by Kathy Myme
That clearly isn’t true.
“You’ll apologise tomorrow?” David asks again, his hand on my knee.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Veronica.” He’s using his hardass Mr President voice. It’s intimidating, but… kinda hot. I have to admit it.
“Fine,” I say, done with this conversation. “I’ll see Amber tomorrow.”
“That’s my good girl,” David answers, grinning. “Now… come here and kiss me.”
Thankfully, ‘the next day’ means that I don’t have to think about doing it the next morning. Like he’s some kind of psychic - or maybe just a control freak - David has left my itinerary for this morning remarkably free.
I’m eating breakfast in one of the big dining rooms when I see a familiar face approach my table.
“Mr Andrews,” I say, smiling up at him. “It’s been a while.”
My old boss… for all of half a day. Our meeting feels like years and years ago now, even if it’s really not so long at all. He’s not looking as immaculate as he did the last time I saw him.
“Veronica, sweetie,” he says, putting a hand on my arm. “How are you?”
“Good, thanks.” I motion at the chair next to me. “Do we have something to discuss?”
Andrews and David are always holed up together, working on the administration’s public image. If he’s come to see me… is there something I need to know about?
“Oh, nothing serious,” he says, smiling broadly as he takes the seat.
His smile is just as practiced as David’s, but unlike the President’s, something about it feels forced. When David smiles, he lights up the whole room. Andrews doesn’t have that ability.
“Has David convinced you to lecture me?” I ask.
“Lecture you? About what?”
“Amber. As in, Amber the wife of Senator Jaden. She’s really pissed off at me.” I make a face.
Andrews tilts his head. “Did you do something to her?”
“She was talking trash about me,” I explain. “I stopped her. But David has informed me that I’m not allowed to have a spine. It doesn’t look good for him politically.”
I’m expecting Andrews to give me a lecture too. He is the Press Secretary, after all. He might be the most knowledgeable person about how important it is to get someone’s good opinion.
But instead, he shakes his head and shoots me a look of sympathy. “David Shepard is a control freak. I’m not surprised he’d ask you to apologize.”
My jaw nearly drops to the floor. “What, really? You’re on my side?”
“The man is a born politician,” Andrews agrees. His hand is still on my arm, his fingers patting my shoulder blade. “When it comes to control, he’s obsessed with having things his way. And, if you don’t mind me saying, you’ve really thrown a spanner in the works.”
“You think?”
“You’re unpredictable, Veronica,” he laughs deeply. “David is probably worried that you’ll end up wrestling with Amber on live TV or something. Or trash-talking her to the press.”
“I would never-”
“Oh, I know that. And you know that. David probably knows it too. But he can’t stand knowing there’s a possibility you might get in the way of his control-freak plans. That you might step a toe out of line.”
“So why is he asking me to apologize?”
“So he knows that you can be controlled.” Andrews taps a finger on the side of his head.
It makes sense, but I don’t like it. Would David really do that to me? Would he make such a big fuss about something like this just to prove a point?
But… it could be true. I’ve seen how David behaves in front of the cameras. He’s got the acting skills of a professional, as cool as a cucumber. He knows how to manipulate people. To get them to feel the way he wants.
That’s why he makes such a good president.
A tiny seed of resentment threatens to sprout inside of me. Whatever has happened between David and me… has it really changed him that much? After he flew to Cali just so he could apologize to me, he’d told me he could have me and also stay in control.
But maybe all that meant is that… he’d figured out a way to control me.
“You look worried,” Andrews says. “Are you?”
I shrug. We’re still in a busy dining room and I can’t lose my cool here. “I’m… fine.”
He doesn’t look so convinced. “Veronica… you don’t have to act around me.” He runs a hand through his hair, chuckling. “Remember, I know your secrets. I’m in on the act.”
“It’s just… people are still watching us here,” I explain.
“Then why don’t we go somewhere a little more private?” he offers.
“Private?”
“You seem to have a lot on your mind,” Andrews says softly. “Especially when it comes to the President. I’m more than willing to listen to any concerns you might have.”
“So you can report back to David?” That’s the last thing I want.
He spreads his hand over his heart. “It’ll be between us. Scout’s honor, ma’am.”
Should I really be doing this? I’m not sure. It feels… weird to share my thoughts about all of this with someone else, especially someone who’s not David.
But Andrews is the only one around who knows the truth.
“Then let’s talk.” I agree before I can change my mind.
David
My phone buzzes and I read the message.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have an urgent meeting,” I say. The men in the room nod and murmur, but before anyone can stop me I’m up and out.
I walk quickly through the White House, down the lesser-used corridors. Then, after checking to make sure no one else is around, I enter one of the unused offices in the basement.
Miss Robertson is waiting for me, sitting on the desk. As I enter, she stands. “Mr President.”
“You’ve got something for me?”
She opens a folder and I walk over and take a look.
“I’ve gone through every photo the blackmail sent you, and cross-referenced them with the ones the leaker sent to the press.”
