Mr. President:A Billionaire & Virgin Fake Fiance Romance(14)

Turning onto my block, I can already see my apartment building rising in  the distance. I start walking at a brisk pace, and that's when I feel a  heavy hand landing on my shoulder. I told the Secret Service to hang  back, but I guess they simply couldn't resist following me this closely.  I turn around and-oh shit, this isn't the Secret Service.

Facing me is a tall guy in a hoodie, overgrown stubble covering his  cheeks and reaching down onto his neck. His eyes are bloodshot and he  reeks of alcohol.

"The ring, give it to me," he growls, his eyes falling on the hideous  ring on my finger. Seriously, I'm being mugged because of this stupid  tacky thing?

"Fuck off," I growl right back at the mugger while I reach inside my  purse, trying to fish my mace from the inside. But, before I can do it,  the man pulls a knife from inside his jacket. Oh, shit.

I look over his shoulder, but I can't see the Secret Service SUV  anywhere. Things aren't looking good, but I'm not giving this asshole  the ring. As tacky as the ring might be, I'm not in the custom of being  robbed quietly.

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" I start screaming, and the mugger's eyes  widen in surprise. I half-expect him to turn on his heels and start  running down the street but, instead, he pushes me against the wall next  to me and brings the knife up to my neck. I feel the cold kiss of the  blade against my neck and I hold my breath, my heart pumping adrenaline  through my bloodstream.

I try and kick the bastard between the legs, but he just jumps back to avoid my feet, his knife still against my throat.

"Gimme the fuckin' ring, you bitch!" he growls once more, but his voice  is drowned by the sound of heavy engines coming up the road. I look over  the man's shoulder to see the presidential motorcade turning onto my  block, a door in the president's limo swinging open fast.

"The ring, bitch!" The man shouts again, but I don't even hear what he's  saying. My eyes are focused on Austin, watching as he jumps out from  the still rolling limo and starts running down the street, closing the  distance between him and I.

The moment the mugger is within his reach, Austin just grabs him by the  collar and yanks him back. The knife leaves my neck as Austin pulls the  mugger away from me, and that happens because the bastard spins around  fast and tries to stab Austin.         

     



 

Sidestepping him, Austin grabs the man by the wrist and just turns it  back harshly; the knife drops to the floor and, at the same time, the  nauseating sound of bones breaking reaches my ears. Cocking his arm  back, Austin then rams his fist into the mugger's face, and a heartbeat  later the man is laying on the ground unconscious, blood dripping down  his broken nose.

"Are you okay, Ash?" Austin asks me, coming up to me and placing one  hand on my face and the other on my waist. Only then do I realize that  my hands are shaking.

"I-I think so," I tell him, brushing my fingers over my neck, right on the spot where the blade was just a few seconds ago.

"Sir! Are you okay?" A small army of Secret Service agents comes up to  us, and they quickly form a perimeter around Austin and I.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Austin tells them casually, waving his hand  around. He jumped out of his limo so fast that the Secret Service didn't  have any time to catch up. A man of action, that much is true.

With both his hands on my shoulders, Austin lets his eyes roam up and  down my body, trying to check if I'm hurt. As he's doing it, a few cop  cars park close to the presidential limo, and the police hauls the  unconscious man up to his feet and then drag him inside one of the cars.  The man just made an attempt on a sitting president; I guess it's going  to take a while before he's out on the streets again.

Parking just before the police cars, a few dozen vans from the local  press show up in a flash. They were probably following the motorcade,  and they were drawn here by the sudden stop. The Secret Service didn't  have enough time to set a big perimeter, so it doesn't take much time  before Austin and I are huddled together inside a small circle of agents  in black suits, a crowd of reporters shouting questions in quick  succession.

"Ashley, did you --"

"Mr. President, can you give us a comment?"

"Are you hurt?"

"Did you knock out that man, Mr. President?"

