The writer's mind was already spinning, weaving a tapestry with words that would eventually form a picture of Devlyn herself. And there was one word that Lauren could already see was going to pop up again and again when it came to President Devlyn Marlowe. Charisma... in spades. It fairly oozed from the tall woman's pores. But it was in an understated kind of way that was both compelling and alluring. "I think under the circumstances, I can forgive you, Madam President."
"Thanks." The tall woman scooted forward a little on the sofa and leaned forward, her arms resting on her thighs with her fingers interlaced. What she really wanted to do was ask the writer about some of her work... especially a few pieces that had been written under the pseudonym Lauren Gallager.
But now wasn't the time to be a goofy fan. There was still one major wrinkle to iron out that Dev had saved for a face to face discussion. Something she hoped would give this biography a sense of intimacy and candor that she found lacking in so many others. Just ask her Dev. The worst she can say is 'no'. Well, that's not quite true. She could laugh, accuse you of being insane and wanting to micromanage her work, and then say 'no'. "You just arrived in town this morning?" the Dev began casually.
Lauren shook her head. "Last night. The Emancipation Party is putting me up at the Hay-Adams Hotel."
"And your room is nice? You like it there, I mean?"
A wry smile wanted to twitch at Lauren's lips, but she felt a tiny kernel of worry germinate in her belly. Where is she going with this? "Well, it's Italian Renaissance. Not exactly the Motel-6, but somehow I’m making do," she said drolly.
"Good... good." Dev missed the joke. She was too wrapped up in what she was about to ask. "I, um... well, actually, I had something a little closer in mind. I mean, if you're going to follow me around on anything like a regular basis, you'll need to be close." That was brilliant. Duh.
Pale eyebrows lifted. "The Hay-Adams is less than 3 blocks away. Any closer and I'd be residing in your back pocket."
"Hmm... true..." Shut up, Dev. God, don't scare her off now. "Okay, maybe not my back pocket, but how about in residence with me and my family?"
Lauren's jaw sagged. "Inside the White House?"
Dev grinned. "I've found inside the White House to be far more comfortable than outside the White House. The park benches around here suck." When Lauren didn't answer Dev pressed on. "Look, if you really want to get to know me and understand what I do, you're going to have to tag along after me. And you can't very well do that from the Hay-Adams Hotel. I don't exactly keep regular hours, and there simply isn't enough time in the day for a lot of one-on-one research discussions." And, while that was true, Dev knew instantly that if Lauren Strayer asked, she'd make time for her anytime she wanted.
"I, umm... Madam President, I don't know what to say," she admitted honestly. Sure it would make things interesting, but Lauren knew she needed her privacy. She wasn't at all sure that she could stand living in more of a fish bowl than she was already subjecting herself to.
"Living here is the only way to really know what I do," she said reasonably. "It doesn't have to be for the entire term. Just until you feel like you've got a good handle on my day-to-day life." C'mon, Lauren, say yes. Lauren's head began to sway slightly, and Dev knew she was considering it. She went in for the kill. "I want a totally honest and accurate accounting of the first term of office for the first female, American President. I don't take my legacy lightly, Ms. Strayer. The easiest way for me to give you full access is to have you nearby. I don't want to pull any punches."
"Do you really want that?" Lauren asked curiously. Giving her editorial control of the book was an enormous risk, and she knew it.
Sky blue eyes fastened on Lauren's with an almost painful honesty. "Yes. I really do."
Lauren found it nearly impossible to disbelieve the President's words. Damn, I'll bet that comes in handy in her profession. But a tiny part of the writer still found this opportunity too good to be true. "And no one is going to be whispering in my ear, telling me what to write?"
The President smiled. Don't even go there, Dev. Keep your mouth shut. "I promise you I won't censure you in any way. And once the book is done, as long as nothing concerning national security is revealed, I won't ask you to make any changes. There may be a few others that make requests of you... but you can take them on as you see fit."
"You'll back me up?"
"One hundred percent." It wasn't lost on Devlyn that Lauren hadn't agreed to move into residence yet. But she was thinking about it. And something inside the President told her that this was a woman who didn't respond well to being pushed.
There was a gentle knock on the door, and Dev dragged her gaze away from her guest.
"Come in."
A lunch table for two was rolled in and quickly set up. "Anything else, Madam President?" a young blond waiter asked, managing to sneak a peek at Lauren while he prepared the table.
"No. I think we're all set." Dev looked over at Liza, who was grinning. It was obvious the assistant had ordered lunch for two. The President gave her a smile and a wink. She nodded, and the small group left the room, once again leaving the two women alone. "Are you sure you won't join me? I can see that my first executive order for one sandwich was completely ignored." She laughed. "There's plenty. Everyone around here has been trying to feed me for days."