I nod, looking at all the photos in the folder. The pile is as thick as a book.
“Now most didn’t have anyone in the background, or sometimes just part of an arm or hand,” she continued. “But in those that did, I recorded who was in them.”
“Good,” I reply, staring at the photo of me on Veronica. The leak that had got me into trouble in the first place. “And?”
“Well, just going on the ones printed in the press, I ruled out basically everyone. Your entire inner circle, the cabinet, all the upper White House officials.”
I frowned. To have access to the information the leaker had, they would have to have been someone close to me. This was looking like a dead end.
“So I went through just the blackmail photos,” Miss Robertson continued. “I figured maybe the ones in the press weren’t from the same leaker, or they could have had another source. But the blackmail photos-”
“Of course,” I cut in. “The blackmail ones are the only ones we are certain came from the leaker.”
“Exactly.” Miss Robertson nodded. “And so I narrowed it down to seven people.”
Seven people. This was incredible news. For months, I’d been scrambling to find the leak and now it was just one of seven people.
“We can work with that,” I say. “Okay, so let’s-”
“I’m not quite done yet, sir,” Miss Robertson says with a faint smile. “Now, if you look at this photo here…”
She passes me a photo of Veronica and I in the hallway.
“What about it?”
“In the background, you can see the French Ambassador, see?”
I look closely. “Yeah, and?”
“Well, I remember working late that day because your cabinet were all at a party meeting in New York. I had to stay late to wait for them to get back and get some footage of t
hem for some online content we were pushing out. I bumped into the French Ambassador and had a chat with him over coffee to kill some time.”
I nod. I think I see where she’s going, but she’s talking so fast I don’t want to interrupt.
“So, given that none of your cabinet were in the White House that day, it can’t have been any of them.”
“How many are we left with then?”
“Three.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Three?”
Miss Robertson smiles. “For now. One of those three is the Vice President.”
I smile. The Vice President was on the other side of the country, hiking in the middle of the wilderness. “I think his alibi is well and truly airtight,” I reply.
“That’s what I figured,” she says. “Which leaves two.”
“Who are they, I ask?”
“Andrews and Jackson.”
I freeze. That doesn’t seem possible. Andrews has been helping me deal with the press since I started my campaign, and Jackson… Well, to be honest, I hadn’t even considered him. He’d been on my security detail since I was elected, and who knows what he could have overheard.
“That’s as far as I got I’m afraid,” Miss Robertson says. “I have rounded up all the press clippings with photos of them for you to have a look at, but it seems like they both appear multiple times. Here.”
She passes me another folder, filled with printouts. I flip through. They are all articles with information and photos leaked by the leaker. I flip through them, one by one.
At first, it seems like neither of them could be behind it. And then I realize it.
One of the photos is at a public event, and the angle is one I’ve seen before. “Does this photo look like it was taken by a reporter?”
Miss Robertson looks at it. “I think so, that’s what the photos from the press usually look like at that door.”
I flip through a few more. “This one too.”
“And this one, and this one as well,” she says, checking some more.
“Oh, that is clever,” I say. “Our leaker has been sending in photos of me with them in the background to hide their identity. Only they’ve not taken those photos, they’ve stolen them from the press.”
“What, you think these photos have just been stolen off other news articles?”
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Or they’ve had someone take them for them, but either way it doesn’t matter.”
Miss Robertson looks through the last of the photos, a look of surprise on her face. “Then that means, the leaker is…”
“Uhuh,” I say, heading for the door. “That son of a bitch.”
Veronica
“I’ll wait for you here, ma’am,” Jackson says to me, standing outside the sitting-room door.
“Sure.”
I’ve taken Andrews back to my East Wing residence. It seems like the quietest place to have a chat, away from prying eyes and eager ears.
We sit down on the plush couch, sinking back into it. It’s at times like these when I remember just how much all this furniture is probably worth… I bet I’d never be able to afford half of it even if I saved up for years.
“What did you want to talk about, Veronica?” Andrews asks, his voice perfectly patient.
“So…” I sigh, not sure where to begin. “I’m just not sure where this is going.”
“Where what is going?”
“This thing,” I say, gesturing around us, “between David and me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“When you said that David is trying to control me… I feel like you’re right.” My voice is a quiet whisper, like my whole body is reluctant to confess my thoughts. Like I’m trying to stop myself. “And there’s something else… something I’ve been thinking for a while…”
“What is it?” Andrews looks relaxed, but underneath it all I see a glimpse of eagerness. He wants to know more.
And why wouldn’t he? This is the hottest American scandal, maybe ever.
“What if David only flew out to see me in Cali that day because he was worried about his ratings?” I can’t get the thought of it off my mind. “Surely it wouldn’t have looked good if his First Lady had gone missing, especially not after he’d announced our engagement.”
Andrews is quiet.