The questions are so many, and they're coming so fast, that all I can  hear is an angry buzz, almost as if the reporters have turned into a  swarm of wasps. Running one hand through my hair, I take a deep breath  and think of what my next words are going to be. This is an excellent  opportunity to show the White House that the millions they're paying me  are well worth it.

"Thank you for your concern, everyone," I say, raising my voice and  looking at the reporters with a smile. "If it weren't for Austin, I have  no idea what might have happened. Just goes to show that he wasn't  kidding when he said he'd be tough on crime," I chuckle softly, grabbing  Austin by the arm and pulling him into me. I look at him with a growing  smile, hoping that some journalist will snap a picture of my loving  look toward the President. Only then do I realize that I don't need to  pretend that I feel thankful toward Austin …  He saved me, he protected  me, and I'm truly grateful for it. Because, just like I told the  reporters, I have no idea what might have happened.

"Let's go, Ash," Austin whispers, lacing his arm on mine and trying to guide me toward the presidential limo.

"I guess it goes to show that the President isn't only a man of his  word; he's also a man of action. I feel safe in his hands, and I think  that the American people should also feel safe under his presidency," I  continue saying into a microphone that someone shoved into my face,  taking small steps as I follow Austin back to the limo. Yup, I'm  inspired right now, and the reporters seem to be eating it up.

"What were you thinking, Ashley?" Austin asks me as we step inside the  limo, one of the Secret Service agents closing the door behind us. "You  can't ditch your security detail. You know it's dangerous," he  continues, but I just lean into him and lay my head against his  shoulder.

"Just take me home, Austin," I whisper.

"I will," he replies softly, placing one hand on my head and leaning in to kiss my forehead.





16





Austin





I don't think I've ever felt so much adrenaline course through my veins.  Watching a fucking man assault Ashley-hold a sharp knife blade against  her throat, and not knowing if he's bluffing or not-well, I couldn't  jump out of the limo fast enough.

The car was still rolling, and my driver was yelling for me to wait, to  think about my safety! he said, but how could I? Did he really expect me  to just sit back and fucking watch that? What would've happened if that  man decided to push that knife into her throat?

No, I can't even think about that. I shake the thought from my mind like a bad dream.

The fact of the matter is that Ashley's life was in danger and I  couldn't allow anything bad to happen to her. I refused to be a  bystander to that. It's true that the fucking asshole nearly succeeded  in stabbing me as well, but I was never worried. One swift punch to his  face, and I knew I had him.

"Please promise me that you'll never ditch your security detail again," I  say, looking Ashley in the eyes. We're standing in her bathroom, and I  notice a cut on her side. It's bleeding through her shirt. That has to  be from the mugger. His blade must've nicked her, and she didn't even  realize it.

Adrenaline is an amazing thing. With it, you feel almost super human.  Pain disappears. Sometimes you even feel invincible-faster than a  missile, and stronger than Mr. Universe  …  stronger than steel.

"I promise," she replies. "And thank you again. You saved my life."

"I'm just glad I found you in time," I say. "I don't even want to think  about what could've happened, had I not have shown up. But that's over  now  …  and you're bleeding."

I point to her shirt, and at the bloodstain blooming across the cotton fabric.

"It's nothing," she says, dismissively.

"No, you're losing blood," I reply, concern growing in me. "It's  superficial, but definitely bleeding. I want to take you to the  hospital."

I can feel my concern turn into anger. I'm angry at the thought of  anybody hurting Ashley. I have an overwhelming urge to protect her.

"It's fine," she says, glancing down at the stain. "Besides, we have a  good narrative going, don't you think? I think a visit to the hospital  will look bad. It'll throw an ugly wrench in our plan, that's for sure."

"I appreciate that you're thinking about me," I say, "but if we're not  going to the hospital, I insist that you let me take a look at that cut.  Take your shirt off."

She smiles. "I thought you would be the type who liked to undress a girl."

I look at her for a moment and then close the distance between our  bodies. I drag one hand softly up her arm, brush against the side of her  cheek, and then place it on the nape of her neck, feeling the long,  soft waves of her hair.