by A. C. Grey
Emmy tried desperately not to fixate, but that seemingly passing remark had given her a small glimmer of hope. She knew she was setting herself up for disappointment, but she couldn’t help it. What if? Maybe Kate did mean it to be something more. After all, she’d asked Emmy the exact same questions that she’d asked Brad. Were those her typical first date conversation starters? Had Emmy been on a first date and not known it? Or had Kate simply tried to make the best of a bad situation by amusing them both by asking the same questions they’d just discussed? Emmy sighed and ran a quick hand through her hair before resuming her position guarding the door of Oval Office. Unfortunately, her job was one that left ample time for thought. Which meant she had nothing to do but overthink Kate and those damn words. And it didn’t help matters that she had to stare at the source of her confusion for hours on end. Every time that woman was anywhere near her, her whole body felt jittery, she felt weak in the knees, she felt like a schoolgirl. Definitely not like the bad ass, gun wielding federal agent that she was.
At that moment, Hollander strode into the office. Kate, who was on the phone, gestured for him to take a seat while she finished. Emmy’s skin crawled every time that man walked into the room. She wanted nothing more than to take his scrawny, slimy ass out back and kick the crap out of him. Something about his smug attitude just rubbed her the wrong way. She didn’t know how Kate dealt with him on a daily basis.
Finally, Kate hung up the phone and looked at Hollander with serious look on her face. “Phil, thanks for stopping by. I wanted to talk to you about the other night – the date with Brad.”
Hollander nodded. “I think we should set up another date as soon . . .” Kate held up a staying hand.
“I wasn’t finished. Please don’t cut me off.”
“Kate . . .”
“That’s Madame President, Phil. As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, that date was a disaster. I’m not sure where you found that Neanderthal, but I suggest you return him to whatever cave he crawled out of. If you seriously think my dating tastes run that moronic and pedestrian, you’ve got another thing coming. I am, as you are aware, a damned busy woman. I do not have time to waste. What little personal time I have needs to be spent with someone who can hold up their end of the conversation, someone who can answer a question without using the word chick or hotties, someone who is literate, someone who doesn’t use their sleeve as a napkin, someone who looks at my eyes and not at chest.” She glanced across the room and briefly met Emmy’s gaze, a small smile on her face.
Emmy’s heart was beating a mile a minute. Strong, confident, bossy Kate Stewart was beyond hot. And had she just looked at her? Had she been referring to her, when she was talking about someone worth spending time with? Emmy couldn’t breathe, the air in the room suddenly thin. She needed to get a hold of herself. How was she supposed to do her job if she could barely keep herself upright?
Kate continued. “So what I’m saying, Phil, is that from now on, stay out of my personal life. You clearly wouldn’t know a good catch if it was handed to you on the end of a fishing pole. Don’t ever, ever waste my time like that again.”
Hollander stared at her in shocked silence.
Kate stared him down, before adding, “that will be all.”
With that, Hollander rose in a huff and exited the room.
“Damn that was hot.” Emmy muttered under her breath.
“What was that?” Kate asked.
Emmy silently cursed herself, not realizing that she’d said that aloud. “Oh, um . . . I was just saying that Hollander is a jerk.” She hoped Kate hadn’t heard what she’d really said. She was relieved when Kate merely smiled and nodded before returning to her work. However, there had been a slight twinkle in Kate’s eye that made Emmy wonder if she’d heard more than she was letting on.
* * * * *
Later that day, Emmy and Val were assigned to cover the President’s meeting with the Prime Minister of England. They stood at attention on either side of the door as Kate went to greet the Prime Minister. She smiled warmly at him as she took his hand in hers. Emmy couldn’t stop staring. She knew that protocol required her to stay alert, to watch for signs of danger, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t muster the will to tear her eyes away from the gorgeous blonde who just so happened to be one of the most powerful people in the world. Power was a good look on her. Kate wore it well. She was strong, confident, and kind, but not a push over. As she and the Prime Minister got down to business, a small smile crept across Emmy’s face. This woman was amazing. Some sort of conversation was going on, but Emmy had no idea what it was. She was enraptured by the vision in the blue power suit in front of her, serenaded by the musical tone of her voice, melted by the occasional flashes of dimples as she smiled at the Englishman.
Emmy couldn’t help but notice the occasional glance that Kate shot in her direction. She figured it was just because was bored or because she was distracted or because she was looking off into the distance as she thought about how to respond to the man. There was no way that Kate was really looking at her. And those few brief smiles . . . clearly they were meant for the Prime Minister. Kate was just being polite. Despite all this, Emmy struggled once again to maintain control over her senses. This was getting out of hand. She had never been such a flustered mess in her life. Normally she was cool, calm and collected. She was a rock star. Now, she was becoming increasingly frayed at the seams, her inner fan girl threatening to burst forth at any moment. She really needed to get a grip . . . She just wasn’t sure exactly how.
