Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 23818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
“See?” asked Daniel, frowning a bit. “Nothing special.”
“Speak for yourself,” I growled under my breath. The next photo was even more tempting because the full-figure snap showed off the brunette’s curves in gym clothes, and shit but she was tempting. A huge ass that begged to be spanked paired with wide hips and giant, jiggly boobs. Exactly my type.
“See?” asked Daniel with a perplexed frown. “How did this woman get in there?”
I scanned her profile quickly, not bothering to answer. Hmm, Bridget Martin. Twenty-five years old, and a copy editor at some rag in New York City. Political affiliation: none. In fact, she hadn’t even voted in the last three elections. A bachelor’s degree from CUNY, followed with a brief stint at a writer’s workshop somewhere in Indiana. Perfect.
“See what I mean?” interrupted Daniel again. “She hasn’t won a single award or prize, not to mention her academic performance. Ms. Martin didn’t graduate with honors,” he added in a scandalized voice.
But I’d had it with these snobby assistants. Sure, I recognize the benefit of being educated up the wazoo, but as President, I know there’s more to life than a bunch of degrees after your name. It’s common sense and real-life experience that make the difference, and Bridget looked like she could have a good dose of it.
“I’ll take her,” I said abruptly, closing the folder. “Book her.”
“That’s it?” Daniel goggled. “But didn’t you want to look through her security clearance? At least scrutinize her credit report?”
I sighed again.
“That’s what I have you guys for,” I replied in a wry voice. “The legwork’s already been done, and I like what I see. So Ms. Martin it is.”
Daniel nodded quickly, standing up and gathering the files.
“Of course sir. It’s just … I didn’t know you’d be so fast. Don’t you want to at least look at the final candidate?”
But I didn’t need to because Bridget’s profile had been perfect, and my cock stirred knowing that I was going to meet her soon.
“Naw,” I drawled. “No more gold medal contenders or spelling bee champions. Just bring the girl to me, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Of course,” Daniel nodded, tucking the files under his arm. “If you need anything else sir, please let me know.”
And with that, my assistant stepped quickly out of the Oval Office, leaving me in peace. Shit, it was almost midnight now, and yet we weren’t done yet. There are so many things on my plate still, from hammering out domestic policy to negotiating with tyrants from obscure third-world countries. A President’s work is never done.
But at least I had something to look forward to now. I knew my team would book a date with the curvy Bridget Martin soon enough. It might not be until I got back from my tour of Africa, but it would absolutely happen.
And now, here we were. I was ensconced in the apartment where I usually stay when I’m in Manhattan. No hotels because these places have to be scanned and de-bugged before I arrive. It’s easier for the Secret Service to have a permanent hidey-hole, and thus the modest apartment building with a plain stone façade. No one would suspect that this is where the President of the United States sleeps when he’s in town. They always think it’s the Waldorf or some other fancy place.
But now I was surrounded by discreet luxury as Bridget stood before me, eyes wide.
“P-President Carter?” she stammered. “What are you doing here?”
I grinned, lazily swirling the bourbon in my glass.
“You ordered me,” I drawled. “What else?”
She shook her head furiously, brown curls bouncing.
“No, I didn’t,” she said. “I ordered a man named Robert. Wait, but you’re Robert.”
“I am,” I nodded, “but I’m not the Robert on the website, that’s true. They put a fake profile up because who would believe it if POTUS were offering himself as a male escort? Gold Medallion might as well be shut down right away. Not to mention, I’d distance myself from them immediately and my people would denounce the whole thing as a crock of baloney.”
Bridget stared at me still, mouth opening slightly before closing one more.
“But you’re the male escort?” she asked, as if she couldn’t believe the words. “Why would you do that? Don’t you meet women everywhere you go?”
I nodded, taking a sip while glancing at her over the rim of the glass. Before answering, I stood, unfolding to my full six four and letting her get a look at my muscled bod, outfitted in a custom black suit.
“I do meet women everywhere,” I nodded, striding over to the liquor cabinet. “But where are my manners? Here, have some of this. Do you drink bourbon sweetheart? Woodford Reserve is some of the best.”
Bridget was still staring at me from the couch, those caramel eyes wide, and I didn’t blame her. Because how often do you show up somewhere and the President of the United States is waiting for you? Not only that, but he was a male escort you’d ordered on-line?