by Hamel, B. B.
“That’s okay. I’m sure if you push for Medicare For All, plenty of insurance lobbyists are going to be calling you at all hours.”
He sighs and suddenly looks tired. “It won’t be easy,” he says softly.
“No, it won’t.”
He suddenly looks vulnerable, almost human. Normally, Adam has this strange, otherworldly feel about him, like he’s hovering above everything, looking down at the world. But just sitting in this conference room, aware of the fight he’ll have ahead of him…
He looks normal. Still gorgeous, but normal.
He sighs and stands. “I’d better get to work,” he says. “Bring me that data as soon as you can.”
“I will.”
He nods. “Thanks for coming, Maggie.”
“Any time.” I hesitate. “Adam.”
That makes him smile. “I like hearing my name coming from your mouth,” he says, walking to the door. He glances at me, smiles again, and leaves.
I’m left alone in the conference room, trying to parse every single piece of that conversation.
4
Adam
I’m sitting outside of a little frozen yogurt place near the center of town owned by an old African-American couple. They have a great story, although I can’t remember exactly what it is.
Something about bootstraps, overcoming adversity, the American Dream. Charles told me everything on the way over, but I wasn’t really listening, truth be told.
I was too busy thinking about Maggie, and what I wanted to do to her last night.
Calling her to the White House like that was stupid. I know it, I can’t deny it. I should never, ever bring people in like that. I was risking too much, making myself too obvious.
Still, I wanted her so fucking badly. I wanted to fuck her right there on that table, feel those full breasts under my palms, feel her stuff nipples between my teeth, make her beg and moan.
I wanted to make her feel something she’s never felt before in her life, and I know I could.
Except I really do need her opinion. She’s young and smart, and what I want to do could blow up my career. It’ll use up every single ounce of my political capital if I can actually get anywhere close to pulling it off.
If I do this, though, I need to make sure the American people are on my side. Otherwise, it’s a waste of time. If they don’t want Medicare For All, then it won’t ever happen.
At the end of the day, that’s how it works. The people choose what they need. We just do what they want.
If only it were that simple.
“Good, right?” Karl shakes my hand as the cameras flash. I have a cup of vanilla in my hand.
“Delicious,” I say, smiling at the old man. His wrinkles are deep, almost etched into his skin.
“Thank you for your visit, sir,” he says. “It’s a real honor.”
I nod as the cameras keep flashing. This is a nice photo, a good way to show that I care about my local people.
When the pictures are over, the Secret Service guys usher Karl away. I sigh and offer the rest of my yogurt to a Secret Service guy, I think his name is Travis.
He shakes his head and politely declines. So I toss the damn thing into the trash.
“Questions next,” Charles grunts at me. “Prepped for that?”
I shrug. “Always.”
“Good. It’ll be softball stuff. Economy, jobs, that sort of thing.”
“Fine.”
He hesitates. “You seem distracted.”
“Not really. I just hate these things.”
“We all do.”
“But they’re necessary.”
“Did I need to say that?”
“No,” I grumble.
“Good. Come on. Let’s get it over with.”
We walk away from the store, stopping out front. There are a bunch of microphones set up and reporters standing around in a loose semi-circle. Secret Service is all over the place like freaking ants.
I step up, put on my best press smile, and dive right in.
Charles was right, they are softball questions. I answer them easily, spouting off my usual middle-of-the-road stuff, trying to stick to the script.
Meanwhile, in my head, I’m considering doing something way outside of myself.
Finally, we get toward the end of the session, and one reporter from CNN raises her hand. Linda Torres is a short woman, dark skin, serious eyes, reputation as a no-bullshit person. I call on her casually, not thinking anything of it.
“Mr. President, why did you have a young staffer brought into the White House late last night?”
Everyone glances at her then back at me. I blink, surprised by the question.
I glance at Charles. His face is angry, but he doesn’t move.
“Mr. President?” she presses. “I believe her name is Maggie Thomas. She ran a popular political blog?”
I take a breath. “I’ve been considering some policy decisions,” I say slowly. “Ms. Thomas has been aiding me.”
“Aiding you how?” Linda asks.
“She specializes in polling, and I trust her opinion when it comes to what the younger generations are thinking.”
“She’s consulting as a young person?” Linda asks. A few reporters laugh.
“Essentially,” I say, smiling.
“It’s unusual to bring staffers using White House vehicles,” she presses. “And so late at night. Why was it so urgent?”
Charles steps forward. “That’s enough, Linda,” he barks at her. “I know you’re sniffing for a story, but there isn’t one here. The President already answered you.”
I smile. Good old Charles, there when skulls need cracking.
“Actually, I’m not satisfied,” Linda says. “Why did you bring a young, female staffer in so late at night?”
“That’s enough,” Charles practically roars. The tension is palpable.
