The clerk’s eyes moved away as if she was searching for a hideaway. “I’m sorry, but that suite isn’t available anymore,” she whispered.
“What?” This time, it was a three-person chorus.
“Because of the convention, we had a waiting list and that suite was given to someone already. It was gone within three minutes—after you canceled,” she said, looking straight at Jasmine.
Jasmine had no intention of telling this woman again that she hadn’t canceled a thing. Instead, she said, “Fine, whatever.” She glanced at her watch. All she needed was to get to her room because it was going to take at least two hours to become fabulous. “Just give us another suite.”
The woman shook her head and looked like she was going to burst into tears. “We don’t have another suite. We don’t even have another room. All six hundred rooms are taken.”
“This. Cannot. Be!” Jasmine said, sounding a little too dramatic even to her own ears. “So, what are we supposed to do now?” she asked.
Gently, Hosea nudged Jasmine to the side. “Let me handle this, darlin’.”
She stepped back only because she couldn’t promise that she wouldn’t start screaming. And while she wanted the limelight, she didn’t want it this way, and she certainly didn’t want it before she had a chance to freshen up and change her clothes.
She took a deep breath as she stepped aside for Hosea. Glancing down at her watch, she sighed deeply. Precious time was slipping away.
What in the world happened? First the taxi, now the hotel room. Something was going on.
Behind her, the crowd buzzed with chatter and laughter. It was business, but clearly a celebration, too, as bartenders moved through the crowd, refreshing what Jasmine assumed were all nonalcoholic drinks. She scanned the gathering of preachers and their wives, and then … she froze when she looked into the eyes of Rachel Adams.
Rachel was far across the vast lobby—dozens of bodies were between the two women. But Jasmine could clearly see Rachel’s eyes, shining with amusement. And she wore a matching smirk.
Slowly, Rachel lifted the goblet she held, in a salute that Jasmine knew wasn’t meant to be congratulatory in any way.
No, she didn’t!
In that instant, Jasmine knew. Rachel wasn’t playing—this witch was ready to rumble for real. Jasmine rolled her eyes, turned away from Rachel, and prayed that somehow, someway, somebody would find a room. She’d heard that hotels always kept extras for VIP situations. Who was a bigger VIP than her husband?
“I’m sorry.”
Now there were three people on the other side of the desk, facing Hosea and Pastor Griffith, singing their apologies.
“We just don’t have any other rooms.” A tall, stately man with a British accent (which Jasmine doubted was real) was explaining now. “We can make a few calls and see if there’s anything available in a nearby hotel.”
Jasmine shook her head. She was not about to leave this place. There was too much networking that could be done in the halls, on the elevators, in the restaurants. No, they were not leaving; she was not giving any kind of advantage to the Adams family.
But the alternative didn’t make her smile either—she and Hosea would just have to share a suite with Mae Frances, Mrs. Sloss, and the children.
Once again, Jasmine’s glance turned to Rachel, and like before, she was staring, as if she’d been expecting Jasmine to look her way. Then, knowing that Jasmine was watching, Rachel threw her head back and laughed. To everyone else, it looked as if she was responding to something someone in her circle had just said. But Jasmine knew the truth—Rachel was laughing at her.
“Excuse me, Pastor Bush?”
The woman’s voice made Jasmine whip around quick. Rachel didn’t have a thing on her when it came to radar and keeping an eye on the women here—especially now that she knew there were religious groupies rolling through the convention.
But Jasmine recognized the woman immediately from the dossier that Mae Frances had given her on all the players. This was Cecelia King, the current first lady of the Coalition.
She introduced herself to Hosea, gave Pastor Griffith a hug as if she knew him well, and then turned her attention to Jasmine. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Bush, but it seems that you’re having a bit of a problem?” Her eyes moved between the husband and wife.
Jasmine was glad when Hosea took the reins, and he and Pastor Griffith explained the situation. It gave her time to step back and assess this woman.
