by Tara Sue Me
I suck in a deep breath at his casual words, and involuntarily my gaze wanders to the agent at the door. He’s still looking the other way, without the tiniest trace of a smirk on his lips. However, I don’t have to look twice at Navin to know he’s got a smirk the size of Texas on him.
“I hate you,” I say, and he laughs. “Really, I do.”
“I know you do, Madame President, but unfortunately, we’re stuck together for at least the next four years.”
Don’t remind me, I want to say. This is why I’d decided not to get involved with a man while I’m in the White House. There’s no time available for me to deal with this.
“Look.” He reaches out to touch me, but I jerk away. “I already apologized and said it wouldn’t happen again. I don’t know what else you want me to do.”
“Maybe I didn’t want your apology,” I tell him. “And maybe I didn’t want you to promise it wouldn’t happen again. Did you ever think about that?”
“Do you want it to happen again?” His smirk is gone now, and for some reason that makes me sad.
“No, I don’t want it to happen again,” I say. He looks hurt for a split second, and I want to tell him that’s not it, I’d love for it to happen again, but it can’t simply because of who we are and the jobs we have. Instead, I tell him, “It can’t happen again. Regardless of what I want.”
I feel as if we’ve already had this conversation before and I wonder how many times we’ll have it in the years to come. I’m not sure I can deal with it for that long.
“Maybe you should ask George for a transfer?” I suggest to him. I expect him to object, or to at least look saddened at the thought of not seeing me every day.
He shakes his head and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Won’t work.”
“You’ve already asked him?” I don’t want that to be the case, but the more I think about it, the more sense it makes. The two of us have clashed heads from day one. Of course he’s asked George for a transfer. He probably asked for one after the UK trip when I first ripped into him.
He shakes his head. “It won’t change anything. I’m here for the long haul.”
I want to feel relief at his words, but there’s a sadness in the way he says them that won’t allow me that satisfaction. I realize I’m in so deep, the only option I have is to grab hold of the closest thing to me and hang on tight.
But how could that work when he was the closest thing to me?
“In that case,” I say, able to sound clam due to years of pushing my emotions and feelings down, pretending they don’t exist, and playacting. “We should come up with a plan.”
Navin isn’t paying attention to anything I’m saying. “My, God,” he says. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?”
He comes closer to me and tilts my chin up with two fingers. “Swallow all the emotion you feel. It’s like you can turn everything off with a snap of your finger.” He peers into my eyes, and I feel silly for worrying about what he finds there. “It’s not healthy, you know?”
“Neither are fast food and candy, yet people keep eating them.” He still has his fingers under my chin and I don’t move because I like the way he feels when he’s touching me.
He chuckles and drops his hand. The absence of his touch leaves my body cold. “Yes,” he says. “We do need a plan. What do you suggest?”
I don’t like any part of my plan, but it’s the only thing to do. “That we don’t allow ourselves to be alone together. That we move forward like this never happened. We do the GBNC series, and we work together like professionals.”
“You think it’ll be that easy, Madame President?” he asks.
“I never said it would be easy. I said it was the best thing to do in order to ensure we don’t continue down this path.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re admitting it’ll be difficult for you to act as if you don’t want to jump my bones?”
“You are such an ass. You do know that, don’t you?” I spin around and head to the door, making sure to keep my balance this time.
“I have been told that a time or two,” he says, falling in place beside me.
As we walk back to the main part of the White House, it occurs to me Navin and I aren’t very different. I may shove my emotions to the side, but he acts like a jerk to hide his.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Him
White House Library
Washington DC
We’re in the library again, but this time we’re surrounded by people. There is a list of questions in my lap, handwritten by me last night. A handful are leftovers from the first interview we did, but I trashed some of those and added a few new ones. Based on our previous interview, I doubt we’ll get through all of them, but that’s no longer an issue.
GBNC and the White House have agreed to do an additional four interviews. The television execs wanted more, but the White House refused. They actually used that phrase when they gave me the rundown, “the White House.” Like everyone doesn’t know they’re really saying, “President Anna Fitzpatrick will only agree to four more.” I guess they think it sounds better and less accusatory if the blame is thrown on an inanimate object.
Even though GBNC wanted six more, I think four is a reasonable compromise. Especially since the White House asked for the questions to be sent over ahead of the interview and I told George he better not agree to that. If Anna were to get her hands on the questions before the interview, she’d prepare her answers ahead of time and would come across like a robot. I know this from experience.
It’s been a week since the kiss-that-must-not-be-mentioned happened in this very room. I wonder if Anna’s thinking about it? I can’t tell from my current position because I can’t see her eyes. At the moment, she’s talking with the GBNC director, and laughing at something he just said. He has some sort of connection with someone on her staff. I don’t know the details of what they’re discussing, because I’m not paying them any attention. Or I’m trying not to, anyway. The director is a family man, I know he’s not coming onto Anna. I just don’t like her talking with other guys, even when they’re both simply doing their jobs.