* * * * *
Kate was struggling. Normally this kind of meeting was easy for her. She was quick on her feet, but also made sure she’d done her homework. She was good at her job . . . damn good. But today, not so much. For some reason, there was only one thing on her mind – and it wasn’t the tenuous state of relations in the Middle East or the collapse of the world financial markets. It was a certain woman standing across the room from her . . . a woman NOT named Manning. As the Prime Minister droned on, she nodded and smiled and desperately attempted to keep up her end of the dialogue. It was difficult beyond words. She could barely string together coherent sentences. Kate could feel Emmy’s eyes upon her and it unnerved her. There was no reason to be thrown off by this – it was Emmy’s job to watch her, to protect her. Still, the feel of those sea green eyes on her was setting her heart aflutter. She occasionally glanced up, briefly meeting the woman’s gaze before returning her attention to the man in front of her. This wasn’t a feeling she was used to feeling – flustered. She was Kate Stewart, damn it. President of the United States. She did NOT get flustered. She was the one usually causing the flustering. But not now. She nodded and agreed with something the Prime Minister had said. Hopefully she hadn’t just agreed to nuke North Korea or to sell the United States back to England. She really had no idea. She knew one thing for sure. Emmaline Harris was not good for foreign relations.
* * * * *
Finally wrapping up the meeting, she headed from the room. Emmy and Val followed her. As they did so, Val leaned over to whisper something. “So are you and the Prez doing it?”
“What!?” Emmy responded. She tried to keep her voice to a whisper, which proved hard, given what Val had just said. “That’s ridiculous. Why would you say that?”
“Because the two of you spent that whole meeting making goo-goo eyes at each other. I wonder if the Prime Minister realized he was in the middle of some silent girl-on-girl eye sex.”
“Shut it, Manning. There is nothing going on. Besides, the President is straight, remember?” Emmy was beyond embarrassed, and hoped she hadn’t turned as bright red as her cheeks felt.
“Yeah, she’s about as straight as Ellen DeGeneres. Melissa Etheridge. Rosie O’Donnell. Need I go on? Trust me Harris, the President wants to exercise her Executive Privilege on you.”
Emmy rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, Val.” Of course, secretly, she hoped Val was right, but she still had her
doubts.
As they headed outside into the sunlight, they pulled out their sunglasses. Manning put her standard issue aviators on. Emmy, never one to completely toe the line, whipped out a pair with bright purple frames. As she followed the President into her limo, Val heading to sit up next to the driver, Kate turned and smirked at Emmy. “Purple shades, Harris? Really?” She winked flirtatiously at Emmy, causing butterflies to once again erupt in her stomach. Emmy shook her head slightly. She was going to need to take out stock in the company that sold Tums at this rate.
Suddenly worried that the President was serious, Emmy attempted to explain. “Sorry, I know they’re not technically up to the uniform code. I just like to have a tiny bit of individuality now and again. Please don’t tell Director Bell, I’ve already bumped heads with him one too many times over things like this.”
Kate chuckled. “I wasn’t chastising you, Emmaline. I was simply commenting on your willingness to be an individual, a rebel, in a job that requires so much conformity. I like it.”
Emmy smiled, relaxing. “Thanks. I have to do these little things to keep me sane. My little rebellion against the man.”
Kate shot Emmy her dimples, before leaning in conspiratorially. “Want to know a little secret?”
Emmy nearly died as Kate’s deep blue eyes locked on her own, shining with amusement. She nodded.
“I rebel too.” Kate lifted her pant leg and unzipped one of her stylish high-heeled boots. Underneath, she revealed the most absurd pair of black, orange, and red flame covered socks that Emmy had ever seen. “I wear weird socks every day I can. It’s my own private way of reminding myself that I’m an individual, that the old Kate that I used to know is still in there. That it’s not all serious President business.”
Emmy grinned back, relishing the fact that Kate had just shared this intimate part of her life. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me . . . but now you’re going to have to show me your socks every day. Or I’m going to spend all day undressing you with my eyes trying to figure out what you’ve got on underneath.”
When Kate shot her an odd look, Emmy realized what she’d just said. “Uh . . . I mean undressing your feet, not you,” she corrected, wincing at her slip up.
Kate laughed, which enabled Emmy to relax a little and she was able to breathe again. Or she was able to breathe until Kate spoke again.
“Emmaline, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”
CHAPTER FOUR
The look of surprise and shock on Emmy’s face suddenly made the usually confident Kate take a step back. Had she offended her? Was it too much too soon? She hadn’t really thought it through. She had acted on an impulse, which she had learned was usually a mistake. She liked to plan, to think things over, and to mull the possible outcomes of every decision she made. This cautious strategy had served her well. Yet something about this woman made Kate want to throw caution to the wind . . . to be impulsive . . . to be free . . . to ignore the need for appearances and formality . . . to be herself. But it looked as though that moment of impulsive weakness had been a mistake – and now she regretted it. She tried the best she could to remedy the situation, to put Emmy at ease.
“Please don’t feel like you have to say yes. I know I’m your boss and it would be hard to say no. I probably overstepped some boundaries here. I just don’t have much time for friends and friendship in a position like mine.”
Friends. The word cut through Emmy’s heart like a knife. All the astonished hope that had just soared through her came crashing back down all around her as the reality of the situation became clear. Of course Kate wasn’t interested in her that way. Why would she be? She was straight, she was successful, and she could have anybody she wanted. She was obviously just lonely.
