by Tara Sue Me
Chapter Fifteen
Her
Air Force One
It’s never been my practice to dwell on things I’ve done, no matter if the outcome was positive or negative. I’ve always thought thinking too much on the positives will make you lazy while only focusing on the negatives will make you bitter. The best thing to do is to learn from the past and apply what works and not to repeat what does not.
Yet, I find myself unable to move past my last conversation with Navin. I’m still mad as hell because I’m certain there’s more to him being here than what either he admits. He could be the one working with the mole in my administration. But even in my anger my words were not only inappropriate and uncalled for, but they’d hurt him deeply, and I hate that. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll fight with my last breath to keep our nation safe, and don’t have a problem hurting those who would go up against me.
What I did to Navin was different. It was personal, and personal has no business being anywhere near me. Not while I’m the President. I don’t have the luxury of being personal. I was elected by the people to be their President, and that needs to be my focus.
I’m in my office on Air Force One, returning to DC from London, and I’m restless. My pacing has already chased David out the door. Okay, so it wasn’t technically my pacing, it was me telling him that if he asked me if I was okay one more time, I’d throw him out of the plane and he could fly home alone.
I can’t decide if I want to ask Navin to my office, or if I should wait until we’re home. I’d heard rumors some press members gave him a hard time after our flight out here. I doubt I’ll earn any brownie points by putting him through it twice. I decide to have a private conversation with him once we’re back in the White House.
There’s a knock on my office door. “Come in.”
“Sorry, Madame President,” Nicole says. “Director Wiggins is on line two for you, and you have a meeting with the Grocer’s Association in thirty minutes.”
“Thank you, Nicole,” I say going around to sit at my desk. When the door closes behind her, I reach for the phone. “Director Wiggins.”
He’s called to update me on the press leak issue, and to find out if I’ve discovered anything. I give him my update first because the short answer is no. I’ve neither seen nor heard anything suspicious.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he says. He goes on to discuss what they’ve put into place to further monitor all incoming and outgoing communications. I learn that there was a minor threat the US special forces with the aid of their UK counterparts were able to thwart, and we speak about that for a few minutes.
Once off the phone, I call David in so we can prepare for the upcoming meeting. There’s no way I’m going back to pacing alone in my office. I’ll stop outside and see who’s out and about and eventually make my way down to the press section. I didn’t stop by there on the way to London, but hopefully I’ve been able to convince a few of them I’m not the devil incarnate or his mistress. If nothing else, they’ll all feel more at ease around me. With one glaring exception.
It’s two hours later before I make it down to the press. Thankfully, they look happy to see me. There’s an empty place in the front row, so I take a seat, and we talk. Because there’s no agenda for the day, other than getting home, the questions they have for me aren’t political in nature, but more personal. Though I don’t make a big show about it, I see from the corner of my eye that Navin is paying attention to every word I’ve said. I don’t let him know that I know, but at least he’s confirmed he’s not totally immune to me.
Not that I care. I don’t. Why would I care when I don’t even like him?
He’s a member of the press and naturally I want him to not hate me. Isn’t that a common human desire? Besides, if he likes me, he’s more likely to say nice things about me in the news. I’m doing PR, I tell myself. A necessary part of the job. But even I’m not sure I’m able to believe a truth stretched that far.
I also notice one of the women looks very interested in Navin. She’s not overly staring, but it’s damn close.
She raises her hand, and I shoot her a fake smile. “Yes?” I ask. I can tell by her smirk I’m going to hate her question and that she is the very definition of a mean girl.
“It’s a two part question, Madame President,” she clarifies, and I want to roll my eyes and say of course it is, but I nod instead. “I understand that you and Navin went to law school together. While there, when did you first notice Navin, and what do you remember the most about him?” She ends her question with a self-satisfied snarky grin.
I’m not sure where she thinks she’s going with those two questions or what she’s expecting for answers. On the surface, they appear to be very benign, but looks can be deceiving.
From the corner of my eye, I see Navin isn’t even pretending to read anymore, he’s watching our interaction. “I noticed him the first day,” I say. “Seriously, you have seen him, haven’t you? I’d have to be blind in both eyes as well as missing most of my brain to not notice that.” I end the sentence by jerking my thumb in his direction, and everyone laughs, as was my intent. “But, what I really took notice of was his mind, because a pretty face will only get you so far. Mr. Hazar, however, was blessed with both.”
Everyone remains quiet as I think over my answer to her second question. What I truthfully remember the most is the incredible sex, but I can’t say that. “One day, at the beginning of our second year, we were in some class, I don’t even remember what it was now, but we were asked where we wanted to go after law school. I’ll never forget Navin’s answer. He said he realized he wanted to be a judge after writing a history paper in high school about the Supreme Court. Specifically, he said based on a quote from William O. Douglas, ‘The liberties of none are safe unless the liberties of all are protected.’” There’s a hush in the cabin. “I remember thinking the country needed more judges who think that way.” I look to Navin and catch his eyes on mine. “I still do.”