The thought suddenly hits me like a ton of bricks that it’s been weeks since I’ve thought about a leak on Anna’s staff. When I first stepped into the White House in January, I had a goal, a plan, and a purpose. Now, frankly, I was little more than dead weight. Worse, I’ve all but turned into the exact type of person I despise: one of Anna’s groupies.
I could punch the wall at that realization, but I don’t. I’m not stupid enough to break or bust anything in the White House. With my luck it’d end up being an antique gift some country gave the United States a hundred years ago and its absence would be the spark setting things up for World War Three.
I’ll simply wait until I get home tonight. The building has a gym for its residents and I believe I remember seeing boxing equipment. Maybe it was time I started working out my frustrations boxing in the gym instead of jerking off in the shower.
The director walks over to me and smiles. “We’re ready to get started whenever you are.”
I want to hate him because he was talking with Anna and making her laugh. As many times as we’ve talked, which may not be that many, but is still more than the two of them have, I’ve never made her laugh that much.
“I was waiting for the two of you to finish your conversation,” I say, and level my eyes at him. “I’ve been ready.”
He’s relatively new to the GBNC network and, unfortunately for him, acts intimidated by me. I’m not above using that to my advantage whenever possible.
He looks over my head to Anna. “I’ll go let President Fitzpatrick know.”
I don’t reply. Seriously, was he trying to imply I was holding everyone up? I’m the only one in place. I need to wipe the scowl off my face before Anna gets over here. She’ll see through me in five seconds.
I take a deep breath and see Anna walking my way. I stand to g
reet her. “Madame President,” I say. “Thank you for agreeing to a few more interviews.”
“My pleasure,” she says, even though I know she’d rather not be doing this, and the only reason she’s agreed is because the American people are so enthralled with her, even those who didn’t vote for her. She won the election with fifty two percent of the electoral votes and fifty one percent of the popular vote. However, her approval ratings continue to rise every month.
I made no secret concerning my doubts about her ability to bring change, but she’s making progress. Even though there’s still a massive amount of work left, she’s doing a better job of getting Congress to work together than anyone before her.
When she first met with the Democrat and Republican leaders, she told them the next four years would go one of two ways. They could join with the other to oppose her and get nothing done, or they could join with her and together they could become the instigators for real change. She asked them to consider which option their constituents would prefer. So without the bipartisan power plays, work was actually able to take place.
She takes a seat and smooths her skirt. I straighten my back and slip into my television persona. Maybe I’m not as different from Anna as I thought. After all, don’t we all wear masks at some point in our lives?
“Thank you all for joining us at GBNC,” I say, smiling at the camera when I’m told to start. “We’re at the White House, for what is the first of an additional four interviews with the enigma that is President Anna Fitzpatrick.”
I shift slightly to face her better, reminding myself the entire time to be more self-aware today when I’m with her than I was the last time. Unlike the interview we had in the GBNC studios, these next four will be at the White House and the lights are not dimmed like they were then.
“Thank you again, President Fitzpatrick.” I flash her a smile and she simply nods in return. “I recognize how busy you are, and we truly appreciate you taking the time to sit down with us so we can get to know you better. Tell me what you think when people say you’re an enigma?”
She laughs softly and I’m reminded of my thoughts only minutes before about how rarely I made her laugh. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t count making her laugh in the middle of an interview. However, since I was behind the director to begin with in that race, I decide all bets are off, and it counts.
“What do I think?” she asks. “I think people need to read more mystery novels if that’s what they’re looking for. There’s nothing mysterious about me.”
“I guess the American public and I will have to agree to disagree with you, Madame President.”
“Why you? Do you think I’m an enigma, Mr. Hazar?” she surprises me by asking back. It’s not unheard of for the interviewee to get a question or two in, but Anna didn’t ask me any questions during the last interview. Silly me, expecting her to behave the same. I wonder if she thought to trip me up by asking me a question or two?
Anna’s smart, though, it wouldn’t make her look good if she tried to make me mess up. She had to have something else in mind when she asked. I look in her eyes, and like I’d recently discovered, the answer is there waiting for me. Today, her eyes are a bit flirtatious, and as soon as I realize that, I know where she’s going.
Our previous interview was so well received because of the so-called chemistry between us. Anna is working that angle now. She’s tipping the scales toward fun. Preforming a chemistry experiment, one might say.
I grin in agreement and we’re off.
Two hours later, I’m still in the library. Anna left when the interview ended, over an hour ago, but I stayed behind to chat with the guys from GBNC as they packed up. That’s one reason, anyway. The other is to talk with George to hear his thoughts on how today’s interview went. At the moment, he’s in a far corner talking with Nicole. Trying to work out a time for the next interview.