Linda just made an insinuation. Everyone knows exactly what she’s implying by her question, but we can’t exactly admit to understanding. As soon as we do, we’ll look guilty.
Charles steps in front of me. “Enough questions,” he says.
I sigh and turn from the mics. The reporters all burst out into questions, wanting to know more about Maggie. I hesitate, about to follow an agent to our motorcade, but I stop myself.
I turn back to the microphone.
“There is nothing improper happening here,” I say to Linda. The press quiets down and Charles glares at me. “Maggie Thomas is a smart young woman, and I work late hours. I’m the President. I don’t have time to lie around, watching TV and using social media. If I need to discuss something with a staffer at nine at night, I’m going to do it.”
Linda frowns. “But in person, sir?”
“In person is the only safe way,” I say, and smile at her. “You reporters are probably bugging all our phones.”
The press laughs, and a lot of the tension dissipates.
“Now, that’s enough questions for today, thank you,” I say before Linda can press the attack again. I nod at Charles and walk back toward the cars.
He walks alongside me. “She’s going to be a problem,” he says softly.
“Who? Linda or Maggie?”
He looks at me, but doesn’t answer.
I sigh and climb into the back of the car.
Seeing Maggie so late was a mistake. I know it, she probably knows it. I don’t understand how Linda could possibly know about that meeting, though. It’s off the books, and only the Secret Service was aware.
Maybe they leaked it. I can’t be sure of anything these days. I’ll have to look into that.
For now though, I have to be more careful.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop seeing her.
No, that would be smart. And right now, I’m definitely not smart.
I am getting what I want, though.
5
Maggie
I’m so neck-deep in healthcare polling for the next few days that I almost
forget to breathe.
It’s not easy, polling people. It takes time and energy and patience. Fortunately, I have time and energy, but I don’t have a ton of patience.
“You want to know what?” the old lady croaks at me.
“Your opinion on single-payer healthcare systems, ma’am,” I say. “Such as what Canada currently has.”
“Canada? What do they have?”
“Healthcare, ma’am.”
“Oh, yes, I love healthcare. It’s great. My Medicare just does it all.”
“But what about Medicare for everyone?” I ask her, going off script.
“For who?”
I sigh and end the call not long later. I go to my next number and mark that call down as “No Data.”
And so it goes, on and on. I have some help, and slowly we gather some data. Not a lot of data, not a diverse set, but enough for now.
By the end of the week, I have a little bit for him. Not a lot, but a little bit. I want to get more, but I know he’s impatient.
I don’t know when I’ll see him again, though. I don’t hear anything from Adam all that week, although I don’t expect him to get in touch with me constantly or anything like that.
I mean, he’s the President. He’s busy.
Still, I’m excited, on the edge of my seat, just waiting for that call.
It finally comes on Friday night. I’m working late, like I have been every night this week. I’m one of the last people in my wing, and as I pack up my stuff, I can hardly believe that it’s after nine at night.
I stumble out into the hall, bleary and exhausted, looking forward to a couple days off. Well, not off. A couple days with less work, at least.
I get halfway down the hall when I hear my name. “Maggie Thomas.”
I turn and spot a Secret Service agent coming toward me. I hesitate a second before my heart starts beating faster.
I know what this means.
I follow the agent toward the Oval Office. “He’ll see you now,” the man says, letting me in. I can’t tell if it’s the same agent from the other night.
They all sort of look alike.
Adam looks up. He’s sitting on the couch, legs on the coffee table, binders spread around him.
“There you are,” he says.
“Hi, Adam,” I say.
He grins. “Come in. Sit.”
I sit down on the couch across from him. “You’re always reading, aren’t you?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s my job. Can’t make decisions if I’m not informed.”
“Still. You’re human, aren’t you?”
He grins. “Probably.”
I smile. He doesn’t look quite so tired this time. “I heard about what happened at the yogurt place,” I say.
He sighs. “Sorry about that.”
“No, it’s okay. Mostly just staffers are talking about it, anyway.”
“Good. Reporters can be…” He trails off and shrugs. “They mean well.”
“But there’s no story here.”
“Right,” he says slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
I hesitate, surprised. I stare back into his eyes, and he breaks out into a grin.
“You should see your face,” he says.
I sigh, relaxing, smiling again. “Sorry,” I say.
“God, it’s like the thought of having an inappropriate relationship with me just scared the hell out of you.”
“It did,” I admit.
“Huh. I thought I was the hot President.”
I stare at him and he laughs.
“What?” he asks. “I’ve seen the data. I’m not an idiot.”
“I just… I didn’t expect you to actually know that.”
“Of course I know.”
“Well, okay, yeah. You are the hot President. That’s not the scary part.”
“What is?”
“The President part.”
He laughs and shrugs, closing a binder. “It’s not a big deal, really. It’s just an office. People are in these positions, after all.”
