I look at my computer screen and drum my fingertips on my desk. I’ve been staring at my schedule for the past five minutes, trying to figure out why the President’s Chief of Staff has decided to set up a meeting with me. My sources say that it’s connected with the recent scandal, the one with the South Korean ambassador, but I don’t see why the President would need me right now. At first I thought of turning her down straight away, but it’s not like you can shoot down a Tracy Comerford without at least waiting to see what she wants.

God, Tracy Comerford. I used to go to school with her. We haven’t kept in touch, and I’m more than a bit curious why now of all times she’s coming to me.

Just like everyone else on Earth, I’ve been following President Austin’s scandal. His Chief of Staff setting up a meeting at a time like this has managed to capture my curiosity, but again, I don’t see where I might fit in such a situation. Perhaps the President wants to use me as bait so that he can gather some blackmail material? That’s my bread and butter, I know, but when we’re talking about the higher echelons of politics … well, let’s just say that I don’t like to meddle with Presidents. It wouldn’t be the first time someone holding compromising material just vanishes into thin air, if you know what I mean.

I only turn my gaze away from the screen when I hear someone knocking at the door to my office.

"Yeah?" I say, raising my voice.

"Ashley, your ten o’clock appointment is here," Mike tells me, stepping inside the office and running his fingers down the length of his tie. He’s been my assistant ever since I opened up shop and, more than his good looks, he knows exactly what I need and when I need it.

"Yeah, send her in," I say, rubbing my temples and taking a deep breath. With a quick nod, Mike turns on his heels and waltzes out of the office. I look at him go, wishfully looking at how good his ass looks in his dress pants. 25 years old and with a body sculpted inside the gym, Mike is half-assistant, half-eye-candy. Don’t judge me; men have been employing eye-candy since forever, and who am I to buck that trend?

One minute later, Mike steps inside my office with a woman trailing after him, her button up shirt and pencil skirt telling me straight away that she’s a consummate professional.

"Thank you for taking the time," Tracy greets me as Mike leaves and closes the door behind him. She takes a moment to glance around my office, and then she gives me an approving nod. "Nice taste," she compliments as I stand up and offer her my hand.

"Thank you," I tell her as she shakes my hand. "It’s not a high-rise corner office, but I like it as it is."

I actually considered a corner office in some high-rise building when I started hunting for a place where I could set up shop, but in the end, I decided for something more discreet. It makes sense if you take into account that one of the pillars of what I do is discretion. Besides, although my office is not a cavernous room, it’s enough to let anyone coming in know that I’m the one in charge inside these four walls. The décor –sleek, modern, and elegant, does the rest.

"So, to what do I owe the honor?" I ask Tracy as I sit back down, more than ready to get down to business. I’ve never liked to pussyfoot around anything. I wave at the seat in front of my desk and she sits down, crossing her legs and folding her hands over one knee.

Now let me be clear on one thing.

I know Tracy professionally and personally from the same mutual friends back when we were in school. But we never really interacted. This is all new for me.

"I have a proposal for you. But I guess you already figured out that much, haven’t you?"

"Yes, that much is clear," I reply, locking eyes with her. Careful now, I think to myself, trying to read Tracy’s expression. You see, we’ve never crossed paths against each other before, I know enough about this woman to know not to fuck around with her. She’s professional, efficient, and shrewd when she has to be. You don’t get to be the President’s Chief of Staff just because you know the right people; no, it takes guts.

"Let me just make something clear, Tracy," I continue before she can say anything, "if the President is looking to get some blackmail material on his opponents, I’m out."

"Oh? I see," she whispers while, at the same time, a hint of a smile dawns on her lips. "You’re in luck, though. What I came here to propose has nothing to do with blackmail. We want you to become President Bain's fiancée. A fake fiancée, sure, but it has to be believable."

"Is this how you decided to fight against this 'President Player' scandal?" I ask her, cocking one eyebrow. My sources were right, but I never thought that Tracy would come in here with something as crazy as this.

