Mr. President:A Billionaire & Virgin Fake Fiance Romance(6)

By: Alexis Angel



“Good. It looks like she made the right choice with you,” he continues, talking to me as if we’re the only two people in the room. He’s looking me in the eyes, but I can tell that, somehow, the first thing he did when he entered the room was check me out. Not that I can blame him; I did exactly the same thing.

The moment he entered the room my eyes were drawn to him. To start with, it’s not everyday I get to see the President of the United States up close. Sure, I’m going to be playing a key role, and that means I’ll have to spend some time with him … but first impressions are always first impressions. And, hell, I gotta give it to him; he looks even better in the flesh than on TV.

No, I’m not changing my opinion. All I’m saying is that, even though he might be an egotistical asshole, he has the kind of looks capable of provoking a very physical reaction in a woman. Do I need to explain that one? I hope not.

Tailored suit, dominant posture, and arrogance as the cherry on top of the cake; Austin knows people think he’s the shit, and he behaves like it. Of course, it also helps that he’s extremely handsome. Not only is he the youngest President in the history of the United States, he’s probably the most ripped one. Seriously, he wouldn’t look out of place in a movie set, one where guys hang around shirtless while kicking the shit out of each other. Makes me wonder—did he win the elections because of his know-how, or because he looks good? No need to answer this one.

“So, you’ve been briefed on what’s expected of you, right?” he asks me, his eyes never leaving mine. I feel a pleasant warmness spreading through my body as I hold his gaze; running my tongue between my lips, I give him a quick nod.

“Yes, I have.”

“Good,” he smiles, leaning back and crossing his legs. “We’ll keep this up for a year. Then you’ll be able to end our fake engagement by claiming I’m just too devoted to the country.”

“How noble of you,” I whisper, rolling my eyes and drumming my fingers on the table. “But one year? I was thinking of something more short-term.”

“No. Anything shorter than that and it won’t work. The public needs time to accept the President’s new image,” Tracy cuts in, her smart eyes going from me to Austin. “It’ll have to be one year.”

“If it’s going to be like that, I’m going to need a bonus. An extra $25 million will do it,” I say in a heartbeat. Tracy is about to protest the figure I’ve just thrown, but Austin doesn’t give her enough time for her to do so.

“Deal.”

“Also, if there’s any hint of a scandal with another woman… I’ll walk on the deal. And I’ll still expect to be paid.”

“Surely you’re not saying that --”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” I shoot back, cutting Austin short. “No other women while our deal stands.”

“Jesus,” Austin whispers, pursing his lips and exhaling sharply. “I guess you’re right, though. The risk just isn’t worth it.” Looking at me for a moment of silence, he then opens up into a grin. “We have a deal then.”

“Good. Now, where’s my ring?” I grin back at him, raising my hand and waving my fingers at him. “A fiancée needs a ring. An expensive one.”

“You’re a high maintenance one, aren’t you?” he laughs, running his fingers down the length of his tie. Pushing his chair back, he goes up to his feet and walks around the table, closing the distance between him and I. Sliding one hand inside his jacket, it comes back out holding a small square box. “There you go,” he says, popping the box open.

I raise both eyebrows as my eyes fall over the biggest diamond ring I’ve ever seen. The diamond alone is probably worth a few hundred thousand dollars, for Christ’s sake.

“Not that you asked, but the answer is yes,” I grin, offering him my hand. Holding it gently, he slides the ring on my finger and I hold my breath as I feel the touch of his skin on mine. His hand is big and smooth, and I start imagining what else he has that’s big and smooth… Ahem, anyway. Jesus.

“Do I get to keep it?” I ask Austin while, at the same time, I try to pull my mind out of the gutter.

“Sure,” he laughs. He could give two shits about this ring, and instead says, “You’ll want a memento.”

“A memento, right,” I whisper, looking at the ring. The thing is huge and gaudy, completely inelegant, but so what? I can just sell it once I’m done with Austin. Besides, the secret deal we’ve cut inside this room is also an inelegant one, but it’s not like that matters.

