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 announc
ement."
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.