Madame President

by Tara Sue Me

  “Navin and I met a few weeks ago when he interviewed me so when I was telling him I didn’t feel great, he offered to step in.”

  “And he knows he made a mistake,” Navin says.

  I quickly cover my shock at his statement. Instead, I open my mouth to tell him I don’t want nor require his assistance, and that I have no problem attending the last two balls alone. Two thoughts change my mind. One, Jackson will never let me go alone, and two, I actually want Navin to escort me. But before I can move forward with Navin, I have to get Jackson back to his hotel room. I look over my shoulder, and in an instant, a Secret Service agent is by my side. I tell him what’s going on, what I need for Jackson, and ask him to update David with my escort change. Within minutes, I’m outside seeing Jackson off to his hotel. As he climbs in the back seat, it hits me how great he’d be as a Secret Service agent. I make a note to discuss with him later.

  When the car moves out of my line of sight, I turn to go back inside, and stop. Navin stands between me and the front door. It would be a disservice not to notice how incredible he looks. I’m used to seeing him in a suit and tie, and don’t get me wrong, he looks good in them. Damn good, Jaya would say. But there’s not a suit in the world that comes close to matching the way he looks in a tux.

  He takes my breath for an instant, standing there the way he is, all calm and devil-may-care. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he walks toward me.

  “Madame President,” he says. “Whenever you’re ready, they’re waiting inside.”

  I don’t say anything. He walks closer while looking me up and down the entire time. It’s been cold today. No snow, only an occasional flurry. I see my breath before me as I exhale, and yet, wherever his gaze falls on me, I am warm. His eyes finally rest on mine, and his voice is low and rough when he speaks.

  “It’s not fair for the leader of the free world to look so spectacular in a gown. In fact, I’d say it’s criminal for someone holding the amount of power you hold, to also look as good as you do in that gown.”

  “I’m not sure if I should thank you or be offended,” I say, and my voice is calm even with my heart pounding. “At the moment, I believe I’ll decline to do either.”

  He chuckles, reaches for my hand, and places a kiss on the top of it. The heat from his lips still sears my skin after he releases me.

  “Did you know your southern accent gets slightly more intense when you’re nervous?” he asks.

  I know I have a slight accent but I’d never heard anyone mention that particular thing about it. “What a very odd thing for someone to notice, Mr. Hazar.”

  “It’s not all that noticeable. You have to really listen for it. It’s soft, very light, almost nonexistent. But it’s definitely there, and if you listen close enough, you’ll hear it.”

  His words send shivers throughout my body, as if it’s agreeing with his assessment but wanting it known he’s the cause. It’s not clear what kind of game Navin’s playing, or why he thinks I want any part of it.

  “I don’t understand why you’re here.”

  “I told you I made a mistake,” he says.

  “And you realized your mistake tonight?”

  “I realized it before your elevator reached the ground floor the day you asked, but I was too much of a fool to do anything about it. I came to these balls because I couldn’t pass up the chance to see you be celebrated for being the most powerful person in the country. And when I spoke to Jackson earlier, I knew it was my second chance, and I had to take it. Second chances are very rare, you know?”

  I’m not sure how to respond to any of that, so I nod and we make our way back to the ball.

  While we’ve been outside, word of where I am must have spread because when I move toward the entrance doors, several attendees have ventured out of the warmth of the ballroom. They are held in place by guards while Secret Service agents usher me past them.

  I’m close enough to hear whispers.

  “That wasn’t Captain Phillips she was with.”

  “Was that Navin Hazar?”

  Thankfully, Navin is used to being in the public eye and when I glance his way, he doesn’t appear to be bothered by the attention or questions at all. He raises an eyebrow and glances at my hand. I give a subtle shake of my head. Jackson hadn’t held my hand, so Navin can’t either. He nods, and we walk side-by-side to the waiting crowd inside.

  We make our way down a long hallway to where we will enter the ballroom and be introduced, Navin is by my side with his hand brushing ever so slightly on my lower back. It’s a show of protection and possession I had not anticipated and the surprise of it leaves me equal parts excited and wary. Before I have a chance to tell him it’s not appropriate for anyone to see him touch me in such a familiar manner, his hand drops.

  He surprises me even more when, seconds before our introduction, he motions for the styling assistant to fix the hemline on the back of my gown that has somehow upturned. I raise my eyebrow at him in question, and he gives a little shrug and whispers, “It’s no small thing to have the world watching you.”

  In the next second, my name is called and when I step into the ballroom to meet the people who have supported me, all I can think about is that I’ve opened Pandora’s box once more by allowing Navin into my realm.

  However, even that pales in comparison to what I’m feeling when he takes me in his arms for our first dance. My mouth goes dry even as every nerve in my body sings at the feeling of once more being in his arms. I tell myself I have to be wary around him, he potentially has the ability to make me forget who I am. I have already allowed him to be more forward and flirtatious than is acceptable, especially in public.

  His eyes are darker than normal. “How is it possible I still feel breathless when I look at you?” he asks in a low voice. “That I recall every touch, taste, and sound of that night?”

