Billionaire Baby Daddy

She considered my words for a moment. She allowed the ice cream to pass over her tongue. “I think I loved my high school boyfriend. Isn’t that silly?”

I laughed, feeling a bit of joy escalate through my body. “It’s a little silly. You can still feel the love? That’s how you know?” I asked.

She shook her head

. “I don’t feel the love, exactly. It’s more that I feel a memory of that love, you know? I remember loving him. His name was Alex Crawford, and we fought constantly—constantly! It was a mess. But then I’d cry, and he’d apologize over and over again. And then it was okay. You know?”

I shook my head, cackling a bit. “I don’t think I loved anyone before,” I murmured, bringing my head back to my affair with the president.” I took another bite of the ice cream. “This stuff is going to make me sick.”

Rachel laughed, setting the ice cream on the coffee table before her. A small dripping from the spoon landed on the coffee table. She blinked at me. “How long do you think you’ll stay?” she asked me. Her voice quaked.

I pursed my lips. I couldn’t go back to the apartment. I’d been there a few times, of course—only to grab clothes, to dash in and dash out. But the place felt like a wasteland. A wasteland in which a single eyeball—like a great sun—burned into me. “I’m not sure, Rachel,” I whispered, feeling terrible. I couldn’t put her out like this. “But I’ll—I’ll definitely be out soon.”

She brought her hand over my hand. “You can stay as long as you like. I’m just worried about you, is all. That something bigger is going on.” Her eyes searched my face, but I wouldn’t give it away.

I nodded. “You’ll be the first to know when there’s danger afoot,” I stated, shrugging a bit.

She brought herself up on her feet and raised her hands to the sky, stretching her back. She cracked her neck a bit. “All right, Amanda. Goodnight.” She clattered to her room. I heard her flop onto her bed; I heard her light snores emanating from the back bedroom. I shivered and brought a blanket over my body on the couch.

The next morning, I awoke with a pit in my stomach. God, the stress was eating me alive. I brought my hand over it, kneading at the skin, at the internal organs that seemed to scream up at me. I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. I closed my eyes as I drank it, feeling the cool rain pass over me.

It was still very early—before 6—and I got dressed quickly, thinking I could head into work early to get things done. All the while, as I tugged a new skirt over my hips, as I applied my makeup, my mind replayed the events of the previous few weeks. Not only were there photos of Xavier and I out there in the world, controlled only by the scariest, most dangerous man alive, but Xavier—that stunning man—had told me that he wanted to leave his wife for me. I pictured Camille’s face as I brushed my teeth, only for a moment taking delight in the fact that Xavier wanted to dump this woman for me. This incredibly powerful, beautiful woman. He wanted me, instead.

Or did he?

It was never easy to note what the passing fancy of a gentleman was when comparing it to a real, tactile, true love.

Of course, I was flattered. I could still feel his penetrating gaze, the way he wrapped his hand around my hips as I fucked him, feeling him so deep inside me. He was the most attractive, most assertive, most powerful man I’d ever met in my life. And our attraction to each other seemed to rival anything else.

I grabbed my bag and swept into the morning. Washington D.C. was glorious in the September sunshine. I knew it would grow cold soon, that the winter would drape over the city and leave us in sadness and big, oversized coats.

I hailed a taxi and popped into the back, telling him to take the long way to the White House. I knew that I would be the first to arrive; I knew that when I crowded into that front door, even the president himself would still be sleeping in his bed—beside his wife. I shivered but kept my head up, my nose toward the sun.

The monuments were gleaming as we passed them. The Washington Monument snuck up into the coming blue like a surprise. I lurched forward in my seat to catch every image of the monuments, like I’d never seen them before. It seemed that the morning—so early—was untainted. I swallowed.

The taxi dropped me off at the White House, and I stepped toward the door. A Secret Service agent stood outside, waiting for me. He wore sunglasses in the coming light. He nodded toward me. I nodded back and snuck into the massive home. I imagined myself, in those moments, entering the White House in several years as the Secretary of State, as the Vice President of the United States. Perhaps even as the President of the United States herself. I shivered as I sauntered down the hallway, knowing that if I had agreed to be with the president, to allow him to leave his wife for me, my career would have halted at the wall. I would have watched it fizzle and die before me. I’d be popping out kids in a few years—kids for the president. And then, we’d retire together.

I wasn’t ready for that life! I wanted to live; I wanted to experience so many things.

I found myself at my desk once more. I began finalizing the press release from the previous day, nodding my head along with the words. I felt the people on the campaign team appear around me, dip into their chairs, and prepare themselves for the day. I was their leader. I had to begin acting like I cared, like this meant something to me. I had to refute my feelings for the president.

In a perfect world, I would have had everything. I would have had leadership; I would have had love. But right then, it wasn’t in the cards. So I stood up on the other side of my desk. I clapped my hands loudly, with authority. “Attention, team,” I called to them. They turned toward me, their eyes bright. “We have a big day ahead of us. I want serious productivity out of each and every one of you. This will be the most difficult job of your career. But it’s one that will ultimately put you ahead in life. And you know it.” I sniffed toward them and watched as they scurried back to work, like mice.

I sat once more, peering down the dark hallway that I knew led down to the Oval Office. Figures at the other end of the hallway—all the way toward the president’s living quarters—appeared. The woman had draped her arm over her husband’s. They didn’t speak. Rather, they held their faces forward and walked like a massive animal—all of their parts lining up so well.

I nodded to myself and leaned back toward my computer. I knew it was Camille and Xavier. I knew that all was right in the world, that this was where I was meant to be—that they were where they were meant to be, as well.

Life would go on the way it was meant to.

Chapter Three

The day swept by quickly. I received several emails from across the country and had a Skype call with a woman from California who would be greeting us on our next campaign trail. I met with Jason in the small office in which he’d initially shown me those horrific photos all those weeks ago. We talked about normal things, but all the while, I sensed a sort of humor about him—like he knew precisely how much power he had over me, like he knew that he’d altered the course of my life with just a few clicks of his spy cameras. Check. Mate.

“You don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to California with the president, do you?” Jason asked me, his face a bit shiny with grease, with acne. His eyes were filled with offbeat humor.

I frowned. “I don’t know what you mean, Jason,” I calmly. “I’m the campaign manager. I’m obviously going to California with the president to oversee all the events and keep him on track.” I shrugged. And then, I leaned forward. “And if you think there’s anything still going on with me and the president, you’re sorely mistaken.” My breath was lined with hatred, with anger. I scowled at him.

But Jason just laughed. “All right. But you do know that I have the ultimate power over you. Right?” He smirked at me. “Otherwise, I can bring out a few of those photographs.”