"You’re right. How do you know?"

"I have my ways, Tracy," I simply tell her, not wanting to give her more information than necessary. Secrecy is another important pillar in this business.

"I take it you’re familiar with what has been going on then?"

"I am," I reply, thinking back to the confusion outside of the Sofitel Hotel, and how every single channel on TV seemed to become completely obsessed with President’s Austin sexual escapade with the South Korean ambassador.

"Well, we’ve devised a PR strategy to pull the President out of the mess he’s in… And, like I said, that’s where you come in, Ashley. If you accept this job, you’ll become his fiancée so that he can rehabilitate his image."

"That’s all fine and dandy, but why come to me? I bet there’s a small army of eager women more than willing to play that part. I mean, he’s the 'President Player,' after all." I know, maybe I shouldn’t have jabbed at her like that, but what can I do? I’ve never been a big fan of President Austin, or any other politician, for that matter.

"Let’s just say I’ve been following your … career. You’re an interesting woman, Ashley, and I always thought that a woman with your skills could be needed in a time of crisis. You’re smart, discreet, and above all else, you won’t get personally involved. And that’s exactly what the President needs right now." She makes a short pause, perhaps for dramatic effect, and then clears her throat. "I know this is a lot to take, so feel free to take a minute and let all this sink in."

"I don’t need to take a minute," I say right away, making my decision in a heartbeat. "My answer’s no. I’m not interested; a job like that would draw too much attention toward myself, and that’d be game over for my company."

I’m saying no, but you wanna know something?

My brain is the one controlling me here. Because the reptilian part of me - the part that’s only thinking about sex – is screaming yes. It wants to take my body and lay it all over Austin Bain. To lick his abs. To rub his cock in my face. To grab his ass cheeks and squeeze.

The part of me that’s not talking wants to make a condition that I’ll be his fake fiancée only on the condition that he takes my virginity. Then cums buckets of cum all over me. Makes me scoop it up and swallow it. And then defiles me all over again.

Seriously, you gotta be insane to pass up sex with this President. Probably the hottest man who ever walked the planet.

But again, my brain says no.

"Ashley, please. Think this through. Your President needs you. Your country needs you. Austin is doing good work, and I believe he might be the change this country has been sorely missing. I believe in him, or else I wouldn’t be here right now, asking for your help. Please reconsider," she asks me and, even though I’m more than used to this for-the-greater-good bullshit, I can tell that Tracy believes it.

"I don’t care if he’s the President. He’s still a DC politician, and I know the type. Forget about the United States or the greater good; Austin is President because he has a massive ego, nothing more. Besides, DC politics is something I’m really not interested in."

"We’ll pay you. We’ll pay you very, very well," Tracy says, switching gears in a fraction of a second. Maybe she’s thinking that if she can’t reach me through emotion, she might be able to do it through my bank account.

"Answer’s still no," I sigh. "I’m doing well for myself, as you can see," I say, casually waving my hand at the office.

"Twenty million," she then shoots, and I have to take a moment. Did I hear right? 20 million to pretend to be someone’s fiancée?

"I told you, I’m doing well," I reply, trying to sound casual even though my heart has picked up an urgent pace. 20 million is a lot of money, even if business is booming. That much money could be enough for me to change my life for good… I could stop seducing old men for a living. As fun as it is, it isn’t exactly something I want to be doing for the rest of my life.

"How much do you want then? Our pockets are deep."

"50 million," I reply, my heart now beating so fast that I feel lightheaded. With 50 million in my pocket, I could just pack my bags and leave this world of intrigue behind me. I could start a new life wherever I want. Maybe try and do something that really matters.

"50 million then," Tracy whispers after a short pause, and I can tell that she wasn’t exactly prepared to settle for a sum that high. Well, tough luck.

"We have a deal then," I tell her, offering her my hand once more. Gripping it, she shakes it as she looks into my eyes. I look back at her but, really, all I can see right now are fat stacks of bills.

50 million.

One last job.

And then…freedom.