One thing pleased Jasmine—at least she didn’t have to go up against Cecelia. Word on the street was that she was ruthless, a barracuda really, who could never be trusted. Everyone believed that she was the true president—her husband was just her figurehead.
Seeing her in person for the first time, Jasmine could believe those rumors. Cecelia King was an imposing figure—standing model-tall, although she would have been on a plus-size runway. Her stance was elegant, her gestures were grand. She was in charge of the whole room, even though she was speaking to just Hosea and Pastor Griffith.
“Well, I think I can fix this for you,” Jasmine heard her say. Cecelia turned toward the desk. “The executive suite that the bishop and I reserved. Please put that in the Bushes’ name.”
Jasmine watched, astonished, as the personnel moved swiftly. With just a few clicks on the computer, new keys were made.
Cecelia faced Jasmine. “There are two suites on the top floor,” she explained. “The bishop and I took both because we wanted our privacy. But I’m more than happy to share the floor with you,” she said, handing Jasmine one of the keys.
“Thank you so much, Lady Cecelia.”
“Not a problem. We know that all things work together for good to them that love God.”
Jasmine kept her smile, though inside she frowned. That was another thing she’d heard—that Cecelia was a walking Bible, quoting scripture constantly.
Cecelia said, “This will give us a chance to get to know one another better.”
Jasmine nodded. “Definitely.” It would be a good thing for the past first lady to spend time with the present one.
Hosea and Pastor Griffith thanked her again, and like royalty, she bowed her head slightly.
“So, darlin’, you ready to go up?” Hosea asked Jasmine.
“Yes!” she breathed, relieved. “First, though, I want to check on the children.”
She turned toward the elevator, but before she could take a single step, Rachel Adams was there, blocking her path. The victorious smile that had been painted on her face just minutes before had been washed away, replaced with a confused scowl.
As the men walked ahead of Jasmine, her first instinct was to just run over Rachel, push her down to the ground. But Jasmine knew that Rachel would get up and go ghetto. That wouldn’t work for either one of them.
Brains, Jasmine, brains.
“Oh, Rachel, have you met First Lady Cecelia King?”
Cecelia extended her hand. “We haven’t had the pleasure. Nice to meet you, Rachel …” She paused, as if she wanted Rachel to say her last name.
Inside, Jasmine laughed. Cecelia had no idea who Rachel was.
With nothing but benevolence in her tone, Jasmine said, “Oh, this is Reverend Adams’s wife,” she said, purposely not giving her name.
“My name is Rachel Adams,” she said, her voice a mixture of attitude and confusion.
“Ah, yes,” Cecelia said. “So nice to meet you. We must all get together—the three of us, during this week.” Then, with just the slightest turn of her body, she dismissed Rachel. To Jasmine, she said, “I really want to show you and Hosea to your suite.”
Jasmine nodded, but Rachel did not move. Once again, Jasmine thought about just knocking the trick down. But she wasn’t going to resort to Rachel’s level and her childish games. No, she was in control and was going to stay that way.
How you like me now? Jasmine thought as she sidestepped Rachel, leaving Pastor Adams’s wife standing in the same spot,
as still as a statue, and gaping as the Bush entourage passed her by.
It was nothing but willpower that kept Jasmine from turning back and gloating. But why was she wasting her time on such thoughts, such things?
She and Hosea had been in the hotel for less than twenty minutes and already she was mixing with the most important people of this convention.
The Adamses were irrelevant. Jasmine needed to keep her mind on greater things, on her one mission, and that was to be the first lady of the Coalition by the time this convention ended.
Chapter
EIGHT
Rachel was still reeling. It had been three hours since that fiasco in the lobby and Rachel still felt like an outcast in high school. It burned her insides to watch the one woman she couldn’t stand walk away with the one woman that she admired the most. Just like they were old buddies. Rachel had done her homework on Cecelia King. She knew everything there was to know about the woman and the first lady all but dismissed her to walk off with Jasmine, of all people.
“I wonder if they already knew each other,” Rachel mumbled.
“Why are you sitting in here talking to yourself and why aren’t you dressed?” Lester asked as he appeared in the bathroom doorway. “The welcome reception has already started.”
