Page 14 of Bona Fide

? Leave Me Alone — NF ?

“It’ll be morepublicity without looking obvious. It’s just something you need to do.” I stare at my press secretary, John, and blink—he’s serious.

Like, dead-ass serious as he gazes back at me with a perfectly set face of sobriety.

“You want me to buy a dog?” I ask at the head of the table in one of my conference rooms.

Em holds up her notebook to cover the smug look that I know illuminates off her face and the rest of my staff—they won’t even look at me. Rightly so, because I’m about to lose my entire shit on poor ‘ole John.

“Isn’t that a little excessive?” Heidi suddenly chimes in at my right—thank fuck. If she hadn't agreed to run with me as my vice president, it would’ve left me with having to look for someone else that I liked—which wasn’t many.

I genuinely like and enjoy Heidi. She’s smart, easy-going, could hold a conversation that didn’t bore me to death, and she wasn’t pushy. She listened, cared, liked to talk about other things that weren’t a law or a bill.

She was normal.

I need that in my life, more than ever. Now that I had a piece of it with Reagan. And to top it all off, Heidi would be a great asset to the country.

John shakes his head, setting his pen down over the several sheets of scattered paper in front of him. “Absolutely not. I mean, the public loves dogs. Governor, it’d make you more relatable. Humble. We still need to build you up on what kind of man you are. You’re still quite a mystery to the nation.”

I glance at Heidi, who shrugs noncommittally but silently doesn’t disagree with him either. My nostrils flare in defeat before bringing my attention back to John. “Alright...set up a day I can go to a shelter.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Emmy quips, tapping something into her phone.

“And you’ll need to name it something...maybe kind of trendy or American,” John continues. “Like Bailey or Luna, maybe even Washington.”

My brows snap together. “Now you want me to name the fucking dog some dumbass name like—” Heidi taps the top of my hand with hers.

“I’ll name the dog, Governor. Women have better taste, no offense.” I nod, grateful for her save, yet still irritated that I have to deal with a dog in my house now. I don’t have fucking time to train it, walk it, and feed it. That’s all I need is to murder the poor thing from neglect.

“The next thing we need to decide on is the charity events for Christmas,” Emmy pipes in. “We have so many options, and Reagan actually suggested that—”

“Where is she?” I blurt-ask as calmly as I can while memories of her sucking my cock against my desk protrude my thoughts. “If we have to pick one, I’d like to know what options she has available.”

“My fault,” Emmy replies. “I didn’t think about her being in one of these meetings. I’ll get ahold of her and get a list of things she suggested.”

It’s at the tip of my tongue to tell Em to bring her ass in the office so I can hear her say them herself but refrain.

She avoids me like the plague enough in my own office that I know Em has caught onto it but dares not ask me why. Which poses more questions, I’m sure, in her head about why, how, and what for.

I’m not ready for all that shit—never will be.

“Is she the pretty dark-haired woman at your surprise birthday party?” Heidi chimes with a smile, obviously unaware of anything.

I nod. “That’d be the one.”

Heidi leans back in her chair. “She’s lovely. We talked about the poverty rate in the town she grew up in.” She snaps her fingers. “Daphne, I think it was. And she made great points about how to change the mold and the atmosphere of the people. Do you mind if I have a meeting with her, Governor? I promise I won’t interfere with her work.”

I contract a weak smile. “Absolutely, Heidi, whatever you need.”

“Hiii!” I didn’t notice the door open, but I, unfortunately, know the ear-shattering voice that just bellowed in the room.

Glancing over, Demi stands with a behemoth smile on her face. The definition of perky, pretty, and a fucking pest. Her brown hair with blonde highlights is pushed back from her sunglasses propped on top of her head, and her soft pink dress makes her look innocent.

Angelic.

A fucking liar.

“Demi,” Emmy drones, standing from the table. “What can we do for you?” The she-devil steps further in the room, taking in the plain blue walls and basic-ass table that we’re all sitting around before her eyes fall to me.

---