Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 40662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
“Briefing,” he grunts. “Something happened.”
Adam frowns. “Right now?”
“Right now,” Charles confirms.
He sighs and looks at me. “Well, thanks for coming to see me, Maggie.”
“Of course,” I manage to say, clearing my throat. I stand, straightening myself, my cheeks flaming red.
Charles knows.
Of course he knows. It’s so obvious.
I smile one more time at Adam before leaving through the other door, hurrying back to my office, heart beating so fast I can barely keep myself under control.
I just kissed the President.
Oh my god.
I just kissed the freaking President.
6
Adam
Of course, as soon as I finally kiss a woman I’m fucking attracted to, some crisis far across the globe threatens to blow up.
That’s just my luck. Pretty much how things always go.
A couple of French commandos get caught by a local radical Pakistani separatist group, taking them hostage. Since we’re allies, the French call us in to help out.
The crisis lasts days. I don’t get out much, following the action in the situation room closely. I barely have time to shower and sleep, let alone see Maggie.
But I keep thinking about her. I can’t help it. Every time I want to stop, there she is again, still on my mind.
I can feel her lips against mine, her tongue against my tongue. I can taste her, feel her skin, hear her breathing.
It drives me fucking insane, just thinking about her. I know I should be more invested in the crisis, but…
Fucking hell.
I haven’t felt like this in a long, long time.
Several days pass. I float in and out of the situation room. Things get tense, and for a while, it doesn’t look good. I’m worried about war, the sort of thing that could completely derail all of my domestic policy ideas.
But fortunately, it comes to a dramatic conclusion. Nobody gets killed, at least on our side, and the French commandos get rescued.
And I get some fucking well-deserved sleep.
* * *
Unfortunately, being President never stops.
“What’s this for again?” I ask Charles as he ushers me into the ballroom. The Secret Service fans out around me as people turn in my direction.
“Fundraiser,” he grunts.
“Yeah, right, I know. But for what?”
“The party,” he grunts.
I sigh. That’s about as much as I’ll get out of him. I guess it doesn’t matter.
I’ve been to these things before. I feel like I still have the stink of sweat and anxiety all over my body, even though the crisis has been resolved for the time being. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s not totally over.
Doesn’t matter. I shake hands, smile, make small talk. I ask questions about people I barely know.
All because the party wants them to write big, fat checks.
This is how politics really works. Politicians are fundraisers, through and through. Sure, we work on some policy stuff.
But mostly we kiss rich people’s asses and beg them for money.
No wonder politics works the way it does. Rich people run this show, so they get all the benefits.
Sure, we’ve thrown poor people and average people some bones over the years, usually little things like tiny tax cuts and stupid deregulations that don’t really help them but we pretend like they do. Mostly though, they get nothing.
And this is why.
I hate it, honestly. I hate the money and the bullshit. I know that’s politics, but it doesn’t feel good.
“Glad you made it out,” Griff McDonald says to me.
He’s the leader of the party in the Senate, the head of the snake. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
He grins. “We know you hate this stuff, sir. But we’re glad you’re here anyway.”
“Anything to help the party.”
“Well, you enjoy yourself now, ya hear?”
I nod and walk away. Griff has an absurd name and acts like a cowboy, but he’s as shrewd as they come.
I sigh and head over to the bar. Charles lingers nearby, chatting with donors, shaking hands like a good soldier. I wish I had half his dedication to the job. I’d be much better at this.
“Whiskey,” I say to the bartender. A secret service guy lingers nearby. “You want a drink?” I ask him.
He grins, but doesn’t respond.
I take my glass and sip it, turning to oversee the hall. It’s filled with people, more than I expected. I catch a few glances coming my way and I can sense at least three old ladies that want a moment of my time.
I wish I could fucking run away.
“Hello, Mr. President.”
I stand still, not sure if my ears are deceiving me. I turn to my left and, sure enough, my eyes are telling the same story.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I say.
Maggie smiles. “I half expected you not to show up.”
“I wouldn’t have, if I had a choice.”
She laughs a little and I can’t help but smile. I know I shouldn’t stand here and talk with her… but I can’t help myself.
She looks beautiful. Black dress that fits her body perfectly, hair down and simple, makeup almost nonexistent. Her skin practically glows.