GBNC doesn’t plan to schedule when they’ll run the set of four interviews until filming is complete. Probably because of the very thing George and Nicole are discussing now. How to fit one more thing into Anna’s already packed schedule.
They must finally agree on something because Nicole nods and writes something down in the binder she always has with her. I asked Anna once why her secretary didn’t use a tablet. Her nonreply didn’t leave me with warm fuzzies about the state of our national security.
“How do you think it went?” I ask George as he walks across the room to me. I, personally, think it went even better than the last one, but I want to hear as much from his lips.
“Good job, Navin,” he says. “You really pulled it off today. Repeat that three more times and Rainer might not grit his teeth every time he hears your name.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Her
White House Library
Washington DC
Two weeks after our second additional interview, I walk into the library where everything and everyone is ready and waiting for me so we can tape the third. I’m late to arrive. I hate it, but there are more important things on my plate than this.
“Sorry I’m late, everyone.” I really don’t even have to apologize, but I’d feel rude if I didn’t. However, that’s as far as I go. I don’t explain anything or tell anyone why I’m late. They know the truth as well as I do. Navin is already sitting down in place and that’s where I head.
He grins as I take my seat. “You look lovely today, Madame President.”
I raise an eyebrow and wonder what he’s up to. “Thank you, Mr. Hazar, but you have already seen me once today.” First thing this morning, to be exact, at my standing Wednesday press briefing. He’d asked me a pointed question about my plan to revise our healthcare system.
“Yes, but I didn’t have the opportunity to compliment you on your appearance.”
“That’s quite all right. I’d much rather have someone’s attention for my brain than the way I look.” I’m hoping that’ll be enough small talk, and we can get started, but so far I don’t see anyone moving in that direction.
“Spoken exactly like an intelligent woman who has no idea how gorgeous she really is.”
“I know what this is now,” I say. “What is it you want to ask me?”
He exaggerates a shocked face. “Why do you think I want to ask you something?”
“Because everyone is standing around, waiting for you to finish talking and if it wasn’t anything important, they’d tell you to shut it.”
The few people within hearing distance chuckle.
“Not only are you beautiful and intelligent, you have keen powers of observation as well.”
“You’re stalling and I’m pressed for time as it is.” I want to tell him that if he’s struggling that much to ask the question, the answer is no, but there’s always a small chance I might not hate what he’s getting ready to ask.
“The network would like for the last interview to be filmed live.”
It’s not what I’m expecting him to ask and I don’t know why he thought it was such a big deal. I’ve done a lot of live events. Debates being the first to come to mind. How different can an interview be? “I don’t have an immediate reason to say no. Why don’t we plan for it and if something comes up before then we can schedule like we’d planned?”
His shoulders slump in relief. Damn, he really thought I’d turn the idea down. Interesting. “Thank you, Madame President,” he says with a glance over to the production crew and everyone hops up and gets to work. With a light-hearted look back at me, he asks, “Are you ready?”
“As much as I could be prepared to be drilled by you.” I don’t realize what I said until he sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Not that you’re going to do that or anything.”
“Damn it, Anna.” His nostrils flare, but he speaks under his breath. “Fuck,” he says in a whisper of a voice. I can’t see his crotch from where I’m sitting, but he shifts in his seat, adjusting himself. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
The GBNC employees getting in
place and positioning their equipment are oblivious to Navin’s problem. “Ready boss?” one of them asks.
Navin gives the guy a thumb’s up while glaring at me.
“I didn’t mean…” I start, but it’s too late, and my voice trails off as his transforms into television Navin.
“Hello, everyone,” he says, in the voice that has gotten him into living rooms across the nation. It manages to be sexy, smooth, and confident at the same time. It also sends shivers down my spine. “Thank you for spending time with us at GBNC. I’m Navin Hazar, and with me is President Anna Fitzpatrick for the third of our planned four interviews.”
My heart’s pounding for some reason. I’m not sure why, it didn’t do this the other times we interviewed.
“And thank you, Madame President,” he says to me. “For taking time out of what I know is a busy schedule to meet with me. I know it’s hard for you.”
I tilt my head, his expression doesn’t change, and a quick look to the crew shows they didn’t hear anything out of sorts. The emphasis on the last three words must have only occurred in my mind.
“I promise it was no hardship,” I say.
“Last time we talked about your childhood and growing up in middle America,” he says, and I nod in agreement. “Today, I thought we’d take a look at a different area of your life.”
I assume he’ll pick up where he left off and we’ll discuss my college and law school days. Perhaps chat a little about Harvard.
That’s not the direction he takes, however.
“Not only are you the first female to serve as President, you are the first president since James Buchanan, who was the fifteenth, to be single. Why do you think that is?”
“I’m not sure of the question, I’m afraid.” My body is stiff as I answer. “Are you asking me why Buchanan never got married, why so few single people have sought the office of president before me, or do you want to know why I’m single?”
