Billionaire Baby Daddy

I felt like punching him, then. I righted myself, no longer feeling like a victim. I wanted to kick this guy’s ass. “If you want to verbally abuse me with these photos, then have at me and let me get the fuck out of here,” I said, my mind rushing. I knew that he had done this only because I hadn’t agreed to go on a date with him; I knew that he’d done this only because I had power over him. He wasn’t comfortable with it. He was rogue.

But he shook his head, ruffling his hand over his chin. “No, no. I want so much more than that. Sure, a jab here and there. But I think that I can use you, Amanda. And here, all this time, you thought that you could use me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked him, my breath coming hot. I’d thought that Jason was a good worker; I’d actually been considering him for a promotion. I wanted to take him up with me. Xavier had stated that I would eternally have a job at the White House. And thus, I wanted to take all my people with me, to the top.

He leaned still closer to me. “I’m going to use you, Amanda. I’m going to use you better than this cunt president we have used you. I’m going to force you to take me to the top—to even push me ahead of you. You have the president under your thumb, so to speak. And I’m the only one who knows about it.”

My anger grew in me at an alarming rate. I felt myself push my hands forward and grab the folder from his hands. I brought those terrible photos into the light and I started to rip at them voraciously, feeling their vitality splinter away in my hands. I wanted to scream out, and I felt my throat so hot, so raspy. “Goddamn you,” I called to him.

This wouldn’t be the way he got anywhere. I could destroy these photos. I wouldn’t let him kick me to the bottom—not after all that I’d been through. I’d worked my way to the top for a purpose. I hadn’t worked so far just for fine dinners with the president, for raucous flings on my kitchen table with the most powerful man in the world. I couldn’t help what I felt for that man, but this had nothing to do with my need and desire for power.

I ripped and tore at the photos, flinging them to the trash can. I brought my hand into my purse and brought out a small matchbook. With my eyes on Jason, I snapped the match over the match box and watched the light spring up into the air. I dropped it into the fire, over the gleaming photos. Together, for only a moment, we watched the fire begin.

But Jason had begun to laugh once more. I looked up toward him and watched how the fire flickered in his eyes. His teeth were so white, so bright. I could see his tongue lolling around in his mouth.

I stood there, stupidly, with the fire still burning between us. It had eaten the paper, and it had begun to char the interior tin. I held my hands over my stomach and blinked at him for several moments.

Finally, he spoke. He leaned against his hands, over the desk, and coughed. “Darling, darling. If you thought I didn’t have these digitally backed up, you’re a lot stupider than I initially assumed.”

My heart burned.

I realized how rash, how dumb I’d been. I was usually so certain of each of my actions, but I’d lost my head in the previous few weeks. I swallowed as he continued.

“No matter how many of these photos you rip up and burn in my trash can, these photos can still get out to the public. You’ll ruin our president’s life if you don’t cooperate with me. What’s more, you’ll be deemed the slut of the White House. No one wants to hear that the president’s been sleeping with his campaign manager. What a scandal.” He ticked his tongue against the top of his mouth, his eyes still glittering from the fire.

I spun around, then, feeling the tears running hot and steady down my face. I pushed through the door and began running through the familiar hallways, back toward my desk. A small girl—one of the campaign workers—rushed toward me with a phone pressed to her chest. Her eyes were wide. “Amanda! I have a very important question for you—“

But I held up my hand, shaking my head. “I have a terrible migraine, Denise,” I whispered, placing my hand on my head. “Please. Give me—give me just a moment.”

Denise looked at me with a gaped expression on her face. She wasn’t sure what to do, I knew, but I wasn’t cut out for this anymore. Not now. I had done too much—I’d nearly ruined the entire operation.

I caught my cardigan around my bony shoulders and I grabbed my bag. In the dark hallway, back toward the Oval Office, I saw Xavier suddenly. He peeked out of his office, like he was watching me from afar. His shadow was so dark. I felt my body shiver with longing for him. But I knew—I knew everything had to stop. It had to stop dead. He didn’t know what was at stake.

I ran toward the steps, turning away from the president. I could still feel his eyes on me as I fled. The tears continued as I rushed into a taxi and told the driver to take me the fuck home.

Chapter Two

In the back of the taxi, I allowed the tears to fall fast down my cheeks. My long fingers clung to my cheeks. I could hear the taxi driver in the front seat, whistling away with such utter contentment.

“Miss? Are you all right?” he finally asked me, peering at the rearview mirror.

I nodded, choking a bit.

Truly, the anger was pulsing through me, throwing me off. I didn’t feel like my true self. Just the day before, I’d been so enraptured with the president. I’d been of the—albeit, strained—belief that he and I could be together, that nothing could stop us.

And yet this man, Jason, who I’d viewed as a friend before, turned on me. He’d given me to the dogs. And now, I was to be his slave.

No one had ever gotten the better of me. All the way through college, I’d won every campaign I’d come up against. I’d been wide-eyed and assertive; no one had ever dared to cross me. Even the men in my life hadn’t dared to keep up with me. They’d allowed me to pass, like a great ship through the night, beside them and then beyond them. Everyone knew that I was headed toward greater things. And I’d always known that, as well.

The taxi turned right, down my street. I pushed open the door of the taxi and handed the man several bills. I didn’t make eye contact with him, didn’t thank him. I didn’t want contact. I certainly didn’t want anyone to really, really see me cry—to see the desolation lurking behind my eyes.

I charged up my steps, toward my apartment, my former sanctuary. I dropped my things and began looking around the place with fury. I had to find the cameras—the cameras that were currently ruining my life. I had to get them out. I tried to imagine Jason in my apartment, placing the cameras in various places. I wondered if he had any others; of me sleeping on my couch, for example. Of me drinking wine. Of me simply getting undressed and preparing for the day. I shuddered. The invasion of privacy was something I couldn’t get over. What do people do when they don’t know they’re being watched?

Everything.

I wanted to report him so badly, but I felt like I was pushed against a wall with his hand against my mouth. I could cry out as much as I wanted, but he would press harder and harder until I couldn’t breathe anymore. He would stifle me, stifle me until both my career and Xavier’s career were dead forever.

I started at the top of the refrigerator, where I felt like the camera had been positioned that captured us atop the table. I ruffled my hand over the top haphazardly. I knocked a forgotten magazine onto the ground, allowing dust to scatter everywhere. I started to cough, grasping my throat.