POTUS: A Powerplay Novel

by Selena Laurence

  “As you say,” Kamal answered, knowing it wasn’t worth the fight. “But she’s not doing it, and I think she’s being taken advantage of—or she’s allowing herself to be taken advantage of—whatever the case may be.”

  “Sounds like this is really more about Vanessa than the president,” Derek remarked. “She should be setting the tone for the entire White House.”

  “You’re only as good as your top general,” Jeff contributed.

  “Yeah, if the manager of the firm doesn’t have it together, then the whole place goes to shit pretty fast,” Teague agreed.

  “Since Vanessa is the one who let me into the Oval Office without announcing me, I’d say the tone being set is one of disrespect.”

  “That I can agree with,” Derek said, nodding.

  The discussion moved to some projects the various Powerplay club members were working on, and Kamal allowed the liquor to do its work, relaxing into a warm stupor until his friends were preparing to leave and he realized that he’d missed most of what had been said for the last thirty minutes.

  “You okay?” Derek asked as he shrugged into his jacket, his blond hair as rumpled as his dress shirt and tie.

  “Yes.” Kamal stood, stretching his fit frame before he set his glass on the bar top and made his way toward the door. “You have Melville’s official announcement in a couple of weeks?”

  “Yes. It’s all set, and I’ll meet with the president next week to hopefully get her to sign on. It’s early for the president to take a position, but I’m not hearing rumblings of anyone else in the party having a strong chance, so I’m hoping to create an heir-apparent image from the get-go.”

  Kamal nodded. “I’ll be meeting with the president weekly until we get the details of the accord hashed out, so I’ll put in a good word whenever I can.”

  As they left the condo and Kamal’s security detail walked him to the limo waiting in the underground garage, he couldn’t help but think back to the conversation about the president. She was an impressive woman, smart, sexy, and skilled in negotiations. She stayed quiet when she needed to listen, but wasn’t afraid to take a stand when an issue was crucial to her nation’s interests. She deserved better treatment than those closest to her were giving. She needed help—whether she would ever admit it or not. And Kamal wasn’t the type of man to leave a woman helpless.

  Jessica hadn’t tried to get ready for a fix-up since she’d first been introduced to John Hampton as a first-year law student at Yale. As she kicked aside the third pair of shoes in as many minutes, she thought back to that fateful night fifteen years before, when her law school friend Margot had taken her to a party to meet up with two guys she’d found at the library.

  “You get John,” she’d told Jessica. “He’s from some famous family, and he’s to die for, but realistically, David is too short for you, so I’ll sacrifice myself for the sake of symmetrical couples.”

  Jessica had spent two hours dressing for that party, because what she didn’t tell Margot was that she already knew who John Hampton was, and she’d spent the entire first two weeks of Tort Law staring at the side of his gorgeous head from a few rows back.

  A knock at her dressing room door jarred her out of the memory. “Yes.”

  “Madam President?” said her personal assistant. “Your guests have entered the grounds.”

  “Thank you, I’ll be there in just a moment.”

  The door snicked shut, and she stood in front of the mirror again, trying to assess her casual black dress, its scooped neckline, and fitted bodice that flared out slightly in the skirt. Her copper hair was smoothed into soft waves that fell past her shoulders, and she wore tiny pearls in her ears, the most unobtrusive jewelry that she could don.

  She stared at the reflection of a woman who had to think about every item of clothing she wore, every word she spoke, and every gesture she made. It was stultifying, being president. And particularly the first woman president. She was under a microscope twenty-three out of every twenty-four hours, and she’d grown so accustomed to being the subject of intense scrutiny that she was sometimes paralyzed by the most basic choices—like what shoes to wear with an entirely black ensemble. Really, she thought to herself, what were the options?

  Then, in an act of rebellion that appeared out of nowhere, she turned to her shoe shelves and removed a pair of sky-high gold sandals, covered in sequins, beads, and enormous rhinestone buckles across the toes. She’d bought them years ago to match a Halloween costume for a party she and John had attended. They were gaudy, inappropriate, and nearly impossible to walk in. So she slid them on her feet, took a deep breath, and wobbled out to the dining room of the White House living quarters where she met Fiona and Cade Jenkins, a California cowboy.

  “Jessica, Cade attended a meeting at the agriculture department today.”

  Jessica looked up from her French green beans and straight into the eyes of Cade, who gave her a small smile, obviously no more comfortable with this entire setup than she was. He seemed like a very nice man, maybe a little tortured, but that could be the fact that he’d been roped into eating dinner with the president of the United States. He probably didn’t agree with her politically, and here was Fiona, trying to get him to date her, for God’s sake.

  “I hope our federal staff was helpful to you?” she asked, taking a sip of red wine.

  “They were,” he said, setting his fork down and leaning back in his chair. “The truth is, I’m doing the research to placate my younger brother who owns the ranch with me.” He looked down for a moment before meeting her eyes. His were bright blue and complemented his sun-kissed hair. “Our ranch has been in the family for three generations, and we’ve always done things a certain way. While it’s a little tough in the industry right now, I’m not convinced that spending the money and time necessary to go organic is a practical way to address the problems.”