I bite my lip, trying to digest what he’s saying to me. My heart’s beating so fast, and I can feel my palms sweating.
He’s attractive. I can’t deny it. I’m attracted to him physically and emotionally. He’s funny, intelligent, and clearly cares about people. He’s the reason I’m here to begin with.
But an affair with the President? I mean, Presidents have gone down for that in the past.
Then again, he’s single. I’m single.
He’s only twice my age. Well, a little less than twice, but still.
It would be a scandal. It could completely ruin him, and destroy any chance at solving healthcare.
And yet all I can think about is kissing him.
He stands and walks over to the Resolute desk. I watch him carefully as he opens a lower drawer.
And takes out a bottle of whiskey along with two glasses.
I groan.
“Seriously? In that desk?”
“What?” He grins, pouring two drinks. “There have been plenty of asshole Presidents in the past. You think this is the worst thing ever kept in this desk?”
“Probably not,” I admit.
He closes the bottle and puts it away. “There’s other cool stuff in there, too, you know.”
“Like that?”
He shrugs, walking over. He hands me a glass. “Proof of aliens.”
I gape.
He laughs, sipping his whiskey.
“I’m just kidding. As far as I know, there aren’t any aliens.”
I grin at him. “You ass.”
“I’m not the one that just believed in aliens.”
“Come on, is it really so farfetched?”
“Yes,” he says seriously.
“How?”
“The government is huge. Do you know how many people would leak that info immediately if it were real?”
“Good point.”
“Anyway, how’d we end up talking about aliens?”
“You brought them up.”
He sighs. “Okay, fair point.”
I sip my drink. It’s actually pretty good, smoky and warm but not bitter.
He sighs, massaging his eyes for a second. “It’s been a long day,” he says.
“Probably more like a long few months for you.”
“Good point. It never stops.”
“That’s what you signed up for.”
He grins. “I guess I can’t complain.”
“You are the most powerful man in the free world.”
He gets up. “What’s that mean, anyway? The free world?”
“As opposed to, I don’t know. China?”
“The Chinese are plenty free,” he says, shaking his head. “You try policing billions of people and see how that goes.”
“They try.”
“They fail.” He sits back down, but next to me this time. “No, the free world is just a pretty story we tell ourselves.”
“You’re in a cynical mood.”
“I guess so.”
I lean toward him, despite myself. He looks so human right now. Tired, overworked, but still…
Handsome. Gorgeous. Perfect.
“We need more people like you in government,” I say softly.
“What, handsome men?”
“No,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Especially no to the man part.”
“Then what?”
“People that want to help people.”
He shrugs. “Every politician says they want to help people.”
“But you’re actually doing it.”
“Trying, at least.”
I watch him carefully as he sips his drink. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, go ahead. But it better not be about aliens.”
I smile a little. “Why did you hire me? I mean, really.”
“I read your blog,” he says.
“Come on. That can’t be it. There are a million pollsters just li
ke me, and some of them are probably smarter. You could get any one of them. Why me?”
He hesitates. “You really want to know?”
“I really do.”
“I saw you speak once.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How?”
“On YouTube,” he admits. “You posted a video of a conference you attended.”
“You watched that?”
“One of ten others, I believe.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Okay, now I think you’re obsessed.”
“I wasn’t,” he says. “Honestly, not at first.”
I stop, going still. “At first?”
“Now, though?” He smirks a little. “Maybe I am obsessed. Okay, that’s overstating it. But when I saw you speak, I just knew…”
I take a breath. “Did you hire me because you find me attractive?”
“Yes,” he says plainly.
I stare at him, not sure if I should slap him or kiss him.
“But not just that,” he says, more softly. “You were whip smart, quick to answer questions. I could tell you knew what you were doing and were above and beyond everyone else. I hired you because you’re talented. But also because I think you’re fucking attractive.”
I lean close to him, heart hammering. I should be angry that he brought me on because of my looks.
But that’s not what he’s saying. He’s saying my looks are what separated me from a ton of other qualified candidates.
I’m smart. I’m talented. He admits that freely, and I know it.
But he also thinks I’m attractive.
He puts his glass down, shifts himself closer.
“I know I shouldn’t admit that to you,” he says gently. “Power imbalance and all that. But I can’t help myself.”
“Power isn’t everything,” I say.
“No, it really isn’t.”
He leans closer. I don’t move. I don’t think I could move if I wanted to.
His lips come near mine. I tilt my head.
And I kiss the President.
At first, I’m too busy freaking the fuck out that I’m kissing the President. I mean, the freaking President!
Thousands of women would die just to do what I’m doing right now.
But it’s me, I’m the one kissing him. I’m the one on his couch.
And then it hits me all at once. His taste, his hand against my neck, his body so close. Suddenly he stops becoming the President.