by Tara Sue Me
Based on the way he’s acting, whatever it is, it isn’t mindless gossip. Plus, Gabe knows everyone. Not only does he rub elbows with society’s darlings, but he also has connections in the deep dark places the world at large pretends doesn’t exist.
“Okay,” I say.
“A reliable source of mine alluded to the fact that President Fitzpatrick has a mole on her staff.” He speaks this in a calm voice at odds with the magnitude of his words. My eyes bulge at that, but he shakes his head. “It doesn’t appear to be foreign or someone looking to take down the country. Whoever it is has been leaking information to the Press. Confidential information so still a problem.”
His words punch me in the gut. The betrayal will devastate Anna. “How reliable is your source?” I ask Gabe.
“She’s never been wrong.”
Shit.
At my silence, Gabe straightens up in his chair. “I’m telling you because you’ll be there in the middle of it all. In the White House. If anyone should be getting confidential information, it should be you. You know how Rainer will feel if another network breaks a story with you there…”
I see where he’s going. “And if I want Rainer to bring me back to New York…”
Gabe nods and speaks my thoughts, “Give him the biggest damn story of the decade.”
Chapter Twelve
Him
Washington DC/Air Force One
A week after my discussion with Gabe, I’m living in Washington DC. Though the information he gave me has made my situation not as horrible as it would have been without it, I’m still pissed about being here. A fact I don’t bother to hide from anyone. Not from the realtor who found a move-in-ready penthouse not too far from the White House and also on Pennsylvania Avenue. Not from the Secret Service agent who had me sign eight thousand forms in order to receive my access badge. And not from my new pizza delivery guy, especially when I discover his inability to calculate correct change.
My first few days working are busy enough to keep me occupied, but not with anything interesting. While I’m familiarizing myself with the way the Press Poll interacts with the administration, I start files on everyone on Anna’s staff. So far, I’ve seen nothing to cause alarm.
To be honest, I don’t talk much with anyone. Most of those unfortunates sharing my basement office space have served on the Press Pool for years and covered multiple presidents. They typically sit off to my side, occasionally throwing glances my way. It’s not because I’m a newbie on the pool, there’s a newspaper reporter from The Times who started the same day I did. She, however, is fully entrenched in the group. No, it’s because I’m that guy. The one who used to be on the most watched news network in the country. The guy who knew Anna in law school and was her escort for two of her Inaugural Balls. Those things make me an odd sort of unknown entity and they don’t know what to do with me, except to leave me alone.
I couldn’t be happier that they want to keep their distance. Being left alone means I’m not forced to make small talk or to pretend I’m excited to be doing what I’m doing. Most important, though, there won’t be anyone to get in my way or watch as I dig into the Fitzpatrick staff.
My plan for researching Anna’s staff is to start with those closest to her and work my way to others from there. The first two people I focus on are David, her Chief of Staff, and Nicole, her personal secretary.
During my first week, I discover David Herdsman is not a newcomer to the Washington DC crowd. He is both experienced and well-liked, but most admit they don’t really know him. He remains somewhat of an enigma, having appeared first on the scene as a Democrat, and switching to Independent around the same time Anna won her first Congressional race. He had been a friend of the Fitzpatrick family for years prior, but it’s the timing of when he switched parties that appears too coincidental for my liking. He and Oliver got married a few years ago. Oliver works in International Finance and travels a lot.
GBNC’s research group sent over detailed information this morning that I’d requested on Nicole. I haven’t had a chance to read it yet.
The chilly January morning meets the crowd of us gathered around and waiting to board Air Force One. Anna is flying to London to meet with the Prime Minister and other heads of state. London will be a nice change of pace, but I’m not looking forward to the flight. While I’ve been able to keep pretty much to myself so far, I fear that may change once we’re all in a confined space for seven hours.
A Secret Service agent breezes by me, talking into his headset. “Pilgrim is on the move.”
“About damn time,” one of the seasoned Press Pool members says as we begin to board. “Probably had a run in her pantyhose she had to take care of.”
“Wouldn’t have happened if Roberts had won,” another old timer says.
“Or Merriweather,” a guy who looks like he just got out of high school joins in.
I step aside and let the trio pass. The young guy and the Roberts supporter pass by without saying a word, but no such luck with the ring leader. He stops right in front of me.
“You lagging behind so you can tattle on us to your girlfriend?” he asks with a sneer.
“So I can fill her in on what a prick you are?” I ask. “Nah, she already knows.”
The corner of his upper lip lifts up, but he walks past me without saying another word. I don’t follow behind him because the newbie journalist is there, and my manners won’t allow me to cut in front of her. It’s the first time we’ve been this close and I realize how attractive she is.
Her blond hair is pulled up and back into a ponytail and she has nice enough blue eyes, but they have a fake look about them, making me think she’s wearing colored contacts. When she smiles, all I see is her mouth. Her lips are plump and red, and with every move, they catch your eye. Makes me wonder if everyone else are really that welcoming or if they just like looking at her.