Chapter Sixteen
Him
The White House
Washington DC
It’s the day after arriving back in town from London, I’m sitting in my tiny office in the White House basement, still in a quandary after Anna’s chat with the Press Pool. On one hand, I’m floored she remembers that long ago class. Hell, I hadn’t remembered it until she brought it up. Then she’d floored me again with three words. What had she meant in saying them? The "I still do?" Was she saying she thought I should finish law school and become a judge? I wasn’t sure what bothered me more, that she suggested it or that I hadn’t thought of it first. Technically, it’s not impossible, I’m only thirty-six and I have a year and a half of law school behind me. It’s definitely something to think about.
But on the other hand, Anna had been way out of line saying what she did at the reception, and I’m still pissed. I think I am, anyway. And I don’t like her regardless of what she remembers from second year law. Although it had put a big crack in my armor when she said it, and part of me really wants to like her.
I do my best not to think about the third set of my parts. The parts that just want her, period. I tell those parts my body is not a democracy, and even if it was, they wouldn’t get a vote, so they could go ahead and stand down.
Anna had left the press section after answering Rachelle’s questions, and no one said anything for several long minutes. Not until one of the guys said, “For the record, Navin, I think you’d suck as a judge. I’m pretty sure you cheated at poker two nights ago.”
Everyone had groaned, and someone threw a pillow at him. I’d flipped him the bird and told him it wasn’t my fault he couldn’t play worth a shit.
After that, everything went back to nearly normal, except for Rachelle, who pouted nearly all the way back to DC. Frankly, I thought it was funny as hell the way Anna put her down with the subtle crack about her pretty face, while being classy at the same time. You wouldn’t know it was an insult unless you’d been close
ly watching them interact.
Yes, I’ll be the first to admit, Rachelle is nice to look at. Really nice to look at. It’s not been a hardship at all to be around her for a week. It was quite comical at times to watch the other men fall all over themselves in an attempt to snag her attention. Rachelle, of course, lives for the attention, needs it like she needs air, and sucks it down like it’s the sweetest candy in the world.
Yet, as the week went on, Rachelle and all the women I’d met that week faded when compared to Anna. Rachelle noticed, as women of her type typically do. I’m sure that’s why she asked Anna the questions she had. Rachelle had thought it’d embarrass Anna somehow, but Rachelle made a fatal error. She forgot who she was playing with. Anna Elizabeth Fitzpatrick doesn’t play games.
There’s a knock on my door, and I welcome the distraction. “Come in,” I tell whoever it is. It’s one of David’s assistants, I can’t remember the guy’s name, but the fact he works for David is enough to give me pause. “Yes?” I ask him.
“Mr. Hazar,” he says. “Come with me, please.”
Curious, I stand and follow him back out. I want to know where we’re going, but not enough to appear eager or anxious. If I ask the man I’m following, that’s exactly how I’ll look, so I try to act as if this is an everyday thing for me. We pass several people, a few of them raise an eyebrow when they recognize me. It comes as a surprise when we stop in front of the Oval Office. My guide speaks to one of the agents stationed at the door, and within minutes I’m inside.
It’s natural, I suppose, for those of us who don’t see it on a daily basis to be awed upon walking into such an important and historical room. I’ve been in the Oval Office once before while on assignment and interviewing Anna’s predecessor. I’m thankful it’s not my first visit because the significance of the room is not lost on me, but fortunately, the overwhelming emotion I felt the first time is absent. And while I’m sure the pictures on the wall and some of the decor has changed, I don’t take the time to notice the details.
My attention moves to the current occupant of the office. Anna stands by the large wooden desk. She’s wearing a light blue suit with black detailing and it looks amazing on her. I’m not certain why her appearance always seems to throw me for a loop. Maybe it’s her charismatic personality, but she has an air about her that’s utterly captivating.
Even knowing what she’d said to me the last time we were alone doesn’t deter from her overwhelming presence. She appears calm once more. None of the anger I saw before is present when she looks at me now. I’m shocked at the disappointment I experience upon that realization, until it occurs to me it’s not so much the anger I want, but the presence of any emotion other than this calm she’s showing.
“Madame President,” I say.
“Mr. Hazar. Thank you for coming.” She motions toward two chairs. “Please, have a seat.”
I sit down and wait for her to tell me why I’m here.
“I asked for you to come by my office today, so I could say what I needed to in person,” she begins. “I want to apologize for the last time we spoke in private. I acknowledge I was out of line and lacked control.”
I’m shocked when she first starts to apologize because it’s huge. For someone with all the power she has to admit she was wrong, to a peon like me? But then she stops at being out of line and lacking self-control. Nothing about how hurtful her comments had been, or that they were horribly rude and condescending. No, only being out of line and lacking control.
She sits there and waits.
For what, I don’t know. Maybe for me to compliment her on how magnanimous she is?
Will. Never. Happen.
“Frankly, Madame President,” I say. “Your lack of control should be the last thing you apologize for.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “What?”
