President Daddy (Dark Daddies 4)

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 I’d need weeks to get it all into good order, and by the time I did, it’d be out of date.”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.2AdamI 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.