18. Cross Roads

by Fern Michaels

  Three cups of tea and two glasses of orange juice later, Martine looked at the clock. Her BDB would be arriving along with her chief of staff any minute. The president’s daily brief always arrived just as the sun was coming up. She was still wearing her ratty old-friend robe and her fuzzy-bear slippers.

  When the COS arrived, they got right down to presidential business, which lasted all of fifteen minutes. The COS then inquired about the president’s health and asked if she had any specific instructions for him.

  “Actually, I do have something you can do for me if you can somehow do it without a media blitz. Can you get me a dog? A big one. One that needs a home, a rescue if possible. A shepherd or maybe a golden retriever. Gender isn’t important, but I think I lean more toward a female. Can you do it?”

  The COS looked stunned at the request, but he rose to the occasion. “Do I have a time limit, Madam President?”

  Martine squared her shoulders, and said, “Today will be just fine,” she responded in her best I-am-the-president-voice. The COS blinked, mumbled something about wishing her a good day, and left with the PDB.

  Martine found herself giggling when the door closed behind the COS. World affairs would be taking a backseat at least for as long as it took the COS to delegate her request to others. Satisfied that she had started her day on a roll, she picked up her phone and asked her secretary to come to her quarters. Plans were only as good as the follow-through. She needed help with what needed to be done. In order to do get any, she had to start in her own backyard.

  Martine settled deeper into the chocolate sofa and flipped through the channels till she found the home shopping channel. She narrowed her eyes to slits as she stared at the array of jewelry being hawked. Sooner or later they would show something diamonique.

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  ISBN: 978-1-4201-2036-3