Page 5 of Power
Chapter two
Reece
BennettAdamsispersistent, that’s for sure.
I look through my closet so I can put an outfit together for tonight. I thumb through my dresses and find one I haven’t worn before. “I don’t remember buying you.” I look at the price tag and find myself smiling. “Nope, I definitely don’t remember spending four thousand on you.” I hold the dark blue, floor-length gown up and tilt my head. “Looks like you’re it.” I turn and look at my shoes. “I’m going to pair you with gold heels. Six-inch heels might make me as tall as Bennett. Doubt it though, but anyway. Right.” I hold the heels up to the dress. “Yep, you’re going to work. Now, what about a bag?” My handbags and clutches are lined up beside my shoe racks. “You.” I grab the gold clutch and walk out to make sure it’s fully stocked with everything an escort needs before placing it on my bed and heading for the shower.
There’s a knock on my door, and I stroll over to it. The original guy is waiting for me. “Miss Maxwell.” He steps to the side to wait for me to lock my house.
“Do I get a name?” I ask as he escorts me to the waiting car.
“My name is Mark, ma’am.”
Once the car is in motion, I say, “Here you go, Mark.” Handing him my clutch. He opens and rifles through it. I keep watching in case he cracks a smile or gives anything away. However, he’s completely professional and doesn’t react.
“Ma’am,” he says with his normal cold and emotionless voice. He hands me my clutch.
“Thank you.” I’m less nervous today, because I obviously know where I’m going and what to expect. The car moves through the Washington streets easily, and when we pull up to the gates, we’re waved through.
We get to the underground parking, and I exit, waiting for the agent to wave their wand thingy over my body. The check is quick and not intrusive. Before I know it, I’m on the way up in the elevator. This time the doors open, and I’m in a different part of the White House. “This way,” Mark says as he walks down a long corridor, decorated in subtler, yet still sophisticated tones. He knocks once on a door, waits for a moment, then proceeds to open it. “Miss Maxwell, Mr. President.”
“Thank you,” I hear him say from inside.
Mark steps aside and waits for me to enter before closing the doors.
I quickly see there’s a sitting area with two facing sofas and a fairly large coffee table between them. There’s also a massive bed, even larger than the one in the first room, as well as a small dining area with two chairs, and a candlelit dinner. The room itself is larger than an over-priced hotel room, though still cold and impersonal. There aren’t even any photos on the walls. “Reece, nice to see you again,” Bennett says as he walks over to me and kisses me on the cheek. “You look beautiful.” He stands back to admire my choice of floor-length, yet still sexy dress. “Although I’m not particularly a fan of you being nearly as tall as I am.”
“Mr. President.” I straighten my shoulders and wait for his instructions, but my mouth doesn’t catch up with my brain. “Why is a dinner set out?”
“I’d like for you to join me for dinner tonight.”
If my client wants me to have dinner with him, then I will. If they want me to suck their cock, I’ll do that too. If they want to have dinner while I suck their cock, I can do that as well. They’re paying for my time and the use of my body. “Thank you. That’s very kind, Mr. President.”
He takes me by the hand and leads me over to the table where he pulls my chair out and waits for me to be seated before he gently pushes my chair in. The food is still steaming, which means it must have arrived only moments before I did. “I’d like to get to know you, Reece.”
I sit straighter and cross my legs at the ankle. I’ve researched the shit out of how to sit when out at those hoity-toity dinners, even which forks to use, which glasses to use, everything. Because in my line of work, there’s some important dinner at least once a month that I’m paid to go to as the arm candy for someone important. I take the napkin and place it in my lap, while Bennett pours us water and a glass of wine for each of us. “Thank you.”
“Tell me about yourself,” he asks when he sits.
“What would you like to know?”
“Tell me about where you went to school.”
I have a feeling he already knows everything about me, including everything about Emily too. “I moved to Washington about nine or ten years ago, where I knew no one and had very little.”
“Why did you move here?”
“Because I answered an ad,” I reply with honesty.
“To do what?” He picks his wine up and sips it before placing the glass down and dividing the food between my plate and his.
I watch him carefully, then shake my head. My mind is telling me to shut up and answer the questions he asks, but for some reason, I feel like he’s testing me, and I don’t like that. “Mr. President let’s be honest. I’m sure you already know everything about me. You probably even know how much money I have in the bank.” He looks over to me, sets down the tongs he was using to divide the food with, and sits back in his chair.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” I pick my knife and fork up and begin to cut my meal, one tiny piece at a time. “I just don’t understand why someone who clearly has a good head on her shoulders, would continue to be in the profession you’re in.”
I look at him and blurt, “Because I like sex. I’m good at it, and I like the money.”
“But you can do so much more with your life,” he says, patronizing me.
