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—

"When is the wedding?" a reporter asks, breaking my train of thought.

"We'll make that announcement soon," I reply, "But for now, I just want to reiterate the fact that I would never risk my relationship, or the reputation of the country. My priorities are on this great Nation, and on the future Mrs. Bain," I say.

Ashley walks up to me, joining me at the podium, and she laces her arm in mine, giving me a soft peck on the cheek.

"Ashley, how did you meet Mr. Bain?" one reporter yells.

Another one asks, "Are children in your foreseeable future?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Ashley smiles, fielding the last question. "One step at a time. I think we have our hands full enough just planning a wedding, let alone future children."

The press reporters love her comeback. They laugh and nod in agreement.

“How do you respond to the fact that the President has had sex with numerous women before you?” a reporter calls out.

I close my eyes and cringe.

I mean, I barely know Ashley and already I feel bad for her having to deal with this.

And what kind of asshole is this, asking that kind of question.

In a heartbeat the cringe is over and I’m about to fucking address this myself when Ashley steps in.

“Well, we just recently decided to get back together again, so I can understand that the President had to go through a number of different options until he realized that I was the best choice,” Ashley says with poise and grace. “We’re not all perfect like me, after all.”

Again laughter.

Jesus Christ. She’s good.

“Any plans on the wedding?” someone asks. Softball question.

“Just me and Austin and 300 million of our closest friends,” she says with a smile and the room laughs again.

They fucking love her.

It quickly becomes apparent that they love Ashley. I feel a tinge of jealously settle in my mind.

It's as if the press likes Ashley more than they've ever liked me. I decide to jump in.

"I know this is exciting news," I say, "but I'd like to bring this press conference back on track. It's my intention to keep our country's best interests in mind and work hard to boost our economy by facilitating important international trade agreements—such as the one with South Korea."

This time, there are no questions about Jia Park. Instead, my comment is greeted with a full round of applause.

Arm in arm, Ashley and I exit the stage, along with Tracy and my office staff. We walk into an office, away from the prying eyes and ears of reporters, and when it's just Ashley, Tracy, and I alone in the room, I turn to Ashley and say, "You're supposed to be too shy for the spotlight."

"You're jealous, aren’t you?" she smiles.

I laugh. "You can't be serious," I lie.

"Look, the press loved me, and that's good for you."

"What are you? A professional liar?" I ask. "How is that good for me?"

"The professional liar is you, Austin," she grins. "Don't kid yourself."

There's something about Ashley that I don't trust, but one thing's for certain, she's sexy as hell when she stands up to me. Most women don't.

"Let me remind you that I'm the President," I say.

"Well, I didn't vote for you," she laughs.

I stare at her, mouth agape.

She looks at Tracy and then toward me. "I have some business of my own to attend to this evening. I have to go."

"That's fine," I reply. No sense keeping her around the White House anymore today.

And with that, she turns on her heels and leaves. I silently watch her saunter out of the room, her perfect ass swaying as if it were waving goodbye.

Once she's gone, I turn to Tracy. "Do you think Ashley's really the right woman for the job?" At this point, it feels like I have more questions than I do answers. There are so many unknowns.

Tracy smiles, "Ashley is perfect."