He stands and extends a hand to me. “I’m looking forward to getting closer to you, Maggie.”
I stand, shake his hand. It’s rough and firm, which surprises me. As far as I know, he’s always been a lawyer and a senator. I don’t know why he’d have rough worker’s hands.
I leave his office. Charles shuffles in past me, followed by a gaggle of aides. I walk down the hallway where Roger intercepts me before I can even get my thoughts together.
“What did he want?” Roger asks. He’s early thirties, wire rim glasses, balding on top. “Was the data acceptable?”
Roger’s a decent boss, but he’s severely limited. He can only see the numbers and nothing else.
“The data is fine. He just needs it to be a little more organized.”
Roger scoffs. “Dumbed down, you mean. That pretty—”
“Not dumbed down,” I correct. “Organized. Digestible. I just threw a ton of stats at him, without any indication of what any of it means.”
“We don’t analyze, we report,” he says.
I shrug. “Just reporting what he said.”
Roger glares at me. “Fine. We’ll work on it.”
He turns away, down a side hall. I continue on, back toward our office, but I have to stop and sit on a bench tucked in a corner to get myself together.
Working in the White House has been a dream of mine since I was a little girl. I couldn’t ask for a better President to work for, either. Adam Clark is popular, attractive, and smart. I think he’s going to be a great leader, and the country does, too. He easily won his first election by a landslide.
But he’s intimidating. Terrifying, actually. He’s too handsome, too intelligent. His smiles are too easy and alluring.
And I think he was flirting with me back there.
The thought sends chills down my spine. The most eligible bachelor in the nation, flirting with me. Forty-five years old and still looks thirty.
I’d love to watch him unbutton his shirt as he bends me over the Resolute desk, spanking my bare ass, while the Secret Service waits just outside.
I bite my lip, shake my head, and get myself together. I hurry back to the office before Roger beats me there and gives me shit.
I have a lot of work to do.
2
Adam
I kick my legs out, feet up on the little coffee table sitting between the two couches in the Oval Office.
This coffee table probably has some fancy name, like the Freedom Table. I bet it was carved by Thomas Jefferson himself. Everything in the White House has the stink of history all over it.
Sometimes it’s overwhelming. Mostly I try not to think about that stuff.
The past is a mess. I close my eyes, and I can still see Marci and Travis, smiling at me, waiting for me to come join them.
I can’t do that anymore. Not since the car accident.
I take a breath, let it out. The past has never been a good place for me, which is why I’ve thrown myself into the future. When my wife and child died, I thought I’d give up on the world, give up on life.
Instead, I doubled down. I told myself I’d use the fortune I’d made to try and better the world around me. Maybe save some families from the fate I’ve had to suffer.
That’s been my goal. Helping people, first and foremost.
It’s never easy, not in politics. I’ve had to put myself aside, my wants and needs. That was easy for a long time.
Now though…
I take a breath, let it out. I have to push the thought of that young pollster girl from my mind. I had no clue she was going to be so fucking attractive. Otherwise, I don’t think I would’ve wanted her directly on my staff.
Too late for that now, though. She’s beautiful and she’s working directly underneath me.
Fucking hell.
I haven’t had a girlfriend since my wife died. I’ve taken lovers, gone to bed with some women, but nothing more. Now that I’m President, I have to avoid all that.
Except Maggie is tempting. Very, very tempting. She’s incredibly smart, incredibly attractive, and a huge liability.
I hear the door behind me open. I look over the couch as Charles comes toward me, looking grim as always.
I first met Charles years ago at some fundraiser. We got along naturally, actually became real friends. We’ve been in touch for years, and when it was time to pick a chief of staff that the leadership would approve of, he came to mind.
He keeps me centered. He can be annoying as fucking hell about it, too.
“Sir,” he says, hovering in front of me.
“Hi, Charles,” I say, sighing. The man is seventy years old but has the stamina of a man half his age.
Hell, half my age.
“What did you and the pollster talk about yesterday?” he asks. “I got distracted by the Saudi briefing and forgot to ask.”
“Her name’s Maggie,” I say, snorting a little. “And you never forget anything.”
He doesn’t react. “And?”
“Too much data,” I say, sighing. “I told her to focus it all. Or, well, I told her we’d try to find something for her to focus on, at least.”
He nods sharply. “Good idea, sir.”
“Don’t be a kiss-ass, Charles.”
He grins. “Never.”
“I’m still not sure what I want to lean into. Everything is so broken and everyone has their own agenda.”
“The world is a mess,” he agrees.
“We’re supposed to be fixing it.”
He shrugs. “Not me. I’m just the party planner.”
I sigh. That’s what he thinks his job is. He’s an old military man, an ex-Marine and a three-star general. He thinks this work is beneath him, and loves to remind me of that fact as often as he can.
“When are you going to accept the job and move on?”
“When you finally quit whining about it.” He grins at me.
I shake my head, unable to stop myself from smiling. “Seriously, Charles, what do we focus on?”
“Healthcare,” he says immediately.
I hesitate. “You don’t think that’s too much?”
“It’s time,” he says. “You have the political capital. You won the election by a landslide. People want change, and you’re it.”
“Healthcare,” I say softly. “Not exactly sexy, huh?”
“Saving lives never is.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t be so fucking dramatic.”
He shrugs. “So, is that it, then?”
“Let me talk to the girl,” I say, standing.
He hesitates. “Do you need to?”
“I want her input.” I walk past him, patting his shoulder as I go. “Come on, Charles. You can chaperone me.”
He grunts and follows as we leave the Oval Office. I sense my security detail fall into place as I walk through the halls.
This is the part of the job I like the most. I love walking these halls, smiling at people, nodding hello. People get a real kick out of being greeted by the President, as if I weren’t just a regular man like them.
Still, it makes people happy.
The pollsters are sequestered in a little office in the back of the West Wing. My security clears it first, gathe
ring most people in a separate room. I’m ushered into an office, probably Maggie’s boss’s spot.
She comes in the door a moment later. Charles is hovering near the back, looking bored like always.
She looks at me and at Charles, then back at me. “Hello, sir,” she says.
I grin. “Adam,” I correct.
Charles doesn’t react.
“Okay, Adam. What can I do for you?”
I look her up and down, not bothering to hide my stare. Pretty, thin legs, milky light skin, firm breasts. Her lips are full, her eyes are deep brown, and her dirty blonde hair is slightly wavy, long, and full. I can imagine wrapping it around my hand as her lips bob up and down the length of my cock.
But I’d better not think about that. Otherwise, I’m going to get fucking hard, right here and now.
I clear my throat. “Healthcare,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow. “Healthcare,” she repeats.
“I want you to focus on healthcare. Find out what people want, what problems we need to solve.”
“Still a big problem,” she muses, biting her lip.
“But possible?” I press.
“Yes,” she says, nodding. “I think we already have some data, too.”
I glance at Charles. He’s studiously pretending not to be studying this interaction very closely.
I know what he’s thinking, but fuck him.
I should’ve left him back at the Oval Office.
“What do you think?” I ask her. “Is it something I can push through? Reform, I mean.”
She shrugs. “I’m not sure, honestly. The country has been begging for real healthcare reform for a long time, but it’s so complicated and difficult and there are so many competing interests.” She shrugs again. “I really don’t know.”