Catfish

I was never supposed to meet her.
I wasn't supposed to have my best friend's phone either and see her message come through.
And I sure as hell shouldn't of went through his dating app and messaged her back.
Call it buzzed on too much brandy.
Call it loneliness or wanting to forget my life for a night but that's a lie.
I wanted her when I knew that my every move was watched, questioned, and critiqued—leaving no room for error.
Running for President of the United States doesn’t allow a man much privacy.
Yet, my dumbass apparently doesn’t read the whole memo of what that all entails because I hire her to work underneath my team anyway.
I torture myself and watch her in walk in the office with her clothes painted on and try to leave well enough alone. 
She hates me as me, I can already tell, but little does she know that actually know each other. We talk almost every night. She knows things about me that not many do.
But when she pushes the real me to take a wild chance, I stay grounded with my tactful pride when I know better. 
I really do. 
This woman does not know what she’s getting herself into.
Apparently, I don’t either.
I’m about to fuck this woman up with my secrets. 
And not in the way I want to fully either. 
Turns out, even the President can’t control little things like bad timing and the past that comes rushing in at the right moment.