Executive Engagement

Wait, what did I just say yes to?

I’ve never met either man. I’ve been in Washington most of the time. My staff has most likely dealt with and pretended to know and like both men, but personally, I can’t even remember what either looks like.

"Good, so maybe you have a shared place to pick up with them," the President is saying.

"Yes," I say again, a bit more subdued as the post-orgasm endorphins start to sluice through my body.

"Great, I knew I could count on you, Viv. I definitely owe you one, and I’m willing to pay up for whatever you need me to do," the President says. "Thanks and goodbye."

I don’t have a chance to say goodbye, I’m just laying there, enjoying the last of my orgasm before the day starts.

"Is it my turn?" Mr. Lobbyist raises his head, asking me. What a wimp. I can’t believe this man runs his own business. That before he met me, he was supposedly considered a badass by the Washington women who swoon after powerful males.

I swing my legs out over him, and get off the bed. I need to take a shower. And it sounds like I’m going to New York.

"What about me?" the Lobbyist asks, getting out of bed too. I look over his body. His cock may be tiny, but his body was alright. Standard 6-pack abs, maybe could stand to work out a little more—get some more definition.

I head to the shower. Anyone who has to beg me for sex isn’t getting any.

"I need to shower, feel free to show yourself out…babe," I tell him as I turn on the water and then turn to face him. He looks crestfallen. I feel so bad all of a sudden.

"Oh, don’t be sad, babe, it’s okay," I tell him. "It’s not your fault. I just don’t fuck losers in the morning is all."

He nods, and leaves, tail tucked between his legs. Hopefully he rescues some girl from someone or something to get his ego up soon.

As for me, I have a plane to catch.

Vivian

Get in. Tell the Governor that he can’t openly cut down on jobs if he wants to keep his seat next time around. Twist his arm if I have to. Smile nicely and let him know I have a knife behind my back. And then get the hell out. I should be able to make time to catch the midnight shuttle from La Guardia back to Reagan if I stick to this plan.

That’s what I’m telling myself as my limo drives down along Park Avenue past 59th Street as it heads toward the Waldorf.

I hate coming to the city. I don’t mind it so much when I’m here, but every time I fly into either JFK or La Guardia, it seems just a bit more fake. A bit more gentrified. Common people pushed out in favor of the wealthy. International billionaires who come in and buy $2 million dollar apartments just to park their money. But everyone forgets the people who had to get evicted so the old walk-up apartment buildings could get bulldozed for these new gleaming towers.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to go back to the days of high crime and a broke, dysfunctional New York City. And I’m not socialist. I’ve made enough money from the system, and my investment portfolio would leave many people green with envy. I’m definitely in the 1%.

But despite all that, sometimes it makes me sad, seeing Manhattan go from the place that brought out the best in America and slowly turn into an upscale shopping mall for the well-to-do. Not everywhere. And not always. And there’s still a long way to go.

But it just seems like more, every time.

I sigh. I need to get my head out of the clouds. Maybe this is what women worry about when they don’t have kids. Although, I’m only 29. And honestly, getting to be Senator was hard work. I’ve never had a chance to think about kids, and why am I even thinking about kids right now? I mean, look at me, hun. I’m wearing Vera Wang—dressed to kill in a black cocktail dress—heading to a fundraiser with the most powerful people in the country. And I’m wondering about kids? And a gentrifying city?

The car comes to a stop and the chauffeur opens my door and I tell myself I need to just follow the script and I’ll be out of here in an hour to be able to get back onto my plane and back home. Maybe I’ll even invite Mr. Lobbyist with the small dick back to my place. He gives great head.

I walk into the Waldorf and make my way to Peacock Alley where the fundraiser is being emceed. Security checks my credentials and all of a sudden I’m in a sea of bowties and cocktail dresses. People sipping martinis and laughing politely as they talk about the problems associated with ruling the world.

"Senator Hawthorne?" an usher says to me, coming up to me. He must have recognized me, although I don’t do many of these things. I nod. "If you’ll follow me, please," he asks.

But wait, I’m sticking to my plan, remember. I can’t get caught up in anything else.

"Actually, can you take me to Governor Andrews?" I say to the usher. He looks at me for a moment and then nods and begins to make his way through the clumps of people surrounding the buffet table and bar.

We make our way for a minute until we reach a massive fireplace and that’s when I see the usher go up next to a tall man in a tuxedo with his back turned to me. He interrupts a conversation and the man turns to me and all of a sudden I catch my breath.

You remember when I told you earlier I didn’t want to have kids because I needed to focus on work?

Wel