Page 64 of Bastian

HIS WHITE HOUSE

“It gives me great satisfaction to witness, my bestie karma, do her thing.” — A

God knows I’m trying to stay calm.

I’m seconds away from getting my ass thrown in jail for throat-punching a motherfucker. A motherfucker who happens to be part of the secret service.

I cringe at my crass choice of words.

Hell, I didn’t use to cuss this much. Typically, I use the bare minimum when speaking aloud, but in my mind? Yes, I cuss like an angry sailor who’s been stuck with seven imbeciles out at sea for far too long.

But at this moment, it’s tempting. It’s been hard to suppress the need to resort to dumb people’s words and cuss a motherfucker out.

Instead, I refrain from doing that and go for my favorite kind of language.

Sarcasm.

And there are levels of sarcasm, you know.

For example, some use it to make a situation less awkward, and others, like me, use it as a method to insult others. The fun part? They don’t even notice I am insulting them. Evil? Cruel? Perhaps.

“At least take me on a date first before hitting first base,” I mutter while stretching my arms wide so the security can do a full search for the second time since I’ve arrived at the White House. Thank God, I decided to arrive thirty minutes early because security has taken their sweet time, and if I’d come at the established hour, then I would have been late for Ella’s dinner, and that is unacceptable.

Anyone with a brain knows that tardiness is a sign of a lack of professionalism. Besides, I can be late to anything but nothing of hers.

Never.

“Look, miss–-” The asshole who’s been shamelessly ogling my tits for way too long gives me a condescending look while holding onto my Hermes bag. The same bag that has been searched two times by him. He then turns and points to another member of security to hand him the gifts I bought for Ellaiza. The items were carefully wrapped with pink unicorn gift paper, and I will start throwing hands if they mess it up by unwrapping it.

I guess it was my fault I didn’t care enough to ask for the protocols to follow when bringing gifts to the White House, and to save myself this headache, I should have, but this man is clearly taking advantage. “If I wanted to murder the president, do you think I would be dumb enough to walk right up to his security with the murder weapon hidden in the presents meant for a kid? Please give me more credit than that. There are a million more successful ways to do it and not so obvious.” I smile snidely at the same time the idiot glares my way. “And please make yourself useful and contact your boss. I bet he will appreciate knowing that his security has been paying extra attention to his guest for longer than your protocol requires.” There’s no humor nor warmth in my tone, just annoyance and a little bit of a bitch attitude. That I cannot help.

The mouth breather looks like he’s three seconds away from throttling me.

Oh, how easy it is to piss off mortals.

Then a loud chuckle sounds from my right, making me turn my head away from the dumbass security that’s been keeping me here as if I’m a threat to their president, which I am but not today. Today, I have no choice but to play nice.

Mother did say that loving someone was a weakness and a nuisance, and every time I’m obligated to play nice with Sebastian because of Ellaiza, it proves my mother’s sentiments to be true.

Love truly is a pain in my ass.

“This is not a tour guest, Barnes. This is the President and the first daughter’s guest.” Benjamin takes my bag and gift from the asshole. “You’re fired. Get your ass out of here.” With that, my friend grabs me by the elbow and guides me away from the jerk and in another direction.

“What took you so long?” I side-eye Benjamin while we walk away from the East Wing. As we walk past the theater room, I realize that this place, although it looks grandiose from the outside, is even more epic from the inside. Here lies the history of this country and the many men and their families who have lived here through the years with their own stories.

Maybe one day, a woman will sit in the Oval Office.

Maybe.

But for now, we must endure Sebastian Kenton. Oh, how low has the country gone.

“I told you to wait for me, did I not?”

Shrugging, I follow his lead through the halls of this enormous place. “I didn’t want to be late, and you, my friend, have a bad habit of being late.”

“Oh, maybe you’re too damn early every time. Have you ever thought about that?” He asks.

“Better early than late.”I snap.

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