Executive Engagement

"You know why I’m here," I tell him straight away, not wanting to beat around the bush. "The deal you’ve made … you have a few ways to call it off.

"Oh, you came all this way just to tell me that? You could've just called," he props his feet on top of the table again, looking at me with that annoying grin on his face. "The answer is no." I open my mouth to speak, but he raises his hand and cuts me short. "No means no. And it’s a fucking no, Governor."

Here we go. He’s just a Mayor, and he thinks of himself a king. He has no idea how close he is to having the living daylights knocked out of him.

"Like I told the news when they asked, I got three words for you Carter," Liam says, leaning back. "Go fuck yourself."

"Liam," I start, saying his first name pointedly, "Your deal fl

ies in the face of the environmental legislation I’ve just passed." I don’t give two shits if I’m disrespecting him by not addressing him as Mayor—as far as I’m concerned, this guy is just another idiot who doesn’t even deserve an ounce of respect.

"Yeah, yeah. I don’t give two fucks about it. You might like to pass all kinds of laws while you’re sitting on your fancy Governor’s chair, but I’m living in the real world. I don’t have the time for your political agenda bullshit of the week; I became Mayor in this city because I care about the people here, not because I want to be another fucking cog in the state’s machine." I hear his words, but I can barely believe them. I fought tooth and nail to create a law that would protect our state for years to come, and this guy is pissing all over it with a grin … and that while trying to feed me some fake altruistic bullshit. Who the hell does he think he is?

"That’s not how it works. You can’t just do what you want; you’re a Mayor. Kindergarten is over, Liam. Listen to me and act like a real man for once." This is like talking to a kid who has decided to play a game intended for grown-ups. How in the hell did this guy end up a mayor?

"That’s fucking rich of you, to come here and tell me I can’t secure thousands of jobs for New Kingston. Why don’t you go visit all the people who need these jobs and tell them that they should sign up for food stamps because you’ve signed some bullshit piece of paper. I bet that would go really well, Governor."

I knew this guy would be tough to deal with, but I didn’t expect this. He’s not tough; he’s an asshole, one who doesn’t care about anything. He doesn’t even want to negotiate or talk about what can be done. This damn bastard just wants to prove he’s better than everyone else. If it weren’t for the political consequences of it, I could just bury my fist into his face and ruin that pretty face of his. You pick up a few things while serving in Iraq, and ruining pretty boys’ faces is one of them.

"I don’t know who you think are, Liam, but this isn’t the Wild West. You can’t simply flood the city with factories and postpone the consequences. And there are consequences."

"Oh, I know all about consequences, Carter," he tells me, using my first name as a provocation. Unconsciously, I feel my hands balling into fists. I’ve always hated spoiled little kids like him. He takes his feet off of the table and leans toward me, his grin fading away as his expression turns into a hard one. "For instance, the consequences to your words are that you’re no longer welcome here."

I’m not welcome? In my own state? This guy has no idea who he’s talking to. Whether he likes it or not, he will have to bend. In the end, everyone does. I get up from my seat and look him in the eye, the tension in the room increasing.

"Enjoy your little fantasy while it lasts, Liam. Because, in the end, you have no power. No choice." Leaving my words hanging in the air, I turn on my heels and leave his office.

Five minutes. That was how long it took for us to declare war to each other. I smile inwardly; if he wants war, he’s going to get one.

And I’m going to crush him… With a smile on my lips.

Vivian

I swear, I don’t even need an alarm clock to wake up most mornings. Most of my friends swear that they need a couple of minutes to snooze, or a solid 8 hours of sleep. Not me. A good five hours and I’m good to go. Hell, I could probably do with three. Or less.

Like last night. I think I may have finally passed out after the sex at around 3 am. I look over to the clock.

It’s 6:45 am. I always wake up at 6:45 am. So what is that? Slightly less than four hours. I can live with that. I won’t be draggy and tired all day. Besides, it was worth it. Sex is always worth it, in my opinion. It doesn’t have to always be toe-curling sex. It can be regular sex, or even sometimes bad sex. It depends what you end up doing with it. It’s like a movie. Even if it’s a bad movie, only rarely do you stop watching it. Or reading. Even if it’s a bad book, you usually finish to the end. I mean, sometimes you just DNF, but that’s not this book, is it? Because you only just met me, hun, and let me tell you, I think you’re going to like the ride I get to go on.

Anyways, back to the sex last night. It wasn’t the best. The guy, what’s his name? I forgot.

I look over to my right. He’s sleeping peacefully. Poor baby. He must be worn out. See, his cock was too small for me. I think it was only about four and a half inches. I swear—no lying. I was actually pretty intrigued. I asked him how big his cock was at the bar he picked me up at when I was having a drink after the Senate adjourned for the day, and he had told me it was ‘big enough to make me scream’.

I guess he meant scream in amazement because when I saw it a few hours later in my apartment, while I did feel a bit cheated, I was also really intrigued. Instead of kicking him out, I told him if he put on two condoms (to maybe make his cock bigger?) and gave me head while I read the latest Simone Sowood book on my Kindle he could fuck me afterward.

He was so grateful I wasn’t kicking him out he did exactly what I asked. That’s right. The guy next to me is a lobbyist for some group or another. Mr. Big Bad Lobbyist, thinking he’s going to go run for Congress. Too bad he has a baby dick and that Alpha Male façade just crumbles like nothing else when faced with a real woman. Like you or me—he can’t handle us.

Seriously, babe. I’ve dated a lot of guys. I’m not a slut; I don’t indiscriminately sleep around. I always want to go with the Alpha. I’ve done billionaires, CEOs, actors, Senators, Congressmen, Mafia lords, highlanders, princes, hell—even a guy claiming to be a fucking dragon.

At the end of the day, two things will happen with any of these so called bad boys or Alpha Males. First, I will crush their spirit because they won’t be able to keep up with me. They’ll end up becoming Soccer Dads, with beige shorts driving a minivan. That’s after they trade in their motorcycle and leave their MC. Second, I’ll get bored with them. Because they couldn’t be man enough to handle me.

It’s a curse, hun. I wish I weren’t so confident. But what can I do? I grew up like this. I’m the youngest Senator in the history of this country at 29 years old. I know I look good; I have blonde hair to my shoulders, I stay in shape by working out every day, I know my boobs look okay and my ass is still perky. I’m a hard worker. I graduated at the top of my class from Princeton and never looked back. When my friends were getting married, I was working. When they were going on vacation, I was working. And look at where it got me; I’m now the junior Senator from New York State and chairwoman of the Senate Commerce Committee. I have an apartment in Washington D.C. at the Watergate Hotel and an apartment in New York City on 39th and Park Avenue. I don’t have billions of dollars, but enough paid speeches to Wall Street banks and the NRA have left me with hundreds of millions of dollars. I can survive on that.

Sure, I grew up wealthy, in a well-connected New England family. We summered in Cape Cod and lived on Beacon Hill when I was growing up. But like any New England family, I was always told that everything I would ever get in life I had to earn. If I didn’t work, I wouldn’t receive any benefits.

No one owns me. Not even a political party. I watch all these supposedly powerful men, out there peacocking and posturing for the camera. They’re all crippled because the parties have them by the balls. I told the Democrats to fuck off a while ago. Then I did the same to the Republicans. I’m an American. That’s my fucking party, babe.

But I’m also a woman. And I’ve just woken up. And I don’t have to pee, so that makes me horny. I don’t waste any time but slowly nudge the lobbyist whose name I can’t remember awake.