My 3 Rockstar Bosses

I merely stood there, astonished.

“But isn’t the White House your home?” came my weak reply. “You know, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue?”

He threw his head back and laughed, showing off a strong, tanned throat.

“That’s true,” he acknowledged. “That’s where my mail goes, when USPS hasn’t lost it. But my real home is all over,” he said with another smile. “I’m hardly ever in any one place very long. In fact, Air Force One is probably my true residence, come to think of it.”

I couldn’t handle it. My form dropped limply into the nearest chair, eyes still fixed on the handsome man.

“B-but what are you doing here?” I asked, my voice tremulous. “This is crazy!”

He merely shrugged.

“Well, I saw you dancing last week and thought “Gee, she’s cute. I’d like to meet her.” So here I am,” he bantered playfully.

I shook my head. Was this guy insane? Seriously. The man was the leader of the free world, and yet he patronized seedy strip clubs where they served beers for a dollar? Really, really?

But Thomas merely nodded, shrugging those shoulders.

“Hey, there are benefits to being me,” he said lightly. “And sometimes I don’t want to be noticed, thus the Pink Flamingo,” he added wryly. “So what can I say? Veni, vedi, veci. I wanted to meet you, and my staff set it up.”

And suddenly, I realized what had just happened. The pieces of the puzzle all fit together with startling clarity, from the limo, to the driver, to the elevator attendant. In fact, all three of those guys probably had black belts in karate and a secret service badge beneath their uniform because they were the President’s security detail, cleverly disguised to protect our most important citizen.

But still, it was hard to take in.

“You must be joking,” I said, staring at him. “This can’t be happening.”

Again, President Burke merely shrugged.

“Believe it, pretty girl. And by the way, your credit check from last week came up with a real good score. You’ve been paying your bills on time. Very nice.”

I gasped again.

“Pink Flamingo ordered that credit check!” I sputtered. “They said they needed it for my employment records! And besides, isn’t that information private?”

But President Burke merely shrugged.

“I guess so,” he said in a conciliatory voice. “But honestly, everything’s on a spectrum. Citizens have a right to privacy, but that right can fall in the face of greater concerns, such as national security.”

Suddenly, I remembered that the president had a law degree from some fancy university. I was probably no match for this guy on an intellectual level. But still, I had to try.

“The national security in question being you,” I said slowly. “It was okay to look at my credit score because your staff had to ensure your safety and security.”

“Pretty much,” the big man agreed with a lazy grin, leaning back in his chair. “But you’re not alone sweetheart. Everyone who meets me has to go jump through a couple hoops. By the way, can I get you a drink?” he interrupted, standing immediately. “I’ve been missing my manners. They have everything here, from top shelf liquor to PBR.”

But I shook my head no. Alcohol wasn’t going to help me think straight in the midst of these startling circumstances. Actually, scratch that. I needed to relax, and a drink would be just the thing.

“Sure,” I said, nodding quickly. “Just a bourbon straight, please.”

He smiled, pouring the amber liquid with firm hands before passing the crystal lowball to me.

“My lady,” he growled.

And when our fingers touched, I felt it again. That spark. The electricity ran between our forms like a live wire, and I tipped my head up swiftly to be caught in those blue eyes.

Thomas smiled knowingly.

“That’s the girl I remember,” he rumbled. “So let’s get to know one another,” he said, sitting again and crossing his legs. “I realize this is a little strange, but trust me. Everything having to do with being president is a little bizarre.”