Chapter Seven
After a full hour in that dark, closet-like space, I finally righted myself and moved into the brightly-lit, swarming office once more. The clatter of fingers on keyboards, the pulse of the work life made my smile light up on my face. I passed by Jason’s desk, noting that he was eating a sandwich in the grossest way possible. I felt sorry for him—this man with mustard streaming down his face. I felt sorry for him in a way that I couldn’t quite understand.
I had a meeting with Xavier at 3 in the afternoon, I knew. I prepared the notes for the “campaign” meeting, knowing that we’d discuss so much more than just the campaign. Sometimes I worried that I was far too distracted with loving him, that I couldn’t focus completely on creating a good campaign for him. But I couldn’t care about that. I was in the sunlight continually, smiling up toward the sky. (In a matter of speaking, of course. Jason’s eternal glare made me want to run for my life, sometimes.)
I tapped toward the Oval Office with the notes beneath my elbow. I thought I could feel Jason’s eyes on me as I passed him, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning toward him, of allowing him to notice my fear. The morning had been gruesome, but I’d worked through it, I’d come out on the other side. It was going to be okay.
I snapped my knuckles against the Oval Office, noting that there wasn’t a Secret Service agent on this side of the wall. Suddenly, the door lurched open, revealing Dimitri on the other side. I remembered that I hadn’t seen him since that evening when I’d gotten dressed and snagged a ride home from him, still buzzing with the events of the previous few hours. I didn’t make eye contact with Dimitri, feeling far too frightened of all that he knew about me.
“Thank you, sir,” I murmured, skirting around him.
I found myself in the Oval Office once more. I grinned sheepishly toward Xavier, who stood in the center of the room. His black hair gleamed beneath the light, and his beard was in need of a trim. “Miss Amanda. Please. Come sit down. You’ve brought the notes?”
I nodded, gesturing with them slightly. I sat beside him on the couch. Our eyes were brought together as we listened to Dimitri leave and the door close behind him, leaving us in a bubble of happiness. He reached up and snuck his fingers through my hair, brushing my hair behind my shoulder. “How’s your day?” he asked me softly.
I remembered the morning with Jason, hearing the words that he was just “this close” from ruining my life forever. But I nodded, shrugging a bit. “It was good. It was okay,” I said.
Xavier frowned for a moment. But he didn’t dwell on it. “Did you bring the notes for the campaign?”
I nodded and flung the folder forward, allowing it to open on the coffee table. I began working him through the list of various press releases, through the places we would ultimately have to travel during the fall and spring in order to generate a following. The man he was up against had his way with many of the southern states, and we had no hope down there. I shook my head and traced a red X over the states he just couldn’t win. “I’m sorry, sir,” I said, flirting with him a bit and wagging my eyebrows. “I just don’t think you’ll finagle those votes.”
He raised his eyebrow at me then. He brought his hands over my thin waist and squeezed gently, smiling at me. “You don’t think so?” he exclaimed, teasing me.
I shook my head, laughing once more. “I don’t think so, sir.”
“What is all this ‘sir’ business?” he asked me. He brought his face toward mine and kissed my ear, the side of my neck. “You like that?”
I nodded, cooing toward him. “I think so. Maybe.” I turned toward him, and he kissed my cheek, my eyebrow, my lips. I sighed into him, feeling like the rest of the world was falling away from us—like it was just he and I, now.
“When can I see you again?” he asked me then.
I tipped my head to the right, raising my eyebrow at him. “You’d really like to know, wouldn’t you? I mean. My schedule’s just packed.” I teased him, rubbing at his cheek with my thumb. “God, you’re cute.” I giggled toward him.
He shook his head. “You’re a menace. Come on. When can I see you again? I have the perfect plan for us, if you just tell me when. God, when.” His voice had descended, growing deeper.
I paused, making him wait for me. I tapped at the edge of my chin, thinking. Thinking. “I suppose I’d like to see you this weekend. But I’ll have to check my schedule. I know you’re the President of the United States and all, but when a girl has plans, she has plans.” I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly.
