by Marie Force
“Thank you. For this, for the photo of our beautiful family, for rearranging my desk and a million other things you don’t want to do that I’m going to ask of you over the next few years.”
“There’s nothing you can ask of me that’ll be too much.”
Touched by her unwavering support, he said, “Yes, there is, and I’m sure it won’t be long before I cross the line. You just have to tell me when that happens.”
“You’ll be the first to know. There’s one thing you need to remember above all else.”
“What’s that?”
“I love you more than anything, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be than wherever you are, even if you’re in the freaking Oval Office.”
“Thank you, babe. I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”
“Can’t wait to see you at five.”
“See you then. In the meantime, be safe out there.”
“I always am.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nick ended the call with a big smile on his face. Only she could’ve made him forget, even for a few minutes, about the crisis looming with the secretary of State. That crisis was front and center twenty minutes later when Ruskin came in, disheveled and clearly irritated at being summoned. He was in his mid-sixties, with gray hair that could use a combing. He wore jeans and a navy V-neck sweater over a dress shirt. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to be summoned to the White House, which was surprising.
“Pardon my appearance, Mr. President, but I wasn’t prepared to be ordered to the White House and given a time limit after having only returned home early this morning. This is all highly irregular.”
Nick stood and went around the Resolute desk to stand face-to-face with the secretary. “Do you want to know what I find highly irregular?”
“What’s that, sir?”
“This nation’s top diplomat allowing himself to be put in a highly compromising position while representing the United States in vitally important meetings with one of our most challenging adversaries. You’ve embarrassed yourself and this country.”
“See here,” Ruskin huffed indignantly as he prepared to go on a tirade.
“Stop right there. I’ve been fully briefed, and I’m well aware of what actually happened. I have no choice but to ask for your resignation.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I’ll inform the American people what you were really doing while two dozen of their fellow citizens were being held against their will by the Iranians. Do you have any idea what you put them and their families through? I know, because I was talking to their families while we tried to ascertain what was happening. At the same time, I was meeting with the Joint Chiefs about our military options.” Nick produced the printouts of the photos he’d requested for this meeting. “Meanwhile, this is what you were doing.” He held up the photo of Ruskin in the middle of a group of topless women, a drink in hand and a big smile on his face.
Ruskin stared at the photo, seeming momentarily speechless.
“Is it possible you weren’t expecting them to blackmail you in some way? Because a freaking Cub Scout could’ve seen that coming.”
“I…”
“I’ll expect your resignation by five p.m.”
“What’ll become of those photos?”
“I don’t know. I’m not the one who took them.”
Ruskin clearly didn’t like hearing that Nick had no plans to try to protect him from scandal. Why should he after Ruskin nearly caused a war with his stupidity? “How will my resignation be explained to the media?”
“That a number of President Nelson’s cabinet secretaries, including the secretary of State, have chosen not to retain their positions in the new administration.”
Ruskin’s sneer turned his face ugly. “I’m sure you’re feeling all hopped up on the power of your new office, Mr. President, but I’m afraid you’re rather naïve about the way things work in this town.”
“I’d rather be naïve than cynical, and after fifteen years of working in government, I’m confident that I know how things work. You’ve wasted enough of my time and the resources of the federal government. This meeting is over. I’ll look forward to receiving your resignation letter.”
Nick held Ruskin’s glare for a long moment before the secretary spun around and stormed out of the office. “Well, that went well.”
Terry came in a few minutes later. “How’d it go?”
“Apparently, I’m naïve and don’t understand how things work in this town.”
“I hope you told him you’re fully aware of how things work, and by now he ought to be too.”
“I told him he has until five to submit his resignation. I told him we’ll include him in the group of secretaries who’ve tendered their resignations.”
“I’m already working on replacements for all of them. We have Senator Sanford coming in.” Terry checked his watch. “In ten minutes. After that, we’re meeting with the economic and budget team and later with the congressional leadership.”
“This place is a nonstop good time.”
“You already knew that, sir.”
“Give me a minute to review the vetting on Sanford before she gets here.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be back with her when she arrives.”
He sat behind the Resolute desk to go through the files he’d been given about Sanford and Henderson. The other potential candidates on their list had indicated they weren’t interested in the position for a variety of reasons, such as family concerns and hesitation about round-the-clock security, which had narrowed their field to two.
Sanford’s illustrious career began as a prosecutor in Chicago, followed by two terms as attorney general of the State of Illinois before she ran for the Senate ten years ago. She was an influential member of the Armed Services and Foreign Relations committees, and her knowledge in both areas would be useful to him.
His party held a slim majority in the Senate, which made him somewhat reluctant to tap that body to fill the vice president opening and risk losing a seat. Which was why he was leaning more toward Gretchen Henderson, who didn’t currently hold office. She would be the far less complicated choice, not to mention she was a firebrand, popular within the party and had a bright future. The one drawback, other than the messy personal life Derek had mentioned, was that she was only five years older than him, which would make her the second-youngest vice president—after him. However, he planned to meet with both women before he decided anything for certain.
