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“I know you can do it,” were my quiet words. “You’re capable and smart, sir. But … I mean, you pretty much gave up your old life to take up the reins in the White House, and it sounds like it hasn’t been easy?” were my slow words. “So I guess I’ll ask again. Do you regret it, sir? Do you wish you’d stayed in New York?”
Thomas let out another sigh, expression thoughtful before turning to me with a smile.
“Who knew I’d have this conversation with a dancer?” he asked in a light-hearted voice. “You aren’t a reporter planning to do an exposé, are you?” he teased. “But no, seriously. The answer is that I kind of do regret winning the race, believe it or not. I miss the city. I don’t like the Beltway. I miss running my business because it’s the only thing I’ve known since I was fifteen or so and went to work for my dad. So yeah, I guess if there were any way to rewind time, I’d re-think things and maybe stay off the ticket. But then again, there’s no way to do that, so we are where we are,” he growled again, nuzzling my neck. “Is that a terrible thing to say?”
I was still, merely absorbing his words. Because I’d just heard the President admit that he didn’t like his job, and if he could do things differently, he would. He’d stay with his business instead of ascending to the highest levels of politics. And the truth was, I didn’t blame him. Sometimes things just happen without you really expecting it, and then they snowball and snowball until you’re in almost in a different universe. Look at me with the Pink Flamingo after all. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, and now I was dancing every Tuesday and Thursday night. So I could understand.
I shot a shy smile at him then.
“No, it’s okay,” were my soft words. “I totally understand. I wasn’t supposed to be a stripper either, but things just kind of got out of hand,” I said with a wry shrug. “One thing led to another, and pretty soon, like you said, here we are. But also like you said, what’s happened has happened, and there’s no way to turn back the clock.”
The President and I were silent for a little while after that, merely enjoying our closeness as well as the intimate conversation. Who would have guessed these things about the most powerful man on Earth? But somehow, I wasn’t surprised and truly treasured that he’d admitted to me what was in his innermost heart.
But all things have to end, and soon the clock struck nine. President Burke nibbled at my ear teasingly.
“It’s time for you to go,” came his hot breath. “But when can I see you again?”
I giggled a little, enjoying our exchange.
“The next time you’re in town,” I promised. “Just give me a call. We’ll make it work somehow.”
And with a smile, I was gone, the elevator whooshing me back downstairs to the waiting car. I stared out the window as the city rolled by, but my eyes saw nothing because only Thomas ruled my mind. He was more than a client. He was more than a man in need of release. He was truly alpha, with a keen, discerning mind, and feelings just like any other person. There were things he regretted, and things that he would do again. And yet, like all human beings, you sometimes just have to do the best with what you have at hand.
So my heart
and mind full, I went to bed that night and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Thomas Burke was my proverbial knight in shining armor, but where would we go from here? Was a future possible for the lowly serving girl and her Prince Charming? All I knew was that I felt something for the charismatic man … and only hoped that he felt something for me in return.
CHAPTER NINE
Thomas
Two months later …
Shit has been pretty terrible with things blowing up left and right. Gun violence at high schools. ISIS going fucking crazy. The Russians tampering with American social media, and god forbid, American politics. Sometimes, the truth will set you free, but what was the truth here? I had no idea what to believe, even with the best intel and advisers on hand.
“Are you ready, Sir?” asked my assistant Daniel, popping his head into the Oval Office. “Car’s waiting outside.”
The truth was that I was about ready to quit this job. Can I do that? Is it possible to step down without giving a reason? I couldn’t exactly say to the American people, “This job sucks shit and is pretty frickin’ thankless to boot.” Because everyone thinks that being President is my life’s dream, but as I admitted to Susie, that wasn’t the truth.
Which brings me to a larger issue. That night with Pearl should have ended immediately, and it did in the physical sense. I haven’t seen or heard from her in the last two months, and yet I think of the woman day in and day out. How she pulled confidences from me, things that I would never say to my friends or family, much less in public. How there was a weird parallel between our situations, her ending up at the Pink Flamingo and me in the White House. It’s sounds ludicrous, but it’s true. Shit just snowballed, and we both ended up in unexpected places, regretting our decision somewhat.
But life is what it is. I haven’t had time to contact her again, what with my busy schedule. And now it was time for the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, an annual ritual where the President cracks jokes and lets down his guard in front of a bunch of reporters. Yeah, right. Those folks are snakes and I didn’t exactly want to play along. But then again, sometimes there’s no way to say no, even for me, Mr. Commander-in-Chief.
So in a bad mood, I got into the limo that whisked me down the Beltway to the Marriott. Good god. Another rubber chicken dinner with people in finery, topped off with stilted conversation and old ladies in glittery gowns. Exactly where I didn’t want to be. What I really wanted was to spend time with Susie once more, the curvy girl naked and panting in my lap before kissing her until she ran out of breath.
But real life is stark, and I was on my way to make a speech about who knows what before people that I didn’t really like. FML. Rifling slowly through the notecards, I looked at the speech Daniel had written. Something about collaboration, cohesiveness, and co-something or other. All the buzzwords, right here and ready for the teleprompter. Great.
Leaning back, I looked out the window. What was Susie doing right now? It was Thursday, so she’d probably be going on stage soon. Ha. I didn’t mind, to be honest. I love a woman who owns her curves, and wasn’t going to hold dancing against a female so beautiful and enticing. What I’d give to be at the Flaming right now, waiting for the female to appear. Shit. It only made my mood worse, realizing that I was pretty much attending the opposite of the Tasty Thursday at the Flamingo. Fuck my life again.
And finally, we rolled up to the venue.
“Sir,” said the Secret Service guy in the seat beside me. Honestly, I’m still not used to them, and will never be used to the security detail, what with their unsmiling faces and unwavering focus on threat. Lighten up, dudes. But I guess that’s their job.
And with a smile and a wave, I got out of the car, all business. Bulbs popped, the flash blinding me for a moment. But like a veteran, I moved on forwards, striding confidently into the building. An old lady rushed over, wearing a ball gown studded with millions of shiny beads. Oh, it was Helen Monroe, who always asks the first question during press conferences.
“Hello Helen!” was my jovial greeting. The old woman leered in a malicious manner.
“Nice to see you, Mr. President,” she cackled. “Hope you brought your sense of humor.”