Kate continued, though Emmy only half heard what she said. “And I guess our little bonding over my socks made me miss that kind of banter, that joking that you can have with people who don’t judge you for who you are and what title you hold. I just miss being myself, with no need to try and impress, I guess. And I feel comfortable around you. I really like you, Emmaline. But please, no pressure. You look as if I’ve offended you or something.”
Emmy shook her head. “No, I’d love to. I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s not every day you get to have dinner with the President.” She smiled slightly. Her heart rate had returned to normal once she’d realized that Kate’s intentions were not romantic. Clearly this wasn’t a date. Whatever. She’d take what she could get. Any time spent with Kate, especially alone, was okay in her book.
Kate’s heart sank at Emmy’s response. Clearly Emmy felt that there was no way to say no, that you didn’t turn down the President. Also, it was clear that despite her best efforts, Emmy still considered her to be a famous person to be placed on a pedestal, not someone to just spend time with – with no pressure or formality. Someone to hang out with . . . someone to develop a relationship with that wasn’t based on rank and prestige. Still, Kate forged ahead. She wanted to spend time with this woman – and if she had to hide behind her position of power in order to do so – well, then so be it. “Super!” She replied, perhaps a little too perkily. “What time is your shift over?”
“Six,” Emmy replied.
“Why don’t you run home afterwards and get comfortable or whatever and then meet me back at the White House at 7:30? If it’s okay with you, I’d prefer to eat in. It’s always such a production to go anywhere – you’d know after all - and the White House Chef, Bill, is great.”
Emmy smiled. “Sounds perfect.” She also silently thanked the heavens that Julie was on duty tonight and not Val. She really didn’t want to have to deal with Manning’s teasing and inappropriate comments at the moment. Especially since this wasn’t actually a date. Knowing Val, she’d have them married with ten kids by the end of the evening. That or doing very inappropriate things in very inappropriate places.
* * * * *
Later that afternoon, Emmy overheard Kate’s side of a rather heated phone conversation with what appeared to be Hollander.
“Yes, I understand Phil. I don’t see why we need to address this now. My take on the issue is well known. Why the need for a new statement now?” Kate said. She paused for a moment, listening to his response.
“Can’t we just put out the same position that I took during the election? My views on what my position is haven’t changed. I know, I know. . . .” Kate continued.
“And stop pushing me. It won’t get you anywhere. If you hadn’t decided to stir the pot with the Republicans, this would be a non-issue. You know I feel strongly about this. I’ve already bent further than I should have to make people happy . . . Well, figure something out damn it . . . that’s what you get paid to do. ” She slammed the phone down and ran a hand through her blonde locks. Even a frustrated, angry Kate was sexy, Emmy thought. Was there any look that this woman didn’t wear well? Emmy doubted it.
* * * * *
Emmy couldn’t decide what to wear. She wanted to look nice, but she didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard. After all, this was only a date in her hormone-addled, lust-filled mind. In reality, not so much, as Kate had made abundantly clear. But Emmy was thankful for any time spent together, and lucky that her slip about the socks hadn’t offended Kate. Telling the President of the United States that you wanted picture her naked . . . way to go Harris. She silently shook her head. She was very smooth. She couldn’t imagine the look on Director Bell’s face if he ever heard that one of his agents had made such a comment. She’d be lucky to get out of his office alive.
Emmy tore through her closet, frustrated as nothing seemed right. Normally, when around Kate, she didn’t have this problem. She wore suits to work. Not much of a decision to be made. They were all Kate saw her in. But putting aside the fact that she wanted to look . . . well . . . hot, what the hell did one wear when having a private, impromptu dinner with the President? Not exactly the kind of topic you’d find addressed in a Miss Manners column
. Emmy was too busy muttering to herself and throwing clothes about her closet to notice her very amused roommate, Val, standing in the doorway of her bedroom.
“Got a hot date, Harris?”
Emmy looked up, blowing a stray hair out of her eyes in frustration. “What? No. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be out with your boyfriend?”
Val shrugged noncommittally. “Doesn’t matter. And stop lying. You totally have a date. Let me guess. You and the Hotness in Chief are going to get freaky.”
“Val!” Emmy yelled. “I’ve told you before, there’s nothing going on between us.”
“Right. And I’m Santa Claus.”
Sometimes Emmy really hated her roommate. Mostly because she had an annoying way of always being able to read a situation perfectly. Though in this case, her radar was a little off, since Kate didn’t know this was a date. And it wasn’t a date, she reminded herself. She really needed to stop thinking of it as such.
“All I know, Emmy, is that you only get like this – all frantic and crazy-eyed and screamy – when you’ve got a date. A hot date. An ‘I want to screw you up against the nearest available surface, I want to put my babies inside of you, I want to take your last name’ kind of date. Not an ‘I want to get to know you and talk about our feelings and then maybe kiss you after five dates’ kind of date. And we both know that you’ve got a crush the size of Texas on President Blondie. So out with it. Where’s she taking you? Are you going to let her veto your clothing and do the McNasty in the Oval Office?”