  Fiona shot a look at Jessica. She knew how strongly Jessica felt about the environment and was practically screaming, be nice, don’t fight with the hot guy about organic farming.

  And he was hot—Cade Jenkins—he had that California-surfer thing going on, and even though he was obviously somewhere near her own age, his face was unlined, eyes bright and intelligent, and his body honed by lots of long days outside on a working ranch. He’d worn a pair of dark wash jeans and a white button-down shirt, and even as out of touch with that side of life as Jessica was, she knew instantly the guy was a catch. Unfortunately, he’d never be her catch.

  “The certification process is lengthy,” she said diplomatically. “And I think the decision to embark on it is probably bigger than just what’s best for any particular property. It’s an investment in the future of our economy and our environment, and of course not every property owner is capable of making that kind of investment.”

  Cade raised an eyebrow and grinned. He saw right through her. “Well, Madam President, Big Sur Cattle is certainly capable of making the investment. We just have to decide if we’re willing.”

  Touché. The guy was tough and obviously wouldn’t be guilted into a business decision he didn’t want to make.

  Jessica tipped her wineglass at him. “Perfectly understandable. And please call me Jessica. You’re in my home, not my office.” She smiled at him and heard the air leave Fiona’s lungs in a rush of relief.

  Cade grinned more. “Well then, Jessica, maybe you can convince me to make that investment over some dessert. I know our waiter said there was chocolate mousse around somewhere.”

  Fiona had commandeered a car thirty minutes ago and beat a hasty retreat, leaving Jessica alone with Cade in the president’s residence. They stood outside on a balcony overlooking the rose garden, him with a tumbler of scotch, her with a third glass of wine.

  “So, this is life as the president of the United States,” he observed, looking at the lights of Washington beyond the White House grounds.

  She smoothed her dress, taking note of how warm his smile was and how his shoulders we
re so broad in his snowy-white shirt.

  “Yes, this is it. Although, I spend very little time on this balcony now that I think about it, it’s quite nice.”

  “You must put in a ridiculous number of hours at work,” he said, moving a touch closer where he leaned next to her against the railing.

  She twirled her wineglass by the stem.

  “Well, it would be easiest if they would set up a cot in the Oval Office, but I’ve been told that’s déclassé when you have people come in for meetings during the day. Sort of like entertaining in a studio apartment with your bed in the middle of the living room.”

  He laughed, and it was low and deep, and she did definitely understand why Fiona had chosen this man to set her up with.

  “Madam President,” Cade said as he gently took her wineglass out of her hand and set it on the railing. “I think Fiona had all sorts of plans for the two of us when she brought me to dinner this evening.”

  Jessica breathed deeply. “I think you’re right.” She exhaled as he brushed a hand up her arm.

  “I have to tell you that in addition to you being an exceptionally beautiful woman, I find the whole president of the United States thing to be kind of a turn-on.”

  She laughed. Of all the things men had said about her position of power, calling it a turn-on had to be a first.

  His hand slipped up to her neck, pulling her gently into him until they were leaning against each other chest to chest, his lips only inches from hers.

  “But I need to be very honest and say that I’m in no position to have anything long-term with anyone, not even the most powerful woman in the free world.” He smiled, and there was a sadness to it that was so familiar to Jessica, her heart squeezed in sympathy. It was the smile of someone whose responsibilities outweighed their freedom of choice. Someone who was tied to things and people and places that weren’t of their own choosing but that they owed everything to in spite of that. It was a smile of obligation and duty, and dreams lost with hopes gone.

  “And as the president, I can’t have anything that isn’t long-term,” she whispered, looking into his eyes. “Or really, anything at all.”

  “I thought as much,” he answered, not moving away. “But I’m wondering…would it be possible for the president of the United States to get a kiss good night? It’s one of those things that I could brag about to my grandchildren someday—I kissed the president.”

  She chuckled as she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in more. “I think the president could do that if you promise to keep your bragging to your grandchildren and not the tabloid press.”

  “It’s a deal,” he murmured before he brought his lips to hers, whisper soft and tender in a considerate way. No pressure, no expectations.

  She kissed him back sweetly, once, twice, three times, and then he pulled away, taking one of her hands from around his neck and holding it in his big fingers.

  “Now you have to walk me out of this palace of yours, or I’ll be wandering around in here for weeks.”

  And Jessica Hampton, first woman president of the United States of America, laughed while she walked her new friend through the halls of the White House with a promise to visit Big Sur Ranch the next time she was in California. And as she returned to the residence, saying good night to the Secret Service detail stationed along the hallways, she felt something other than lonely for the first time in more than six years. She felt something that resembled hope, and she knew that when this long journey was finally over in sixteen months, she would never do anything out of obligation ever again.

  Chapter 3

  Kamal didn’t want to take the call from his father, but he knew that if he didn’t, it would only make things worse. The Masri patriarch wasn’t the type to tolerate being ignored, especially by his oldest son and heir.

  “Good morning, sir,” Kamal said as he sat at his desk with the phone on speaker so that he could sign documents while he talked.