I’m not sure what to make of his silence, so I take that as an invitation to continue. “What if that’s all he’s cared about, this whole time? His ratings?” Even though he’s spending most nights in my bed. Even though he’s told me there’s something between us, I can’t shake this horrible sinking feeling. “What if the President is using me for public approval?”
I want Andrews to say something in loud objection. To tell me I’m wrong. But instead, he simply sighs and places his arms behind his head.
“Veronica…” he murmurs.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry… but isn’t what you just said obvious?”
The question hits me like a freighter train. “Huh?”
“Your ‘relationship’ with the President, if you can call it that, was only ever started with David’s approval ratings in mind.”
“I know,” I say, somewhat impatiently, “but things have changed. We’ve… we’ve gotten closer.” A tinge of red stains my cheeks.
But Andrews looks unmoved. “I’m sorry, Veronica. But I’m David’s press secretary. We devise strategy together. I know how he thinks.” He looks apologetic. “Nothing has changed. Your relationship is a professional one, even if lines have been blurred on your end. David thinks of you as a means to get more approval.”
“No. That’s not true.” My words are rushed, tripping over themselves. “He… sleeps in my bed, Andrews. I think the lines are more than just blurred. They’re broken.”
I’m waiting for Andrews to back down. To change his opinion.
He doesn’t.
“The President has told me that the two of you share a bed,” Andrews says, entirely unsurprised. “You might both be enjoying the… the unique situation you’re both in, but believe me. A ruse is still a ruse. You’re both living a lie.”
“It’s not a lie.”
“Oh, but it is,” Andrews replies. “The two of you aren’t really engaged, Veronica. The ‘history’ you have… the ‘future’ you both want to share… it’s all made up. Most of it by me and my PR team. It’s all designed to give David better press.”
I feel like my world is falling apart around me. Have I been this stupid? Really? I thought… things had changed. I thought that David and I had found something real.
But Andrews knows everything. David has clearly kept him informed with all the juicy details like our relationship is nothing but a business report. Has any of this been true? I… can’t have been played like a fool this whole time, can I?
“Then why would he lie to me?” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “Why would he make me think… any of this is real?”
Andrews doesn’t bat an eyelid. “It’s always been part of the plan, I’m afraid. If you’re having real feelings for David, then the public will pick up on that. The last thing we wanted was for someone to realize this has all been fake.”
No. No, no, no, no, no.
I’m an idiot.
There’s something wet on my face. Tears, I realize eventually. I’m curled up on the couch, sobbing my heart out.
“When David came to Cali,” I sniff, on the edge of being hysterical, “he told me that all of this meant something.”
“He wasn’t lying, technically,” Andrews says. “It means good ratings for him.”
I can’t hold it in any longer. I’m sucking in air in short, shallow gasps like every breath is my last. It feels like I’m drowning. Like water has filled me from the inside out and it’s threatening to choke me until I’m dead.
If I make any more noise, Jackson is going to assume I’m being assassinated and burst in here all guns blazing.
“I’m sorry, Veronica,” Andrews tells me.
I guess even he is feeling a little bad for me. I probably look terrible, my cheeks stained with a flood of tears as I sniff to stop my nose running.
“Why… why are you even telling me this, then?” I ask him.
Andrews is David’s man. If this is all true, I don’t understand why he’d just spill this kind of secret to me. Especially when it’s pretty much obvious that I’m not going to take it well.
“I…” Andrews looks hesitant.
“What?” I want my voice to come out snappy. To come at him with all the aggression he deserves. But instead I just sound weak and watery, like I’m one more shock away from deflating like a balloon.
“I just… I feel for you, Veronica,” he says, giving me a sad look. “If I were in your position, I’d want to know.”
Once more, his hands are on me. This time Andrews is squeezing the side of my leg, his thumb running along the tights I’m wearing. His touch feels… off, I think. It’s not meant to be comforting. It’s something else.
But I’m not thinking about that right now. All I’m thinking about is my world crashing down around me.
Shame burns in my chest, hot and unrelenting. After all… hadn’t David made it very clear at the beginning how this was going to go? ‘I don’t do girlfriends’. All along, I’ve been fighting a losing battle.
And you know what’s worse? I hadn’t even realized I was losing.
“Veronica,” Andrews says, interrupting my thoughts, “if there’s anything I can do for you…”
I blink at him through my tears. “Get me away from here. Now.”
All I want to do is go home. I want to hug my dad, jump underneath the covers of my bed, and never watch the news again. The sight of David’s face right now makes me feel sick.
“I’m sure you’re very upset,” he says, nodding. But he doesn’t get up to act on my request. Instead, he leans forwards. “It’s only natural for you to feel… the way you’re feeling right now.”
“Yeah.” I don’t really want to talk about it. Not ever.
“Listen, Veronica.” Andrews is very close to me right now. My instinctive reaction is to shuffle backwards and regain some space, but when I do he shuffles forwards with me. “Messing around with David Shepard… well, it was never a good idea.”