Terry returned a few minutes later, escorting Senator Sanford into the Oval Office.
Nick stood, buttoned his suit coat and went around the desk to greet her with a handshake. She was tall, with short brown hair and green eyes that were complemented by the dark green jacket she wore over black pants. “Welcome, Senator.”
“Thank you for having me, Mr. President.”
As she stepped forward to shake his hand, he caught a whiff of her perfume and had to stop himself from recoiling from Chanel No. 5, the scent his mother wore.
“Ah, please.” He desperately tried to recover from the visceral reaction he always had to that scent. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you, sir.”
One of the White House butlers came in with a tea service. He poured coffee for Nick and tea for the senator.
The White House photographer was also in the room, subtly capturing the meeting for history. Nick wanted to tell them all never mind. Though it was completely unfair to her, the scent was so triggering to him that he wasn’t sure he could bear to be around it every day. But since he couldn’t discuss that with her, he went through the motions of polite small talk as they enjoyed their beverages and the pastries the butler had brought.
“I was flattered to hear you wished to meet with me so soon, Mr. President,” Sanford said. “You must have so much on your plate.”
“I do, and at the top of my to-do list is naming a vice president.”
“Oh, I see,” Sanford said, smiling.
“Does this mean I’m on your short list?”
“You are. If you wish to be, that is.”
“Again, you flatter me.”
“Having recently served in the position myself, it’s important to me that the candidates fully understand the pros and cons of the job.” He gave her a high-level view of his perspective on being VP, having been the most recent one to hold the position, and answered a number of questions she had about how he would want to work with his vice president.
“As a senator, you’re able to move about somewhat freely, which would change as vice president. I’m not going to sugarcoat it, Senator. Being surrounded by Secret Service takes some getting used to.”
“I’m sure it does. Let me make this easy for you, sir. I’d be delighted to be chosen and would fully commit to supporting you and your agenda to the best of my ability.”
“That’s nice to hear. Thank you. And your family would be willing to accept the presence of the Secret Service?”
“I believe they would be in order for me to accept this incredible opportunity.”
They made small talk for a few more minutes before Nick stood, signaling the meeting was over. He shook hands with the senator, let her know they’d be in touch to discuss further vetting and waited for Terry to escort her from the room.
Then he went straight to the restroom located off the Oval Office to wash his hands and rid himself of the horrible scent. Here he was, president of the United States, and that particular scent still took him right back to being a young child who refused to bathe for days after a rare visit from his mother left her scent on him. He was disgusted with himself for being so wrecked and with his mother for the emotional damage she’d done to him with her callous disregard.
When he returned to the Oval Office, Terry was waiting for him. “Did something happen, sir?”
Because he couldn’t very well confess to taking an immediate dislike to the senator because she smelled like his mother, Nick said, “I didn’t really feel a connection to her.”
Terry eyed him with curiosity. He knew Nick well enough to know he rarely met anyone he couldn’t connect with in some way or another.
“What’s next?” Nick asked.
“The economic and budget team is waiting in the Cabinet Room when you’re ready.”
What did it say about him that an economic and budget meeting sounded better than staying in the room where the horrid scent remained?
Sam made it to the White House at five after five, which she considered a win. Anything less than thirty minutes late was a win in her book. She’d run home to change into the one black pantsuit she owned, as well as a hot-pink silk blouse. Running short on time, she’d done what she could with her hair and the makeup Tracy had left for her to cover the colorful bruise on her face, all the while ignoring the pervasive pain coming from her hands. Even though she was probably presentable for TV, she still felt thrown together and scattered. Hopefully, there’d be someone at the White House to help pull her together before the interview.
Lilia was waiting for her when she came in through the East Wing entrance, startled to realize that at some point over the last year, being in this hallowed place had become somewhat routine to her. That was probably a good thing since it was about to also be home.
“Welcome, ma’am.” Lilia wore a sharp black suit with white trim, a crisp white blouse and her famous pearls. Every one of her dark hairs was smoothed into the adorable bob that framed her pretty face.
“How do you always look so put together? What’s the secret to that?”
“Ah, well… I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do, and I need to know. I love clothes and shoes and accessories, but I suck at pulling off the effortless class that you do so well.”
“You look lovely.”
“I look okay. You look lovely. Maybe you could do the interview with Nick?”
Lilia laughed. “I think we’d have a little trouble getting away with that. But you’ll be glad to know that as first lady, you have access to your own hair-and-makeup team.”
“No way.” As they talked, they walked toward the West Wing through red-carpeted hallways full of artwork that told the American story, from the Revolutionary War to Reconstruction to the moon landing.
