Billionaire Baby Daddy

I stood up tall and I grabbed the wine bottle from his hand, tugging it back. I shook my head vehemently. “What the fuck are you doing? Get your shit together,” I hissed at him. “Do you even want to have a good relationship with your wife?” I asked the question, surprising him. It was clearly not one he had asked himself yet. He wasn’t trying to create a good relationship with her; and yet here he was, complaining about her once more to me. I couldn’t take it. It wasn’t fair to her or to me

He stood up then. He was a bit woozy on his feet, but his eyes were sure and passionate. His dark eyebrows were furrowed. He reached his hand over the desk and allowed it to grip my cheek, my ear. His face came toward me. My heart was beating so fast in my chest. I placed the wine bottle back on the desk between us. It landed too hard.

His whisper came with such warmth, such passion. “No. I don’t want to have a good relationship with her. I don’t.” He shook his head until suddenly, his lips met mine in a moment of frustration, of anger.

In this moment, as our lips met over the great presidential desk, I let go of everything in my mind. Everything that had been holding me back from this beautiful, passionate feeling was let loose, finally—allowing me to feel so free in this moment. I brought my arms around his body, and I pushed closer to him, folding my lips into his more firmly, feeling the vibrancy, the lust for him deep in my soul.

God, that moment. It was the very answer to my searching heart.

Chapter Nine

I pulled away from the President of the United States, my head spinning. I bit my lip and spun back, toward the door. I didn’t hear as much as a murmur from him—no sign of regret, no sign that he wanted me to stay. I needed to get out of there, to return to some sense of normalcy. I pushed into the hallway and began stomping back to the office to gather my things, hearing my heels clatter against the floor. What the hell was I going to do?

Suddenly, as I rounded the corner with my head down, I found myself pushing into Jason, my second-in-command. His wide eyes blinked at me with surprise. “Amanda! I thought you’d left for the day.” His eyes perused my red cheeks, my slim waist. I could feel the way he looked at me, and already it made me uncomfortable. But I couldn’t deal with a drunk second-in-command; not tonight.

“Goodnight, Jason,” I said, trying to push past him.

But he tapped me on the shoulder, following me. “Actually, Amanda. I had a question about the proceedings from the day.”

I felt a tear falling down my face in these moments. I spun around on my heel, glaring at him. I shook my head vehemently. He didn’t seem to notice my confusion, my internal anger. “What is it, Jason?” I finally sighed.

“I just—I saw that you had us scheduled for a meeting in Texas in a few weeks. I wanted to clarify.”

I swept my hand out and then smashed it into my lap, feeling the pangs of pain throughout my thigh. “If it’s in the calendar, it’s in the calendar,” I growled, shrugging. “Now if you’ll excuse me—“

“Wait—Amanda!”

But I could hardly hear him. My mind was racing with thoughts, trying to comprehend the feel of the president’s lips over mine. This was not what I wanted, I thought over and over again. For a moment, sure, it had felt so right. But the moment had passed easily as I pulled back from him and realized what I was actually doing. I was actively ruining both my life and his. I couldn’t work my way to the top by sleeping with the president. I was smarter than that.

I huffed, beginning to gather my things into my bag. I would spend the remainder of the night curled on my couch, drinking wine deep into the night. I wouldn’t come into work tomorrow; it was a Saturday, and no pressing issues were at the helm. Thusly, I could take my first real day off from the office.

But as I pressed each item into my bag, I felt him coming toward me: Jason. I spun my head up, peering at him with confusion. “What’s up?” I asked him. We hadn’t spoken much throughout the course of our working relationship. We’d shared a few laughs over a drink, of course, but nothing more.

He brought his hands over his chest, then. I was so keenly aware that we were the only ones in the great, empty room. “I was wondering what you were up to tonight?”

I rolled my eyes, still not understanding what he meant. “God, Jason. I’m so tired. I just want to collapse in my bed, you know?” I laughed, trying to make a joke to him.

But his persistence held fast. He stood in front of me while I tried to pass him, and he placed his hand on my shoulder, staring at me, face-to-face. For a moment, I thought surely he was going to try to kiss me, just like the president had.

But then he spoke stuttering, incomplete words. “Why don’t you come out to eat with me?”

I tried to hear the words, to comprehend them. Jason wanted to date me? I raised my eyebrow toward him, unsure of what to say. I heard the guttural stop in my throat. Speak, I told myself over and over. Speak!

“Um. Jason. I really have to go, okay? I’m so tired. Have a good night.” And I swept around him, springing myself from his tight grip. I rushed down the hallway, past the Oval Office, and down the steps. I felt so alone in those moments, like everything I wanted couldn’t be mine.

I grabbed a taxi and asked him to stop at the store so I could buy another bottle of wine; I’d left mine in the Oval Office. “Wait for me, okay?” I asked the taxi driver, paying him a bit extra for the first fare. He nodded, chewing gum. He didn’t give me any words.

I tapped into the grocery, bringing my finger over my eyebrow. I grabbed the first wine bottle from the shelf and tapped it on the counter, shaking a bit as I did it. The man at the counter asked, “Are you all right, ma’am?” And I hadn’t realized that I was a goddamned mess, nearly crying all over the place. I couldn’t comprehend it. God, I needed a drink.

I told him I was fine. And I paid for the wine swiftly before rushing outside and back into the taxi. The man took me home, back to my tidy, safe haven. Once I closed the door and breathed an easy sigh of relief, I collapsed on the couch. All my thoughts were oriented to what had just happened back there with those two men. Was nowhere safe?

I poured myself an easy glass of wine, reminding myself that I couldn’t become involved with the president. I listened to the glug-glug of the wine as it pulsed into the cup, and I felt so sure that as his lips had descended over mine, I’d been happier than I’d ever been in my entire life. I hadn’t had many boyfriends, of course—just the one through college. But I’d never felt such deep passion with him (like the entire earth had stopped spinning, just for us).

I tried to imagine a future in which Xavier and I were together—a future in which the president abandons his wife and takes his re-election campaign manager up with him, to first lady status. I shuddered at the thought. The mere idea of it would put the campaign off the rails, for one. No one liked a presidential cheater, as Clinton proved so well. And where would my career go as a result? People would say that I slept my way to the top, but really, I would be sleeping my way to the bottom. Sure, Xavier had promised that I would have a position at the White House for my career, but he could only promise this as long as he was there. I had to stay committed to both myself and my career—and no one else.

/>

I sniffed, allowing the thoughts to pass through me, allowing the wine to course through my veins. I fell asleep like this, stretched out on the couch with the wine glass situated in my hand, my eyes fluttering every few hours with the romantic idea of that man in the Oval Office before me, his lips reaching out for only me. Only me.