  “I am in London. It’s past morning here,” the older man corrected.

  Kamal rolled his eyes, trying to remember to breathe. He had been raised to show the utmost respect to his elders, but his father made it difficult at times.

  “Yes, sir. You have business in London?”

  “I do, and in doing it, I have had to hear repeatedly about this accord you are working on with President Hampton.”

  Kamal sat and waited because he knew his father, and just because the man paused didn’t mean it was time for Kamal to respond.

  “My business partners are not pleased with this agreement you are crafting.”

  He did respond then, because his irritation spiked. “How can they be upset with something that isn’t written yet?”

  His father made a sound of disapproval. “The world knows what the Millennial Accord is intended to do. We’re not fools simply because we don’t have diplomatic access, Kamal.”

  Kamal put his expensive fountain pen down and leaned back in his large leather chair.

  “And what is it that you propose I do about your associates’ complaints?”

  “You need to find a way to take this idea off the table.”

  Kamal sighed, long and deep, and while he felt a twinge of guilt because it was rude to his father, he couldn’t quite control it.

  “Father, I am Egypt’s ambassador to the US. A position, I’ll remind you, that you wanted me to have. As such, I am not solely obligated to you and your associates. I answer to the president and parliament of Egypt. Ideally, I also have responsibilities to the people of Egypt, I’m not naïve enough to think that they factor into all of this very much, however.”

  “And I’ll remind you, my oldest son, that I did not have you installed in that position to forsake your family. We are your first responsibility always.”

  Kamal’s heart thudded hard against the wall of his chest one time, and his head began to squeeze with the signs of an impending headache.

  “But surely you understand that I cannot ignore the wishes of the majority of the parliament who voted to grant me the authority to negotiate this accord?”

  “Be creative, Kamal. As much as I spent for your American education, you can surely manage to give the appearance of negotiating the agreement while ensuring that it doesn’t get finalized.”

  Kamal knew a few things from dealing with his father for the last thirty-four years, and the main one was that arguing with the man was pointless. Whether you intended to do as he said or not, life was much more pleasant if you simply acted as though you did.

  “As you say, sir,” he said deferentially. “My loyalty to my family is always my first concern.”

  “Good,” his father barked out gruffly. The man couldn’t even be gracious in victory. He was a despot in expensive suits and a hundred-thousand-dollar limousine. “I will keep watching to see how the events unfold. And I will tell your sisters that you asked after them.”

  Shit. His sisters whom he hadn’t talked to in weeks. He was batting a thousand as a son today. “Yes. Please tell them that I will speak with them soon.”

  His father grunted some sort of good-bye, and Kamal tapped the button on the phone to disconnect the call.

  He scrubbed a hand across his jaw before standing and striding to the door. When he swung it open, his personal security detail stood waiting, dark suits and earpieces immediately giving away their identities. Uniformed and heavily armed Egyptian soldiers stood outside the building, surrounding it on all four sides, while top-level intelligence operatives were living unobtrusively throughout the Egyptian expat community, ready to provide intelligence and aid should there be any political unrest in either the US or Egypt. Unfortunately, none of them had been any help as multiple bomb threats had disrupted the day-to-day operations of the embassy for several months now.

  “Please bring the car around,” Kamal said to his bodyguard.

  “Mr. Ambassador, your meeting at the White House isn’t for two more hours,” the guard advised.

  “I don�
�t give a damn,” Kamal snapped. “I want to leave now.” Because if he didn’t get out from under the staggering array of expectations and responsibilities and commitments, he might just ignite a bomb himself to blow it all to hell. And if he was caught in the debris, well then, so be it. At least he’d finally be free.

  Jessica wasn’t sure why she felt the need to set the meeting up outside on the patio, but it was a beautiful autumn day and she wanted to feel the sunshine and fresh air for a while if she could. Ambassador Masri was the only one of her afternoon meetings that she could imagine having in such an informal setting. While the ambassador had been presumptuous with his comments about her staff, he’d also been respectful and reasonable in their discussions about the accord. He was a brilliant analyst, and easy to talk to once you got past the bossiness.

  “Madam President,” Vanessa called from the French doors that looked from the Oval Office out onto the patio. “The ambassador is here for your appointment.”

  “Thank you, please show him out.”

  A moment later the ambassador stepped out onto the patio, and Jessica was shocked to find that her heart picked up its pace, causing a few butterflies to flutter around inside her chest.

  He was wearing a perfectly tailored suit, but in tan, making him stand out from most of the dark suits that men in Washington wore. The contrast with his thick, dark hair was striking, and she couldn’t help also noticing the way his broad shoulders filled the custom suit to perfection. The man’s tailor really should be commended.

  “Madam President,” he said as he approached and held out his hand. She shook it and tried not to notice the little frisson of electricity that wrapped around her arm as she touched him.

  “Please have a seat, Mr. Ambassador. I hope you don’t mind sitting outside. I sometimes feel as if I haven’t been outdoors in days.”

  “As do I. This is perfect.” He smiled, and she was dazzled by his brilliantly white teeth. She again noticed the gold earring, and thoughts of Danger Pirate shot through her head.