“Welcome to your new life, Ashley,” Austin says with a smile, and I can’t help but smile back at him, my lips reacting before I can stop them.

A new life, huh? Doesn’t sound that bad.

Good thing it’s not real.





7





Austin





I'm standing in a small theater in the White House's West Wing—the Press Briefing room. Half a dozen rows of chairs are filled with eager reporters, each staring at me, waiting for me to begin the press conference.

This is it.

This is the moment I go out and lie in front of the country.

I’m gonna look into the cameras and lie to 320 million Americans.

Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t believe I’m having these qualms right now, you know?

I mean, my administration doesn’t have any major scandals or anything. We’ve run a tight campaign. We didn’t do anything fucking crazy.

It’s the damned media. They don’t care who fucking wins, ya know? They just want to pull down and tear down whoever is in charge. It sells newspapers or something. So they fixate on the fact that I’m a young, eligible bachelor. They pinpoint that and they start trying to destroy me. Doesn’t matter what party I am. Doesn’t matter what I believe in.

And now I’m gonna lie to them. I have to. It’s the only way I can fend the media off long enough to actually help the American people.

I'm standing at the podium, and I look over at Tracy, who's standing off to the side of the room. She gives me a nod, and that's my cue to begin. I take a deep breath, straighten my tie, smooth the lapels of my suit jacket, and begin.

"Thank you all for joining me here today," I say. "I think we can all agree that the media has been trying to unfairly portray me in a negative light."

I give this opener and look around at the crowd. I hear hushed murmurs ripple across the rows of reporters.

I continue, "Today, I'd like to address the 'President Player' headlines."

"Excuse me, Mr. Bain, what is your relationship to South Korean ambassador, Jia Park?" one pudgy reporter blurts out, interrupting my train of thought.

I do my best to brush him off. "I'm getting to that," I say. "I would like to announce a new trade agreement between the United States and South Korea."

I look around the room. Reporters are exchanging confused glances with one another.

I continue, "I'm working very closely to hammer out the details of this trade with the South Korean ambassador. But one thing's for certain—we need to work together to meet these goals. United we stand—apart we fall. These salacious rumors need to stop."

"But Mr. Bain, what are you hiding? Why do you insist on keeping your personal life shrouded in mystery?" another reporter jumps in, shoving his microphone over the heads of the crowd.

"I've said this before, but I want to make it clear that my private life does not concern the public," I reply. "My focus is on the country and politics shouldn't be personal."

"But Mr. Bain, are the playboy rumors true?" another reporter asks.

A number of reporters jump out of their seats at this comment, all of them vying for my attention and calling out my name, their cameras and microphones raised.

But I raise my hand to silence them.

"However," I say, "Since you've made this personal, I'd like to take the time to make a very personal announcement."

Now the crowd is hushed, a silence unlike anything I've witnessed falls across the room, like a silk blanket draped across everyone's head.

I clear my throat and say, "I'd like to introduce you to my fiancée, Ashley Draper."

Now cameras are snapping and reporters are practically falling out of their fucking chairs. Never in their wildest imaginations did they expect me to make an announcement like this. In their minds, I'm a playboy—not a family man.

But they're eating it up. Their scowls are now smiles.

I watch as Ashley approaches the podium, and joins me. She's wearing a classy white dress with smooth lines and figure hugging curves—curves that I can't help but stare at. She looks dignified, and dare I say angelic.

She's good at this, a real professional. If I didn't know any better, I'd believe she was my fiancée too.

The press is now clapping. One reporter is even yelling out, "Congratulations Mr. President!"

This is going just as I intended.

They're eating out of my hand.

I'm not even sure I need this fake fiancée, but God do I want to fuck her. I take another glance at her perfectly round tits and picture them both in my mouth and in my hands. My eyes travel further down to her ass, which sways with each seductive step she takes. I can picture bending her over my desk, hiking up that white dress and—

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