She smiles and I try to come up with something witty to say, but every thought in my head sounds stupid and trite because all I’m thinking is she has nothing on Anna. Part of me hates that I compare her to Anna, and how I find her lacking. The other part of me accepts that this has happened since Anna came to my office.
“Either get in the plane or move out of the way, President Fitzpatrick is right behind me."
I turn and find David a few steps away. Following, still back far enough not to be within hearing range, is Anna, walking toward her entrance near the nose of the plane.
“Talk to you inside,” the blond says as she scurries into the plane, and her voice low and husky.
I follow behind her. Being the last member of the Press Pool to enter our section, the only seats left empty are the back ones no one wants. The young guy calls to the blond - Rachelle, he calls her - and pats the seat beside him. She looks over her shoulder and gives me a can you believe this look, but doesn’t move toward the back to where I’m obviously heading, instead choosing to sit next to the kid. Just as well, I’d rather be alone, and from the looks of things, she prefers boys to men. Further confirmation I’m definitely not her type.
When Anna comes in view of the windows, everything stills and silence fills the section as we all turn to watch her. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s the President or if it’s her natural charisma, but while Anna’s in your presence, you can’t turn away. It’s a phenomenon I’ve noticed on several occasions. Today, even the crotchety old reporter has his eyes glued to her.
Like every time I’ve seen her since her inauguration, I try my best not to think of how it felt to hold her again after so many years. How my body remembered every detail of our one and only night together. It doesn’t help that she always looks so damn good. Even today, when she’ll spend so much of her time on a plane, she’s stunning as always. Perhaps more so, because today, for the first time, she’s not wearing a suit. She has on pants, and though her coat is long and obstructs visual confirmation, I’m sure the outfit makes her legs look endless.
Once she’s out
of sight, conversation picks back up as if it never stopped in the first place, and surprisingly enough, Anna’s not even a topic of discussion. I’m not sure anyone other than me noticed what happened. Which makes me wonder if Anna is aware of how she affects people?
We settle into our seats. Half the Press Pool continues to chat, while the rest of us pull out something to work on or read. I debate between the newly released historical thriller I purchased on my e-reader or the information on Nicole I was sent earlier. I pull up the latter, telling myself I can read once work is finished.
The information on Nicole is about what I expect. Clean record, no signs of anything illegal, nothing even all that interesting. Exactly what the file should look like for a person working so close to the POTUS.
However, while Nicole is clean, and there’s nothing of note to be found on her parents, the same cannot be said about her twin brother, Nate. His records start with several traffic violations and ends with a large amount of gambling debt. In fact, his record is so bad, I’m surprised Nicole was hired. The only reason why her brother’s actions were overlooked is that their parents divorced when they were twelve. Nicole stayed with her mom on the east coast and Nate went with his father to the west. There is no indication that they’re close, but that’s only based on social media.
We’re about two hours into the flight. Lunch is over and there’s a general hush among us. Every so often there’s a bit of chatter, but for the most part, we’re all doing our own thing. I’m rereading the information on Nicole’s brother, when the door to our cabin is opened.
As one would expect, each president has their own way of interacting with the Press Pool. While in flight, some visit the press cabin and talk, while others act as if we don’t exist. It’s yet to be seen what Anna will do, but she's not who opens the door.
It’s David, and his eyes travel around the cabin until they fall on me. Shit.
“Mr. Hazar,” he says. “Come with me, please.”
With an inward sigh, I unbuckle my seatbelt and stand. Every eye in the cabin watches as I walk down the aisle to where David is waiting. My guess is the cabin will be anything but quiet once I leave.
“The President would like to speak with you,” David says once we step out of the cabin and the door closes.
I nod, because there is no other reason why he’d pull me out. It’s curious, though, why she’d wait until we were over ten thousand feet in the air to summon me when it’s been weeks since we last spoke. David and I walk through a maze of rooms and doorways until we reach a closed door he doesn’t open, but knocks on instead.
“Madame President,” David says and opens the door when she bids him to enter.
We step inside and find Anna standing in front of her desk. The first thing to pop into my head is that I was right, her legs do look ridiculously long in her fitted pants. I push back the inappropriate images suddenly flooding my brain and lift my eyes to meet hers. It’s like someone poured ice water over my head. Though her stance is relaxed and her frame holds no tension, the look in her eyes belies them both. She’s not calm at all, I realize in shock. She’s mad as hell.
“Madame President,” I say.
Her gaze settles on David. “Thank you, Mr. Herdsman,” she says. “Please close the door behind you and see to it that we aren’t disturbed.”
He dips his head. “Yes, Madame President.”
The door clicks closed behind me, and I wait for Anna to tell me to have a seat, but she doesn’t. She stands for a long minute, assessing me. Slowly, she takes three steps to stand in front of me. It’s hard to take a breath and I can’t look away from the ire in her eyes. She invades my personal space, standing so close I feel the heat coming off of her in hot, sensual waves. Surely she feels it, too, but you’d never guess based on the cool way she looks me up and down.