“I liked it more when I could tell there was a person behind the aloof and ever calm President Anna Fitzgerald,” I say. “Even if that person was angry at me.”
I’m not sure which is funnier, her surprise that I’m not following the script she thought I would, or her irritation I’ve called her an ice princess in a roundabout way. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I take that to mean I should keep talking.
“Did you think I was going to fall all over you because you called me into the Oval Office and gave me a half apology?” I ask.
“No,” she stands, and damn it all, that means I have to stand as well. “I thought we could talk like two rational adults.”
I laugh, and finally, I see a flame of anger. “I can’t believe you said that,” I say.
“Said what?”
“That we could sit and talk like two rational adults,” I say. “No matter what happens, you and I will never be two rational adults because you will never be just another person. You will always be President Anna Fitzgerald. Always.”
I’m not sure what it was I said, but at once the anger flees her face, replaced by a look of sorrow. Damn it. I’m not sure what I said that could make her look as though I’ve kicked her puppy.
“You’re right,” she says and I sense she’s struggling to reclaim her calm. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
If I was a gentleman, I’d take my cue and leave after she makes that statement. She’s obviously upset by something I’d said, and the right thing to do is to leave and let her compose herself privately. But I’m not a gentleman, I’m a prick. And I know if I leave, the real Anna will disappear behind the mask of President Anna and I may never see the real Anna again.
“No,” I say because I’m not leaving right now. “You were thinking, you were just thinking the wrong thing.”
“Do tell, Mr. Hazar,” she says, and she’d not nearly as composed as she was seconds ago. Some perverse side of me is thrilled to see her reaction. I’m baiting her, yes, but she’s clearly latching on.
“You thought all you had to do was snap your fingers, and I’d come running like everyone always does,” I say. “You’d welcome me into the big bad Oval Office, offer me some lame, ineffective apology, and I’d roll over, beg you to rub my belly, and we’d be good. But I surprised you, didn’t I? I actually called you out on your shit.” I walk the few steps needed so I stand right in front of her, right in her personal space. “When was the last time anyone did that, Madame President?”
“I really don’t like you, Mr. Hazar.” Her eyes blaze, but she can’t hide the desire I find in them.
“And that kills you, doesn’t it?” I ask. “But that’s the funny thing. You don’t like me and you hate it, because no matter what you tell yourself, you still want me.”
“What I think is that you have a pretty high opinion of yourself, Mr. Hazar.”
I take note that whatever she’s thinking hasn’t made her back away yet. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You are such a….”
I chuckle because she’s trying to play the part of the good girl, still trying to ensure everyone likes her, and she doesn’t do anything to change that. She probably believes if she puts me off long enough, I’ll be nice and let her go. She’s wrong. I’ll admit there have been several times I’ve underestimated her, but this time, she’s underestimated me.
“Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me you don’t remember how good we were together.” I lower my head just a touch. “Tell me.”
“Wanting you means nothing.” She inhales deeply, but I’m standing so close, I feel her tremble. “That’s only chemistry. Hormones. All I remember is you leaving with no explanation.”
She may think I’m letting her go when I step away and leave, or that I’m letting her off the hook. She might even be able to convince herself she won this round. But she’d be wrong.
What was that famous quote? I’ve only just begun to fight?
Chapter Seventeen
Her
The White House
Washington DC
I give serious thought to calling George or Edward and telling him Navin has to leav
e, he can no longer be on my Press Pool. But I can’t think of a way to say it that won’t make me sound like a total idiot. What reason would I give for needing him gone? He distracted me from running the nation? I might as well label him a national hazard.
That I actually think on it for longer than five seconds proves how far gone I am.
There’s a knock on the door and when I tell whoever it is to come in, it’s Nicole reminding me I have a meeting with the National Security Council starting soon. I push all thoughts about Navin out of my mind and focus on the tasks before me.
It’s much later before I have a free minute to give in to any thoughts about Navin. I’m actually in bed, running through the day in my head, when I get to the part of the day he occupied. I remember every detail of our time together, every word spoken, every look shared, and, God help me, every carnal sensation he gave me. I kind of hate him for that last one, but I really hate him because everything he said about me was true. I had made it a point to ensure he met me in the Oval Office, and I had assumed he’d accept my apology. Hell, he was even right when he said no one ever called me on my shit. The only part he got wrong was when he said I thought he’d roll over and beg for a belly rub.
I never expected him to beg for it.
All sarcasm aside, I’d hurt him deeply with my remark about him being a law school dropout. I’d unknowingly struck a nerve still unhealed after all these years. But why? Why, if it’d meant that much to him, did he drop out, and never return? It would take nothing for me to find out, especially with my current position. But it’s more than knowing, I realize. I want him to tell me. For him to trust me with the reason.
Realizing I’m not going to get any sleep until I have some answers, I get out of bed and slip into a pair of casual slacks and a pullover. The hallways of the White House are never empty and there’s no way I’m traipsing through the place in my pajamas and robe. I pull my hair back into a ponytail and open the door to step into the hallway.