President Daddy (Dark Daddies 4)

“Okay, okay,” he says. “Ms. Thomas, can you look into some of these ideas? Find out what people think?”

I frown. “I can try.”

“Good. Get it done.” He stands, indicating that the meeting is over.

People shake hands, making quick small talk as they leave. The President approaches me.

“Well done,” he says softly, taking my elbow with one hand and shaking with the other. “Thank you for that data.”

I feel him slip something into my palm. I grab it, slide it in my hand, cover it with my thumb.

“Of course, sir.”

“Get back to me when you can.”

I nod and turn away. I don’t want to linger.

I leave the room and start back toward the office. I have to duck into a bathroom because I can’t wait.

I hop into a stall, sit down, and unfold the piece of paper in my hand.

Thinking of you.

I stare at those three words. That’s all the tiny note has room for, just three words.

Thinking of you.

What the hell am I doing?

He’s the President. He’s twice my age.

And here I am, letting him pass me notes like we’re in school.

I love it. I hate to admit it, but I love it. I have butterflies every second of every day.

Butterflies and terror.8AdamAnother week passes as I go to a big conference abroad.

I think about Maggie pretty much every day. I don’t call her, since I know I’ll be under scrutiny during my first big international trip, but I have her in my thoughts. I hope she knows that.

This is what being President means, though. I have to push my desires aside sometimes for the greater good.

And god, do I desire her.

As soon as we’re back in the States, I go back to work like nothing’s changed. It’s a Wednesday, but there isn’t too much going on. Some meetings, some briefings, nothing intense.

I retire to the residence as early as I can. I spend the evening eating dinner and reading and finally, when eleven rolls around, I call Maggie.

I’ve been looking forward to this all fucking week. It’s childish and crazy but I can’t help myself any more. I’ve put it off enough.

“Hello, Mr. President,” she answers.

“I haven’t heard your voice in too long,” I say softly.

“I was beginning to think you forgot about me.”

“Never. I was elbow-deep in French cheese.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It really was, Maggie.”

She laughs lightly. “You called at a good time. I’m in the bathtub again.”

“Convenient. Sounds like you’re always in the bath.”

“I was thinking about you, you know.”

I can hear the subtext, the hint in her voice.

I bite my lip. “You don’t have to imagine,” I say softly.

She hesitates. “How?” It comes out almost whispered.

“I’ll send a car.”

“Now? For me?”

“Right now.”

“The press will be all over it.”

“Maybe. Fuck them.”

She hesitates again. I know what she’s wrestling with. I’ve been wrestling with it myself.

But I keep thinking about what Ramirez said. I deserve to have a life, even if I have to hide it.

“Okay,” she says finally.

“Good.” I hang up the phone and go find Ramirez. I order him to send a car to get Maggie, but to be as discreet as he can.

He nods. His face doesn’t betray a thing.

I sit back and wait.

Every minute is practically an agony. I haven’t felt this way in so long.

I have to fix myself a drink just to calm my nerves.

My hand’s practically shaking. I know this is a huge risk, bringing her into the White House like this. Reporters are practically always watching like hawks, trying to spot anything that could be remotely newsworthy.

I have to trust my agents. That’s all I can do.

There are ways into the building, secret ways. They’re heavily guarded and protected, and I doubt anyone that isn’t a Secret Service agent or a former President even knows they exist. Maybe some chief of staff from an old administration is aware of them, but I haven’t told Charles.

They’re old passages for diplomats to move through the halls of power unseen.

Lies and more lies, nesting dolls of deceit. That’s how the government works.

I hate it. I wish I could be out in the open about who I am.

But that’s just not possible.

Forty minutes drag past like lava. Ever second burns me, but eventually, Ramirez appears at the door of the West Sitting Hall, which is basically my private living room.

He nods at me. “She’s here, sir,” he says.

“Was she…?”

“No,” he says simply. “We were discreet.”

Relief floods me. “Thank you, Ramirez.”

“Sir, if this is going to become a regular occurrence…” He trails off.

Fear spikes through me. “Yes?”

“We’ll need to clear her and establish protocols.”

“Do what you need to do, agent.”

“Very good, sir.”

Ramirez steps aside. My heart beats twice, and Maggie appears at the door.

I step toward her. She enters my living room, looking around.

“Wow,” she says. “The President’s private room.”

I laugh a little. “Amazing, right?”

“It’s smaller than I expected.”