Dev took a large bite and groaned with undisguised ecstasy.
Lauren swallowed hastily. "Well, if you insist."
Devlyn waved toward the other sandwich and took another bite, the smell of corned beef and horseradish wafting up to her nose. She drew in a deep, satisfied sniff. Liza is getting a raise already. I'm in heaven.
The writer took a bite, and immediately mimicked Dev's reaction with a happy groan. "Oh, god," she mumbled, licking the corners of her lips. "This is so good."
Lauren's mind firmly told her living in the White House would give her fabulous access to the President, but would wreak havoc on her ability to keep a professional distance from her subject. She firmly told her mind to shut up. She held up half a sandwich. "Will I get more of these if I say yes?"
Dev suddenly stopped chewing and glanced up from her plate. "As many as you want," she promised seriously.
Lauren picked up her napkin and slid it over her knees. "Then set me up with a room, Madam President. It's looks like you'll be having a guest for a while."
"Excellent!" Dev's honest pleasure was written all over her face. "And my name is Devlyn or Dev, not Madam President."
Unaccountably, the blonde woman felt a blush rising to her cheeks. "Then please call me Lauren."
Dev extended her hand and when Lauren's found hers, she squeezed firmly, absorbing its warmth with idle pleasure. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lauren."
"The pleasure is mine, Devlyn." Lauren exhaled and refocused on her sandwich as a knot that she didn't even know existed, unraveled in her guts. "So... I know you must have nearly as many questions for me as I do for you."
Dev smirked and picked up a crunchy, cold pickle. "Yeah. How does someone rack up eleven parking tickets in two days?"
This time Lauren's blush was pronounced. "How... how did you know about that?" she mumbled in embarrassment.
Twin dark eyebrows lifted. Dev took a bite of pickle, enjoying its salty, tart flavor. "Do I really need to answer that?"
Lauren scratched just above her brow. "No, I guess you really don't. Let's just say it started with a really bad day."
"That ended two days later?"
Lauren chuckled. "Something like that." She picked up the bottle of spring water that was resting in a small bucket of ice and poured it into a crystal glass.
"I had a day like that once. It lasted for almost a week." Dev reached for a coffee carafe that was much closer to Lauren than her, and the smaller woman immediately intercepted Dev's hands with her own.
"Let me do that." She picked up the carafe and poured two cups, deciding she could probably use some as well. "How do you take it?"<
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"Black. And I'm praying it's strong. Thank you," Dev said as she took the cup from Lauren's outstretched hand. "How about you? How do you take your coffee? I want to know in case I need to get you a cup sometime."
"Cream and two sugars." Lauren poured in a little cream and began hunting for a teaspoon, which magically appeared right in front of her face. "Thanks." She smiled and plucked the spoon from Dev's fingers. "But somehow I can't see the President of the United States fetching my coffee."
"Hmm..." Dev begrudgingly nodded. "You're right, the President probably wouldn't. But Dev Marlowe will."
Tuesday, January 26th
The early morning meeting with her staff was just about ready to break up when Devlyn remembered something very important. "By the way," she straightened in her wingback, "I met with Lauren Strayer yesterday afternoon, and from now on she'll be attending these meetings. For those of you who don't know already..." Every set of eyes in the room turned downward, and Dev sighed loudly, mildly annoyed but not surprised. "Okay, you gossip hounds already know this, but I'm announcing it anyway. Ms. Strayer is going to be chronicling this term in office and will be moving into the residence today. Isn't that right, Michael?" Dev arched a challenging eyebrow in the direction of Michael Oaks, who nodded resignedly.
He'd tried to talk the President out of it. But the stubborn woman wasn't budging. There was something about Lauren Strayer he simply didn't like. Not only had she arrogantly refused his offer in Tennessee, but she'd said something to Dev that had made the President especially cross with him and had called his judgment into question. Not only that, whatever Lauren had told her had gotten Dev so angry that she'd had Secret Service agent Francis 'No Neck' Davis transferred away from the White House. Permanently.
Dev took her last sip of coffee and carefully sat her cup back on its china saucer. "Ms. Strayer will be starting her assignment today. She has full privileges and complete access. Please be kind to her." This last part was delivered with a joking tone, but no one in the room doubted the sincerity of the request. The President looked around at the staff. "Anything else?"
The Chief of Staff glanced around the various faces in the room. Some were new to both him and Dev, but a few were loyal friends.
