Billionaire Baby Daddy

I parsed through the phone book in my computer, reading all of the many names of the team. I hadn’t hired a single one of them. I wondered who had. I had been hired after all of them, I knew; only after the person in my role had stepped down. I bit my lip and finally found the girls’ names. Monica and Tiffany. I bit my lip and brought my phone to my chin, dialing the numbers slowly. I made sure that everyone in the surrounding desks were paying attention only to their computers, their work. And then, I allowed the phones to ring.

The first girl I rang answered the phone after three solid rings. She sounded annoyed, surely recognizing the office number. But I explained to her the situation.

“Hi, Tiffany,” I stated into the phone. “This is Amanda Martin. I wondered if I could ask you and your friend, Monica—who I will be calling here shortly—if you would like your positions back on the campaign team. Both of you ladies have such enormous potential. You belong to this place, to this creative, energetic zone. Won’t you consider?”

“Um.” The girl on the other line was clearly surprised. I hadn’t taken a single speck of interest in her in the previous few months, and now I was calling her personal line. “Monica and I will have to talk it over.”

“I understand!” I interjected. “Of course. Just please understand that one woman losing her cool should not be enough to pummel you out of this business. I’m trying to keep you on track.” I swallowed, closing my eyes. Already, I felt like some formation of my mother. I felt like I was bowing to them, ready to please them with anything.

Tiffany paused for a moment. “What the heck, Miss Martin,” she stated then. I heard her smack her gum. “I want that job back. God, I do. I’ll convince Monica to come back, as well.”

“I can expect you back tomorrow morning?” I asked her, my voice nearly quivering. I wanted to make her seem strong, powerful. We couldn’t have any more fearmongering in this place.

“Yes. Both of us,” Tiffany said, assuring me. “I look forward to it!”

“Me, too, Tiffany,” I whispered. I clicked the phone closed and peered around me, a sense of pride entering back into my soul. This was what I was meant to do: to create opportunities for these women, to fuel a growth in the women’s population at the White House.

I got up then, and walked toward the desk at which the young girls would be sitting. I arranged the papers, the folders. I spun back around and found myself face-to-face with Jason then. My pleasure in my actions shattered at the look on Jason’s face. It was a look of malice.

“What are you up to?” he asked me, leaning against his desk. He brought me closer to him by tugging at my sleeve, and I could feel his breath on my cheek.

“What do you mean?” I swallowed, shaking my head.

“All this sneaking around behind my back. You have to remember that I’m on your side, in many ways, Amanda.” He blared an evil smile toward me.

“It’s not that, Jason,” I said, shaking my body from his hands, so oily, they slipped right off me, leaving a sweat patch. “I’ve just been really ill. You have to understand that.” I smiled at him half-heartedly, moving toward my desk once more. I spun around and swerved into my desk, peering down at the messy papers beneath me. My face burned, and I dared him to approach me once more, to tell me what to do. I dared him to try to ruin me.

Suddenly, Dimitri appeared at my side. His burly self took up so much space. He crossed his arms and leaned close to me, a disapproving expression lingering over his lips. “The president would like to speak with you for your lunch hour.”

“I’ll be there straight away, Dimitri,” I said, smiling up at him, shaking myself from my anger toward Jason.

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But Dimitri didn’t move. “I’m sorry, Amanda. This is a confidential location, and I must take you myself. You understand?”

My heart quickened. I stood up hurriedly, nodding. A fearful expression waffled across my face. I knew I needed to appear strong in front of him; I knew I needed to show him that I could be his campaign manager and even his girlfriend, if I wanted to be. I couldn’t let things phase me in the same ways anymore.

I followed Dimitri down the steps. I expected him to take me back toward the side room, offered only through a separate door, at the base of the White House. But he led me just a few floors down, closer to the East Wing. I peered at him curiously, my eyebrows furrowed. He opened the door.

“Here?” I whispered, my voice scratchy.

He nodded disdainfully toward me, his eyes still searching beyond me. He wouldn’t be friendly toward me again, I knew.

I entered the room. It was small, brought together with floral blue wallpaper. Several gold mirrors glittered around the room, reflecting my fine, feathery brunette hair and my small waist. I twirled in the mirror as Dimitri shut the door behind him, leaving me in peace.

The table had already been set. A large, golden slow cooker was sitting in the center, closed and sealing the heat for our fantastic meal. I eased toward it and opened it, finding myself braced with the elaborate smell of spiced and herbed chicken, potatoes, Brussels sprouts. I closed it quickly and felt my stomach rattling. So empty.

I twirled once more, feeling the anxiety filter away from me. It was like I could suddenly pretend like the previous few weeks of anger, of sadness had never happened. In my reverie of lost thought, I couldn’t hear anything; I held my eyes closed. I was alone in my little world.

Suddenly, I felt his hands at my waist. I stopped short and leaned into his warm body, feeling the fineness of his suit between my fingers. I kept my eyes closed as he brought his hands more tightly around my waist, wrapping me into an embrace.

“You’re a beautiful dancer,” he breathed into my ear, making me feel so sensual. My brain dove into sexual thought immediately. I imagined myself on top of him, humping him. Making his eyes close with passion.

“Thank you,” I breathed instead, rearing my face up toward his. We hadn’t had our talk yet, I reminded myself. I took a step back, shaking my head and trying to root myself back in reality. “This looks like a fine meal. The location is a bit—“

But Xavier just waved his hand. “It’s fine. Please. Sit down.” He gestured, and I sat across from him, placing the napkin over my lap. The tension between us hadn’t dissipated. I wanted to calm myself down, to find the proper words to say.

“Would you like some wine?” he asked. He reached toward the bottle and poured it for both he and I. I listened to the glug glug glug of the liquid as it escalated into the glass.