  I hide my surprise at the knowledge he remembers and I steady myself to appear to be unaffected by his question. “Do you also remember the way you left without saying a word two days later?”

  “It was never my intention to hurt you, Anna.”

  I look away so he won’t see just how much his leaving had hurt. “Madame President,” I say.

  “What?”

  “You will address me as Madame President. I have not given you permission to do otherwise.”

  You will, his expression says and I hate that he’s right.

  Not long after Navin and I step off the dance floor, David and Oliver make their way through the crowd to us. Jackson and I saw them both earlier in the evening at the first ball, but I suppose they want to meet my new escort.

  I introduce the three men. I’m a little surprised David and Navin have never met, but it appears they only know the other by reputation.

  “You look as if you’re in your element, Madame President,” Oliver says with a smile as David and Navin talk. Though many have already used the title, I have to admit it sounds a bit strange coming from someone whose wedding I was part of and who has spent hours on my couch watching hockey.

  “I’m not sure the ball scene is my element.” I take a quick look around the crowded room. “Not to mention, the shoes aren’t very comfortable.”

  He laughs and then nods toward Navin. “Did you ever remember who he reminded you of?”

  I remember our prior discussion too late to tell him anything other than the truth, though I do manage to only give high level details, knowing that no one knows this tidbit. “It was him, actually,” I say. “Our paths crossed in our twenties.”

  Fortunately, I’m spared any further questions by David apologizing, but asking for to me to step to the side for a moment to speak with him.

  “The last venue has been notified that Navin Hazar will be escorting you at the request of Captain Phillips,” he tells me. “The White House will issue a statement tomorrow thanking Captain Phillips for his service to the country and for being a gentleman in his care in escorting our Commander in Chief.”

/>   I nod my approval. “I’m going to discuss a possible future with the Secret Service with him.”

  “Brilliant idea,” he says. “I have to tell you, the crowds liked you with Captain Phillips, but the buzz about you and Hazar? I don’t know what’s between the two of you, but if you could find a way to bottle it up and sell it, you’d make a fortune.”

  The camera flashes at the last ball confirm David’s words. Even if no one else cares, the press likes me with Navin. Judging by crowd size, however, it’s not only them. I expected the last ball to be the least attended, but I don’t think that’s the case. It might be the highest. A fact not lost on Navin.

  As we take our place to dance, he gives me a smirk. “Are you going to let me take the lead this time as well?”

  I know he’s talking about dancing, but my mind goes down a dirtier path for a second. My cheeks heat and I’m suddenly very aware of how close he is. We’re an appropriate distance apart so there’s no worry about a picture of the new POTUS grinding against her ball date, and yet the air between us feels dangerous.

  “Remember when you told me the entire world was watching?” I ask him.

  “Yes.”

  “They’re all watching again now, and I’d prefer if you lead while we dance.”

  He does so, and we slip into a waltz-like step.

  “And here I thought you were all about turning the status quo upside down,” he says. “I’d have thought you to take the lead, to show your strength and power.”

  Even though I know he’s deliberately baiting me, there’s so much wrong with those two sentences I have to respond. “Did you listen to anything I said while on campaign? Because I’m not for turning the status quo upside down. I’m for mending what’s broken but working and getting rid of what’s beyond repair or wasn’t working in the first place. And if you think I need a dance to show my strength and power, you don’t know what true strength and power are. Nor do you know anything about me.”

  Chapter Nine

  Him

  GBNC

  New York City, New York

  Two days after the inauguration, I’m back in New York and Gabe and I are in the studio, ten minutes before airtime. He’s been giving me grief because he thinks I’m holding back on my relationship with Anna. I am, but he won’t hear it from me.

  I hadn’t planned to go to the balls after turning Anna down, but in the end, I found myself unable to stay away. When I spotted Jackson valiantly trying to hide his pain, I walked over to talk with him. He confessed how he’d thought there was only one ball, but refused to leave President Fitzpatrick unescorted.

  I wasn’t going to make a stupid mistake twice. Speaking low so he was the only one who heard, I told him I’d take over for him, and that the President won’t mind because we’re old school friends. I think that was the first time I told anyone that.

  “There has to be more you aren’t telling me,” Gabe says interrupting my thoughts. “There's no way anyone has that much chemistry with a virtual stranger.”

  “Navin,” my boss, George, snaps, appearing out of nowhere. “My office.”

  I look up at one of the numerous clocks we have. “I’m getting ready to go on,” I tell him as if he doesn’t know. It’s the first excuse I can come up with because nothing good can come from being called into my boss’s office this close to airtime.

  “Gabe can handle it,” he barks. “Get in here.”

  The newsroom grows eerily quiet. Even Gabe, who never worries about anything has an oh, shit look on his face. On my way to George’s office, I pass Will, a member of our camera crew, who mouths, “What did you do?” I shrug. Damned if I know.

  The last time I was called into George’s office was when I’d ripped into a PR spokesman for a pharmaceutical company after they announced a new treatment had been approved for lung cancer. Apparently the pharma executives didn’t care for my assertion that we didn’t need a treatment, we needed a cure. Nor did they appreciate when, after his stuttered reply—of course they were always looking for a cure—I asked him which benefited his company’s bottom line more, treatment or cure? The implication being a cure wasn’t nearly as profitable as treatment.