Rachel hadn’t even realized that she’d gotten lost in thought. She leaned into the mirror, dabbed some lip gloss on, and puckered her lips to smooth it out.
“Gimme just a minute,” she said.
“Honey, you look fine, really.” He pointed to his watch. “We need to get going.”
“I have to look better than fine,” Rachel said, running her fingers through her curls once again. She loved her youthfulness, but at the same time, she wanted an air of maturity about her so that these people would take her seriously.
He leaned against the door frame, a small smile creeping up the side of his mouth. “I’m still trying to understand why all of a sudden you’re so into this.”
Rachel scooted past him as she walked into the bedroom and picked up her suit, a cute peach Kasper number she’d gotten on sale at Macy’s. “Well, good grief, I can’t win for losing. You want me to be more of a first lady, then when I try, there’s still a problem.” She held the suit up. Suddenly, visions of Jasmine strutting in with some specially designed Vera Wang outfit turned her stomach. That’s another thing that would change when she became first lady—discount shopping.
Lester waited until she slipped the skirt on, then reached out and pulled her to him. “Sweetheart, don’t get me wrong. I love this side of you, when you’re not causing mayhem.” He wrapped his arms around her waist. “I love seeing you excited about something. I love our life and I just want you to know, regardless of the outcome, I’m excited. I’m happy no matter what,” he gently said.
She patted his cheek. “Me, too, but I’ll be happier when you win.” She wiggled away and reached over to grab her suit jacket.
“Well, the kids are ready,” he said, pointing toward the sitting area of the suite.
“I know they are. That’s why I’m not.” She stopped and turned to face her husband. “We need a nanny like the Bushes have,” she said, thinking about the old woman traveling with Jasmine and Hosea. Although she didn’t look like she was playing with a full deck in that long, gnawed-off-looking mink coat, at least they had help.
“How do you know they have a nanny?”
“Didn’t you see Miss Jane Pittman, the old lady that got off the plane with them?”
“Rachel, that’s mean.”
“I can’t help it that she’s old as dirt. She probably was a secretary for Jesus.” She picked up her clutch. “But the fact remains that she was probably in there getting the Bush kids ready while Jasmine had all evening to primp. We should’ve brought a nanny.”
“We don’t have one,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Well, we should! We had to hire a freaking hotel babysitter to watch the babies tonight. Jasmine only has two kids. We have four. So getting a nanny is something we’re going to have to look into because as first lady of the ABC, I’m going to be pretty busy.”
Lester shook his head as he motioned toward the door. “Okay, sweetie, we’ll cross that bridge if we get to it.”
“Well, I’m letting you know now, that’s not open for discussion,” she said as she walked out of the bedroom.
“Yes, darling,” Lester said, following behind her. “Kids, let’s go,” he said as soon as they entered the sitting area.
Nia came barreling toward them. “You like my dress, Daddy?” she said, spinning around to show off her pink taffeta dress. Rachel loved how Lester treated Nia like a true daddy’s girl, loving her like she was his own. He treated both of her children like that and it was one of the qualities she absolutely adored about him. At the same time, he didn’t try to stop Jordan from having a relationship with his father, Bobby. They didn’t have to worry about Nia’s dad because that jerk had signed over his rights years ago and they hadn’t heard from him since.
“Yes, that dress is adorable, as are you,” Lester replied, lightly kissing Nia’s hand.
“Brooklyn and Lewis are still sleep,” she said, pointing to the toddlers who were napping in the playpen. The sitter was quietly perched next to them, engrossed in a book. “And Jordan won’t stop playing that stupid game and entratain me like Mommy said,” Nia continued.
“It’s entertain,” Jordan snapped, not glancing up from his PS2. “Learn how to talk.”
“I know how to talk!” she snapped. “But if I didn’t, at least I can fix it. You ugly forever!”
“Kids, stop that fighting,” Lester snapped. “Come on, Jordan.”