“Way. I took the liberty of scheduling them ahead of the interview in case you were interested in their assistance.”
“Hell yes, I’m interested.”
Laughing, Lilia said, “I had a feeling you might be. The president is waiting for you in the Oval Office. When you’re ready, the communications team will help prep you for the interview, which is set to film in the East Room at six thirty.”
Sam rubbed her abdomen. “My stomach hurts.”
“Can I get you something for that?”
“Only if you can get me out of this national interview about my husband becoming president and me becoming first lady.”
“I wish I could, but alas, my superpowers don’t extend to rewriting history.”
“Why did I have a feeling you were going to say that?”
In the reception area outside the Oval, they were waved in by a woman Sam recognized from Nick’s tenure as vice president.
“Nice to see you, Mrs. Cappuano,” she said.
“You as well,” Sam said.
“Jennifer,” Lilia said under her breath.
“I love you.”
As they stepped into the Oval Office, Sam stopped short at the sight of her handsome husband sitting behind the Resolute desk. Her husband, her Nick, was the president of the United States. How long would it take until this was no longer surreal? A while longer, apparently.
“Are you all right?” Lilia asked.
“Yes, but this is just… wow.”
“I can only imagine.”
Nick looked up, saw her there and smiled as he got up to greet her, and just that simply, he was back to being her husband again and not the leader of the free world.
“I’ll give you two a minute before your meeting with the communications team,” Lilia said.
“Can you sit in on the meeting?” Sam asked her.
“Of course. I’ll be back in a few.” Lilia closed the door behind her as she left the Oval.
“You look gorgeous, babe.” Nick leaned in to kiss her. “I thought Brooke wouldn’t let you wear pink?”
Her niece had a thing about any woman over the age of four wearing pink, something Brooke frequently debated with Shelby, the queen of all things pink.
“Shelby gave it to me last Christmas, and I thought it worked for the occasion, so I made a rare exception. I fully expect to hear from Brooke about my lapse.”
“For what it’s worth, I love that color on you.”
She slid an arm around him. “It’s worth a lot.”
They sat together on one of the sofas in the center of the room. “I heard we have to redecorate this room,” Sam said.
“I met with the director of Oval Office Operations earlier today and gave her some guidance.”
“I can’t believe there’s an actual director for Oval Office Operations?”
“I know.”
“What did you decide to do?”
“In an effort to send the message of bipartisan cooperation, I’m using the carpet from Ronald Reagan’s office and the curtains from George H.W. Bush’s office, along with photos of FDR, JFK, Lincoln and John McCain. I requested sculpture busts of Harriet Tubman, Martin Luther King Jr. and Susan B. Anthony.”
“I love that lineup and that you included a suffragist.”
“Just over one hundred years ago, women finally earned the right to vote, and this month, we may see the first female vice president.”
“Oh, Nick, really? That’d be amazing.”
“That’s the plan. We have two left on the short list, though one…” He shook his head as he frowned. “I don’t think she’ll work out.”
“Why?” she asked, picking up on a bigger story just from the way his body language changed
so profoundly.
“You’ll think it’s ridiculous. Hell, I think it is.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“She wears Chanel No. 5.”
Sam winced, immediately understanding his point. “That’s not ridiculous. That’s self-preservation. If you really liked her, I’m sure there’s something that can be done, like telling her you’re allergic to perfume or something.”
“That’s true. I suppose I could do that if she’s the top contender at the end of the process. I really did like her, and it wouldn’t be fair to disqualify her because of something that’s not her fault.”
“If there’s anything I can do to make this easier on you, I’m your girl.”
With his arm around her, he leaned his forehead against hers. “My very best girl.”
They were still there, lost in a stolen moment to themselves, when a knock on the door had them moving apart.
“Come in,” Nick called. “Someone must’ve given them a heads-up that you were in here, and they know better than to barge in when you’re here.”
Sam laughed at that. “Probably so.”
Trevor came in with several other people, including Christina Billings, or Christina Gonzales now.
“Did I tell you Christina agreed to be my press secretary?” Nick asked.
“You didn’t. Congratulations, Christina.”
“Thank you. I think. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the last few days, as I’m sure you are as well.”
“The head spins,” Sam said as the others took seats on the sofas and the chairs. “What’ll you do with Alex?”
“He’s back with Angela as of tomorrow,” Christina said of her and Gonzo’s son. “Thank goodness she was able to take him.”
“I’m sure she’s thrilled,” Sam said. “She’s missed him.”
“All right, everyone,” Trevor said, his curly hair out of control as usual. After he introduced the communications team to Sam, he said, “Let’s get to work preparing for the interview. The number one question we’ve received from the media since you were sworn in is about you being the youngest president in history.”
“It’s incredible to me that with all the problems this country has, that’s their top question,” Nick said.
