Presidents, Spies, and Boys, Oh My!

Chapter 1

"Mom! I thought I told you I wanted the Fendi purse! NOT THE COACH!"

"Here we go again." I muttered under my breath to the Secret Service agent standing next to me.

A small smile crossed his lips as he leaned over to whisper back to me, watching the First Family.

"How many has it been today? I lost count back at thirty."

I shrugged. Honestly, of all the horrible and torturous assignments the CIA could have given me, why did they assign me to her? First Daughter Ariana McGallen. America's (quote-quote) little princess. Oh, trust me, she's no princess. AT ALL. If I could, I'd make this girl, shall we say, disappear. I can do that. I've done it before. Once to a Turkish ambassador. I'm a professional. Don't judge me.

"I just stopped counting. Period." I replied

Ariana angrily threw the five thousand dollar evening bag across the room, where it nearly hit a porcelain vase filled to the brim with white roses. Her mother, First Lady Margaret McGallen, shot up and ran over to her pouting daughter, fussing over her. Ariana looked like a five year old, pouting and crossing her arms over her chest like the spoiled little brat she is. I wonder how she'd last if she took my job for a day...

President McGallen put down his newspaper onto the polished surface of the long mahogany table, sighing an exasperated sigh and rubbing his temples with his hands. He closed his eyes. To his right, Ariana's little brother and his youngest son, Preston, looked up briefly from his Nintendo DS to check out the scene. With a head of curly red hair, just like his mother, Preston had always been a cute little boy. He turned five last week and had the cutest little party I'd ever seen for a little kid. President McGallen stood up, walking over to grab the evening bag. It landed next to the pedestal holding the vase, nearly an inch away.

"Ember." his voice echoed through the vast dining room.

I stood up straighter and walked over to him, rounding the table. The soles of my shoes clicked over the polished white marble floor. When I reached President McGallen, I stood with my hands behind my back and posture rigid.

"Sir?" I asked.

He held the evening bag out to me. I raised an eyebrow, eyeing the bag. The ghost of a smile crossed his lips. He sighed again, adjusting his glasses and glancing over my shoulder at his still pouting daughter.

"Would you like to keep this, Ember? It's the least Margaret and I can do for you having to babysit our daughter. I know she isn't an easy girl at all."

I was taken by surprise, slightly, by his offer. I glanced at the black leather bag, emblazoned with a golden Coach logo and braided leather handles. The voice of my employer echoed in my head, nonetheless. You are there to work, Miss Rhinehart. You're not a guest. You're not an employee of the White House. You are CIA and are there to only protect the family. Don't accept any gifts from them unless absolutely necessary. I shook my head, pushing the evening bag away gently.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't accept this. I'm here to protect you and your family only. Direct orders from my employer. Thank you for the offer."

I added a smile. President McGallen waved his hand aimlessly and placed the evening bag in my right hand.

"Oh, please, Ember. I insist. I'll talk to Jonathan. If he asks, tell him I wouldn't let you say no. All right?"

He smiled at me and winked. I smiled as I closed my hand around the leather straps of the bag. Well, if he insists. I mean, he is the President of the United States. Who can say no to him?

"Okay, if you insist. Thank you, sir. This is a very generous gift. It must have cost you and Margaret a fortune."

President McGallen chuckled and rolled his eyes.

"Don't remind me. You're welcome, Ember. And, enough of this 'sir' business. Call me Andy. I know your superiors frown upon that, but I insist. You're practically family."

This didn't shock me. President McGallen has asked me countless times to call him by his first name, Andrew, or his nickname, Andy. It was true that my superiors (CIA director Jonathan Wells and Operative Development specialist Martha Oliviera) told me to try to avoid calling the First Family by their first names. Agh! I'm so confused! I nodded, nonetheless. It is my duty to serve the First Family and that's what I'll do. My orders were clear when I first started this assignment after a nearly-fatal mission in Hong Kong ended badly. Listen to the family, protect the family, and obey their orders. Plain and simple.

President McGallen walked back over to his spot at the head of the table, drinking more of his coffee from a white porcelain mug and reading his Sunday paper. I returned to my position next to the Secret Service agent. He didn't glance at the evening bag in my hands as I clasped them behind my back and stood at attention. In addition to Secret Service guy and me, there were three other men in the room. All Secret Service. No CIA like me. I'm all alone.

I started working for the CIA when I was an infant. I know, sounds crazy, right? But it's true. I was enrolled into a top-secret program known as Project N. It's basically a whole project where Nephilim children, like me, are removed from our current homes for various reasons, brought to the CIA, evaluated, and sent out to foster homes for other kids and teenagers in Project N. There are many foster homes scattered all around the country, including one right here in Washington DC. That was mine. From the time we start walking, we're trained as agents. I know sixteen languages and have black belts in karate, jiu-jitsu, and mixed martial arts. I can fire a gun with ease and change my appearance in multiple ways using only a paper clip, nylon, and shoe polish. I also rank highest in my training class across the board. I grew up as a spy.

"Kitty Cat? Do you copy?" a voice rippled in my ear.

I raised my right hand to touch the plastic earpiece in my ear, hearing my codename. My comms unit, which I always wear when on duty, has been silent all day. What could be wrong?

"Yes. What's is it, Alpha?" I answered, keeping my voice low while Mrs. McGallen promised her daughter in a calm voice that they would go out and buy her three new presents today.

I rolled my eyes.

"Status report."

I scanned the room. Nothing seemed out of place. No suspicious characters loitering around. No hidden camera lenses or bugs. It looked clean.

"All clear, Alpha."

"Roger that. Could you send Falcon down to the cage? He's-"

"Don't eat that!" I screamed at Preston, who had picked up a chocolate chip muffin fresh from the kitchen.

Preston froze as I slapped the muffin from his hand. The whole room went silent. Everyone watched me as I tore the muffin apart and revealed several razor sharp blades embedded into the rich chocolate cake. Yup, I thought I saw something strange sticking out in this muffin. Mrs. McGallen gasped and fainted, her daughter catching her while one Secret Service agent went to attend to Mrs. McGallen. President McGallen shot up, eyes wide and staring at the torn apart muffin. I picked out the razor sharp pieces of metal, placing them on a fine China plate and counting each piece.

"What's going on up there, Kitty? Respond!" my comms unit went mad with chaotic codes over the network.

"Someone tried to murder the First Son. Do a sweep of the kitchens. Then the wait staff. Razor blades were embedded in a muffin. I counted seven total. There may be more."

Turning to the whole basket full of muffins, I tore them apart one-by-one. Indeed, each muffin had razor sharp blades. I accidentally knicked myself on a particularly sharp one. Popping my finger into my mouth, I brushed off the minor injury as the White House went into lockdown. The Secret Service men in the room secured the room, closing all the doors and windows and checking the room. I disposed of the muffins in a bag one of them held for evidence. Taking out the handgun from my thigh holster, I ordered the family to follow me. They obeyed, shocked, and sat in the designated corner of the room. All we have to do now is wait. But, hold on, where's Skylar? The McGallen's oldest son...oh. shit. Anger flared through me as I knew exactly where he was. Having sex, with a prostitute, in one of the many rooms of the White House. It's just what he does. And it makes me want to choke him. He has one over almost every night. Dammit!



(Hey guys! Recently, someone stole my work! I found the person but I feel a need to do this. This book is copyright to me, @bellav173. If you want to do something like my book, then please ask first. All rights reserved to me. Sorry, I had to make that clear. Wattpad took away the copier and they're now gone. Okay, that's it. Thanks!)