“Why I gotta go?” He pouted as he stood up. “This thing hurts my neck,” he said, pulling at the black-and-gray tie. “Why can’t I just stay here with her?” he said, pointing at the sitter.
“You don’t have to stay long,” Lester said, sighing. “But our children have to be introduced as well. Please don’t fight me on this.”
Rachel didn’t even pay attention to any of them. She’d gone back to the mirror and was surveying her reflection, debating whether she should change into the purple Donna Karan suit she was saving for tomorrow.
“You’re fine,” Lester said, as if he were reading her thoughts. “Can we please go?” He grabbed Nia’s hand and walked to the door, not waiting to make sure Rachel and Jordan were following.
The room was already packed with people, mingling and networking. An assortment of women in fancy suits and pillbox hats dotted the room, and almost every man in the room wore a black or gray suit. Rachel tried to pause in the doorway to give her family a moment to be noticed, but leave it to Lester to just walk on into the room before anyone could see them.
Lester immediately made his way over to a group of ministers who were standing around deep in conversation.
Rachel scanned the room, her eyes stopping on an elegantly dressed Cecelia King. She was standing in the center of the room, commanding that the circle of women give its full attention to her. She exuded power. Rachel found herself wondering how Cecelia would take no longer being the head Mrs. In-Charge.
Rachel was just about to head over to the circle when Cecelia walked away, Jasmine right at her side. The whole way Jasmine was clinging to the woman was sickening. The two of them stopped at the side of the room as Cecelia leaned down to shake a little girl’s hand. That must be Jasmine’s child, the way Jasmine glided to her side.
“Mommy, I’m thirsty,” Nia said, pulling on Rachel’s skirt.
“Okay, wait, I’ll get you something in just a minute.” Rachel took Nia’s hand and pulled her over to where Cecelia stood.
“Well, hello, ladies,” Rachel said, acting like she’d just bumped into them.
“Hello … ummm, Rachel, isn’t it?” Cecelia asked.
Rachel nodded, pleased that she’d remembered her name. “Yes, Mrs. King, and don’t you look lovely this evening.”
“Thank you
,” she said, running her hand down her knit royal blue skirt. “Jasmine here got the St. John memo as well.” She laughed, motioning toward Jasmine’s cream suit.
Rachel struggled to keep her smile. “Jasmine.”
“Rachel,” Jasmine replied.
“And who do we have here?” Cecelia asked, leaning down to look at Nia.
“I’m Nia,” the little girl said.
“Well, Nia, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Cecelia said, shaking her hand.
Rachel looked around for Jordan. She spotted him just a few feet away, plopped down in a seat. “That’s my son Jordan.”
Cecelia glanced his way, lost her smile, then struggled to get it back. “Is he playing a video game? Here?” she asked.
Rachel was horrified. “Excuse me for a second.” She walked over and snatched the game out of Jordan’s hand. “Boy, what are you doing? Put this thing up,” she hissed.
“Awww, Ma,” he whined.
She leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Don’t ‘aww, Ma,’ me. We’re supposed to be making a good impression, so get it together before you make me act a fool.” Rachel stood, composed herself, then walked back over to Cecelia and Jasmine.
“Boys,” Rachel said, laughing lightly. “They can be a handful, huh?”
Jasmine just looked disgusted, but at least Cecelia smiled. “They sure can.”
Rachel glanced around, a flash of panic setting in. “Where’s Nia?”
Jasmine reached over and gently touched Rachel’s arm. “She’s okay. She’s right there, getting something to drink with my daughter.” For a moment, Rachel saw something in Jasmine’s eyes, a soothing maternal spirit. But just as quickly, it was gone.
“They both were thirsty,” Jasmine said, dropping her hand and turning icy again.
Cecelia must’ve sensed the tension because she stepped in. “So, are you ladies ready for the voting?”
Rachel was just about to reply when a loud wail filled the air. All three women turned toward the sound, to see Jacqueline crying hysterically as she raced toward them. Horror filled Jasmine’s face as she noticed the big red spot on the front of Jacqueline’s dress.
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