  George had sat me down the next day and handed me a sheet of paper. The only things printed on it were the name of the pharmaceutical company and the amount of money they’d spent on advertising with us the last year. My stomach dropped, and George placed a hand on my shoulder.

  “It’s a game,” he’d said. “And there are rules we all play by.”

  For a brief moment, I envisioned myself rebelling and becoming the lone defender of truth. The white knight determined to end the deceit and lies with my investigative journalism skills. I’d find out why we hadn’t cured cancer yet.

  That moment disappeared with his next words. “You either play by the rules or you don’t play at all. You don’t have to like the rules. You don’t have to understand the rules. All you have to do is follow them. And just to be sure we’re clear, you don’t get to make the rules, the men upstairs take care of that. In their eyes, you’re just the talent.”

  Just the talent.

  That phrase still irks me today. My ire is only visible in my clenched fists as I enter George’s office.

  George is standing behind his desk when I enter his office and close the door behind me. He points to a chair and I sit.

  He takes a deep breath. He’s almost sixty-four, not to mention overweight with high cholesterol and blood pressure. For a second, I fear he’s going to have a heart attack, but then he calmly says, “All anyone can talk about is this so-called chemistry between you and President Fitzpatrick.”

  Of course it has to do with her. “To be honest, we aren’t helping matters by adding to the hype. Maybe if our network stopped showing the clips of the two of us dancing and act more like a news network instead of a gossip and entertainment channel, the other networks will do the same.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.” It makes sense to me, I’m not sure why it’s difficult for him to see.

  “How’s this for hype?” He places what looks like a photograph face down on his desk. “That was waiting for me on my desk this morning. Go on. Pick it up.”

  I don’t have a good feeling about this, but I flip the picture over and my breath catches at what I see. It’s a group picture from my first year of law school, a study group. There were five of us. Anna and I are two of the five.

  “Just so you’re aware of the scope we’re dealing with,” George says. “Rainer also received one.”

  Rainer being Edward Rainer, GBNC’s CEO. In other words, damn it to hell.

  “I know he received one,” George continues. “Because he called me not too long ago wanting to know why I kept it a secret that one of my senior staff members, one of my lead anchors, knows the current President?”

  I suddenly wish for Anna’s ability to appear cool and calm in any situation because I’m pretty sure I have oh, shit written all over my face. The right thing to do would probably be to come clean about it all, but I can’t. Or better stated, I won’t. Anna is part of my past that is off limits. Private, personal, and nobody’s business other than Anna and myself.

  I have to tell him something, though. That much is clear because not only did Edward Rainer get a photo delivered to him, but he also called George. When Rainer himself gets on the phone, that’s when heads typically start to roll. The man has made no secret of the fact he thinks the so-called talent is overpaid or that he only continues paying us the amount he does because of industry standards.

  “Anna and I attended Harvard Law together for eighteen months, twelve years ago.” I speak slower than normal, wanting to make sure I give him enough, but not everything. “We were both volunteer translators and we were in the same study group for a year.” I nod toward his desk. “The photo is of that study group.”

  “Eighteen months at Harvard,” he repeats. “Eighteen months you were at school with the future first f
emale President of the United States, and I don’t hear about it until now?” His face grows redder. “And even then it’s not from you, but from a photo from an anonymous source?”

  I can’t help but wonder, though much too late, if volunteering to escort Anna ensured the exposure our past. Not that it matters, I decide. If given a do-over, I would do the same thing,

  His mention of an anonymous source is alarming. Who would benefit from exposing our past? Who would know about it to expose it only now and not during the election? I desperately want to investigate who sent the pictures, but now is not the time. What I need to do now is damage control to ensure I still have a job.

  “I apologize, sir, if you feel betrayed. That was never my intention.” It’s a struggle to keep my voice calm and I have a newfound respect for Anna’s ability to do so. “But it was a study group twelve year ago. I didn’t think it was relevant.”

  George leans over his desk, hands flat on its surface, and his eyes blazing. “I don’t care what you think. To the executives upstairs, I look like an idiot and you look deceitful. You have a connection with President Fitzpatrick no one else in the media has. You were in the same Harvard Law class for two years.”

  Technically, a year and a half, but I doubt he cares about technicalities at the moment, so I keep quiet.

  “Did you think no one would find out?” he asks.

  At his question, it occurs to me that’s exactly what I thought. No one other than Anna and me know the details of the extent of our relationship. And, unless you’re one of the few people who have seen my resume, you wouldn’t know I attended law school. It’s not something I tell people, because who wants to admit they got into Harvard Law and quit. Whenever I’m asked about school, I always say I graduated from Columbia with a degree in journalism.

  “I suppose I did,” I admit to George.

  He’s momentarily taken aback. Obviously, he’d expected some other answer or argument. My acquiescence has calmed him a little, at least for the moment. “Even before this, Rainer wasn’t a fan of yours. He brought up that pharmaceutical debacle again.”