I will myself not to flinch as she continues her frank assessment of me. Unsure of what she’s looking for, I’m not sure what to say. Probably best to stay silent, I decide as her gaze comes back to meet mine. Anger burns in her eyes, but that’s the only place it’s evident. I have an almost unstoppable urge to see if I can get her to show the emotion she hides so easily under that impenetrable mask. I wonder what exactly it would take?
“Why are you part of my Press Pool?” she asks, her gaze unwavering.
I clear my throat. “The Press Pool was created —"
“Stop,” she interrupts. “I didn’t ask for a history lesson, Mr. Hazar. I asked why you were on my Press Pool? Is the question not clear enough?”
“Why do you think I’m here, Madame President?” I ask instead of answering the question. She has to know why. Anna’s a smart woman, surely she understands I’m not here by choice.
“You mean outside of the fact that you work for the nation’s largest news network?” She actually manages to get a half smile out with that question. “Okay, I’ll bite. How about because you’re GBNC’s top anchor, and it makes little sense for them to tuck you away following me around for four or more years. The only way it makes sense is if they thought it would end up being worthwhile for you to be here. What aren’t you telling me, Mr. Hazar?”
Her reasoning sounds so similar to the plan Gabe and I came up with to get me back to New York, I can’t help but wonder if George had heard the same rumors as Gabe. Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s the case or else George would have brought it up. Which means to GBNC, there’s only one reason I’m here.
“I hate to be the one to rip apart that beautiful conspiracy theory, Madame President,” I say. “But the truth is rather drab. GBNC sent me here as punishment for failing to disclose I went to law school with you.”
Her expression registers shock, but only for the briefest of seconds. “That seems a bit extreme, Mr, Hazar. Surely, there’s more than that.”
“Outside of the fact I was already on Edward Rainer’s shit list for the way I questioned a representative of one of GBNCs biggest advertisers? No, that’s all there is.” I see no reason to tell her I’m looking into her staff because it’s not part of my GBNC assignment. However, while what I’m telling her is the truth, it’s not the whole truth. A lie of omission is still a lie.
My expression must have given something away, because I see the doubt in her eyes.
An observation confirmed with her next words.
“Let me make one thing clear to you, Mr. Hazar.” She takes a step back, and I’m once more impressed at how well she manages to compose herself the way she does. The look in her eyes leaves no doubt that she’d like nothing more than to rip me apart limb by limb. I haven’t fooled her a bit, she knows I’m holding something back, yet her voice is even as she continues. “I don’t trust you. I don’t believe you. And I don’t like you. I’m not sure what you and GBNC are up to, but I will find out. Do you know why that is, Navin?”
The use of my first name shouldn’t make me feel as if the floor’s about to disappear out from under me, but coming from her mouth it does. “Tell me.”
But instead of telling me, she walks to the office door and opens it. “Mr. Herdsman,” she calls and in an instant David is at her side. “Set up the call Director Wiggins requested.” As David runs off to do her bidding, she brushes by me, not looking my way as she heads toward her desk. “You’re excused, Mr. Hazar.”
Director Wiggins is the Director of National Intelligence. It hits me how I’ve done the exact thing I’ve warned people not to do.
I’ve underestimated President Anna Fitzpatrick.
Chapter Thirteen
Her
Conference Hotel
London, England
It’s the end of our first day of meetings in London and I should be dead on my feet. Between the jet lag, meeting everyone, the meetings themselves, and my phone calls with Director Wiggins, I should be ready to call it a day. But I’m not. I’m finally in a place where what I do can change things, where what I do matters. I won’t deny it, it’s a high unlike any other.
The
meetings are important, so I don’t mind they fall so close to my inauguration. The goal is to bring numerous heads of states together to improve communication during a global crisis. It’s a meeting long overdue and all of us have ideas on the best way forward. Having discussions with the most powerful people in the world is heady, and I’m completely engaged during the meeting.
The overwhelming fatigue I keep expecting doesn’t even hit when everything is over. Or at least everything for the day. There’s a black-tie reception in two hours upstairs that will keep me busy until late. Maybe when it’s over I’ll be able to sleep.
Now that I have a few hours between events, I can finally look into the issue Director Wiggins called to discuss. I haven’t said anything to David yet, and it kills me because I’ve always told him everything. Based on what Director Wiggins said on the phone, however, my most prudent course of action is to keep what he said between the two of us for now.
According to him, his agents believe a person on my staff is giving information to the press. While normally I wouldn’t care what the press finds out, it seems to be confidential material that not many know about. It’s not quite a threat to national security…yet, but having a mole in my administration is not a good thing, especially during my first weeks as President. There are no words to describe the sense of betrayal I feel. Nor do words exist to convey my horror, knowing that in all likelihood, I hired someone who would sell me out. I consider them a traitor.
Moments before I was to hop on the plane to London, the Director called, saying he needed to talk with me before I boarded. Needless to say, I was late. I rushed to make it outside and arrived in time to see the press entering the plane’s rear entrance. Navin, of course, being the first to draw my attention, then I took a quick glance around at his colleagues, and that’s when I knew something was up. It killed me I hadn’t noticed before. I had been so caught up in the fact he was on my Press Pool, I neglected to answer the most basic question—why was Navin on my press detail?