He bowed his head. “I respect your very busy life, Miss Amanda. And please respect my sheer need and desire for your body.” He brought his face toward mine, and he kissed me once more, making my pussy so wet. I cooed, and he brought his hand beneath my skirt, rubbing at my leg.
As we kissed, he rubbed at my skin, folding my nylons down over my knees. I sighed into his shoulder, and I allowed my thoughts to drift, if only for a moment. I wanted to ask him, suddenly, about Jason. I knew they’d had their private meeting; furthermore, I knew that Jason was up to something. I just didn’t know what.
But as the kisses kept pouring over me, as Xavier’s nose dove between my breasts, my thoughts flitted away, and I gave over to feeling. He was unbuttoning my blouse, allowing my skin to shine beneath the lights of the Oval Office. I opened my legs to him and rose over him, rubbing at his dick. I sighed as he kissed me further, harder. This was where I was meant to be, in this moment.
Beside us, as we continued kissing, touching, nearly fucking—but never quite getting there—the papers for the upcoming campaign were strewn about, reminding us of our purpose. But we didn’t care about all that anymore. All we cared about was being in each other’s arms, knowing that the rest of the United States of America could wait.
After all, they needed us.
About 30 minutes later, Xavier started tapping at my back, at my ass. I peered up at him. I’d been laying on his chest, allowing my mind to drift away. I felt like I was in a sort of meditation zone, not really aware of my surroundings. I blinked toward him, my eyes exhibiting such admiration for him. “What is it?” I whispered.
“I have a meeting,” he whispered back, yawning a bit.
My eyebrows rose. “Oh? Is that so?”
He nodded, but he looked far more serious than usual. I righted myself and began leaning over to gather the papers, allowing my breasts to bounce forward in the air. The papers were strewn about, so ominous, reeking of the outside world.
“I’m sorry, Amanda. It’s the president of France. I have dinner with him tonight.” He tapped at his forehead.
I nodded, understanding. I realized I had already known that, that I had lost track of time. I was always losing my mind when I was around him. I pictured the four of them together then: the French president and his wife; the American president and his wife. I shuddered. There was something missing.
But what was I saying? I was the one who’d insisted that Xavier remain with his wife.
I brought my arms toward him and lifted a hand to his cheek. I kissed him lightly. “I’ll see you Friday, Xavier,” I whispered.
He nodded. “Friday it is.” He winked at me and sent just one, final flash of a smile my way.
I put myself together once more and strutted out of the room.
But on the other side of the door stood Xavier’s wife. Camille.
My jaw dropped.
Camille was arguing with the Secret Service agent. She was pointing at the door and yelling at him in a hiss. “You can’t just disallow me from entering the Oval Office. That’s my husband.”
“He’s also the President of the United States, Mrs. Callaway. He’s dealing with important business.”
Suddenly, they both noticed me. Their heads lurched toward me. The agent looked shocked for just one moment before concealing it quickly beneath his stoic expression. Camille gazed at my youthful face, at my long brown hair. She scoffed at my thin waist. I could see her inspecting every single part of my body. “I see,” she murmured. “Important business indeed.”
I frowned and lifted the papers in my hand, as if I was alerting her that yes—we’d been poring over important documents. “Good evening, Mrs. Callaway,” I stated with all the calm confidence I could muster.
“Good evening,” Camille stated then, lifting her chin. “I expect my husband is ready for our dinner with the president of France?”
I nodded, bowing my head. “He’s preparing himself now; our meeting ran long. My apologies.”
I excused myself and soon I was racing down the hallway, feeling my heart beating so fast in my chest. I could hear Xavier greeting his wife and I could feel the anxiety coursing through my veins. When I reached my desk, I collapsed into the chair, feeling the sweat pouring over my eyebrows, over my temples. Across the room, I noted that Jason was sitting there, smirking at me. Waiting for me to break.