"We should do an announcement about Ms. Strayer being hired to write your memoirs," Press Secretary Sharon Allen stated firmly, opening her notebook and jotting down a few preliminary ideas. The fact that she didn't look thrilled about the prospect wasn't lost on Dev. It wasn't that Lauren wasn't qualified. True, she was God awful young. Her work, however, was well respected. But that didn't mean she had to live in the residence. Press Secretary Allen began to get slightly dizzy from the horrific scenarios that were playing out in her head. Someone older and fatter would have been a much safer choice.
"Ooo... I'm thirty-eight, not eighty-eight. And that makes me sound as old as the hills." Dev shifted in her chair, regretting the fact that she'd chosen a skirt instead of slacks today. "Biography has a less ancient ring to it, don't you think?" She gave Press Secretary Allen a pleading look.
The room filled with easy laughter, and Jane, who was standing against the back wall, shook her head. Dev was such a pain in the butt sometimes. God love her.
"Let's just call it a biography, Sharon. I'm not ready for a cane just yet."
Everyone stood up when the President did and began to file out of the room, ready to start their incredibly busy days. The door closed, leaving behind Dev, Liza and the Chief of Staff. David looked at the young woman and silently asked for a moment alone with the boss.
David smiled when she tapped her watch. Dev had a breakfast meeting with several members of the Democratic and Republican Parties, including the ultra-conservative Speaker of the House, this morning. He almost felt sorry for her. She had the unparalleled pleasure of facing two parties that resented and distrusted her. But that's the price she paid when she willingly joined a third party. David had always thought life would have been much easier if Dev had just stayed a Democrat.
Liza slipped out of the office quietly.
"Madam President?"
"Yes, David." Dev sighed, resting her head in her hand.
"I've got to tell you, I think Ms. Strayer being in residence is going to cause problems for you, Dev. Once the press gets wind of it, she's going to become more than an employee hired to write a book."
"You sound like Michael now. And I don't intend to tell the press she's in residence here. If it becomes an issue, we'll deal with it then."
David rolled his eyes. "It'll take the press all of one or two days to figure it out. If that," he snorted. "And trust me, it will be an issue. A single, openly lesbian President moves in an attractive, single, female biographer..."
"You forgot very 'straight', single, well-respected biographer."
David put his hands on his hips. "And just how do you know she's straight? Did you ask her?"
"Uhh... buu... ahh..." Dev's mouth worked, but no words came out. "What?!"
"Because I read that report, Dev. And I don't recall it mentioning any particular sexual orientation."
"But she was married to a man!" Dev blurted out a millisecond before covering her eyes with the palms of both hands. She shook her head furiously. "God, I can't believe I just said that."
David laughed. "Dev, whether Ms. Strayer is, in actuality, straight or gay isn't really the issue. Assumptions will be made. And you're both single, and you've got three kids. You know what the conservatives will do when they..."
"Fuck the conservatives!" Dev hissed, suddenly angry. She had long ago grown tired of their painting her as the worst mother since Joan Crawford. "You know I don't give a shit about them."
"But you should," David insisted. He'd lost this argument a hundred times, but he never stopped trying. "They're out there, and they're not going away."
Dev leaned back against the edge of the table. "Besides, I may be single, but I'm also still in mourning over my murdered spouse..."
David's brown eyes softened. "I know, Dev. But we're talking about perceptions, not reality." He swallowed, wondering if he should go further. "Umm... you know Samantha wouldn't want you to mourn her forever."
Dev's shoulders slumped, and her voice dropped to an anguished whisper. "I know."
David moved over to the tall woman and sat alongside her. "Look, I don't want to argue. I know how important it is to you that this book be done right... but when this comes back to bite you in the ass... and it will," he smirked a little, "I'm going to be right here to say 'I told you so'."
"Like always?" Dev teased weakly.
"Exactly." He patted her thigh, a little surprised to feel skin. Why is she wearing a skirt? She hates skirts.
"Well, if moving Lauren into the residence, so she can work, is the worst thing to come back and bite me in the ass, I'll consider this a very successful month."
"It won't take a month."
Dev ignored David's pessimism and turned around, pulling over a couple of documents Liza had set in front of her earlier. She felt around in her blazer pockets, and David deftly handed her a shiny, metal pen. "We're talking legitimate press. The Inquisitor and the other scandal sheets don't count, David."
"The legit press will pick it up if it's hot enough. And we all know that if three of the scandal sheets pick up the story of Lauren living in the residence at the same time, it must be true. It's a law... like gravity or Murphy's."
Dev laughed to herself and stuffed David's pen into her pocket, rubbing her thumb along the warm metal. "It is true, Mr. Smarty Pants. Try to remember that."
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