Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 23818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Enjoying her confusion, I sat down once more before raising an eyebrow.
“Go on,” I rumbled. “I can see you’re full of questions so shoot.”
Bridget gulped again, those big boobs heaving. My fingers itched to touch and stroke and I desperately wanted to weigh the sacks of cream in my hands. But first things first, and I sat back, grinning like a motherfucker.
Because shit, this was where I exactly wanted to be. Alone with a beautiful woman, who was obviously surprised but also turned on. I can see it in her eyes. The way her chest rises and falls with excitement, and the pink stain on her cheeks. The way her nipples were pebbling, evident through the soft fabric of her dress. Oh yeah, I’d chosen right. Bridget Martin was going to work out just fine.
But she shook her head again, brown curls tumbling.
“Mr. President,” she said, taking a deep breath. “What’s going on? You can’t possibly be a male escort. Who …? What…?”
I let out another deep chuckle.
“I’m not an escort exactly, that’s true,” I said wryly. “After all, I’m not getting paid for this. The money charged to your credit card will be refunded, don’t worry. But this is how I meet women,” I shrugged. “It’s not so easy when you’re in a position of power with millions of eyes trained on you every single day. Not to mention the press,” I growled, suddenly angry. “Those people are dogs.”
The brunette nodded faintly, still unable to move from the couch.
“But why go to all this hassle?” she asked, still befuddled. “Why go through Gold Medallion? Aren’t there billions of women dying to go out with you? I mean, you’re handsome, powerful, and ….”
Her voice trailed off, cheeks flushing. Because I understood what she was saying. The press sometimes labels me as the “Boy Prince” for my good looks, and I’m relatively young compared to most presidents. The average of a world leader is probably sixty-five, and I’m a good two decades younger.
So I smiled again, amused.
“Sure there are women dying to meet me, but they’re not really my type,” I said lightly. “They women angling to date a President aren’t usually the ones you’d bring home to Mom. They have an agenda, and generally want fame, power, and fortune, not to mention the allure of the spotlight. And I’m not into that,” I said simply. “I’m looking for someone normal, and sometimes normal is hard to find.”
Bridget nodded dumbly.
“But wouldn’t it be easier for you to hire a female escort instead?” she asked slowly, still shaking her head. “There must be hundreds of options out there, if not thousands.”
I nodded, but the answer was easy.
“That’s true, but what kind of women do you think offer themselves as female escorts?”
She flushed then, and I could tell Bridget knew exactly what I was talking about. Because female escorts are usually hooches. They’re not all bad, but most often, they’re underemployed actresses and porn stars waiting for their big break in Hollywood. Not exactly the type that a President wants to bring to a State dinner. Or even worse, the female escorts were the married housewives desperate to make a buck on the side. There’s an element of sadness to those women, and I wasn’t getting entangled with a married lady, no way. Imagine the headache, not to mention the scandal. My political career would be over.
Bridget nodded then, understanding dawning in her eyes.
“I see,” she said, biting her lip. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“You and me both,” I said wryly. “When my office proposed setting up Gold Medallion, I was stunned. All this, so I could get a date?” I asked humorously. “It seemed crazy, and it still is.”
But Bridget was still puzzled.
“Gold Medallion is owned by you?” she asked disbelievingly, now almost falling off the couch. “But what about all the other guys on the site?”
I shrugged.
“I have no idea,” was my careless reply. “They could be decoys, or they could be real. I have no idea. But no, I don’t own Gold Medallion directly. It was set up by the Office of Ethics and Professionalism as a way to solicit decent women who might be interested in meeting Robert Carter on a romantic level, without letting on who exactly I was from the get go.”
Bridget took a deep breath then, pausing to think. I didn’t blame her. The revelations were coming one after another and they were all doozies. It’s not every day you realize that your date is a powerful, famous man, and that the escort agency you were working with is actually run by the United States government.
But hey, Big Brother is everywhere, and we’ve gotten used to it over the years. We’re used to cameras on every street corner, with digital timestamps and face recognition. We’re used to using our credit cards and iPhones to make purchases, realizing that every transaction leaves an electronic record. So Bridget was thinking fast and I could see the gears churning in her head. Here was an opportunity to date the leader of the free world. Was she gonna go for it, or politely decline?