by Gage Grayson
But this time around, I don’t believe I’m making a mistake at all.
“Doesn’t matter. It’s happening,” I state more firmly than I intended.
“Look, Henry. You’re like family to me. And nothing in the universe would make me happier than to see you find Mrs Right. But this has political scandal shit show written all over it.”
“I—we—know. We discussed it over breakfast. Look, Bea and I get what this could mean for both our careers, but I’ve never felt this way before. She looks at me the same way Mom looked at Dad—the way Julie looks at you. And when I look at her, I see the man I want to be. And you can’t tell me you wouldn’t risk your career for Julie when push comes to shove.”
“I would, but I’m also not the president of the United States.”
The silence between us lingers as Lawrence looks at me with a furrowed brow.
I understand and appreciate his concerns.
Lawrence has done more for my political career than anyone else on the planet. I couldn’t ask for a better mentor to have in my corner.
But sometimes, he’s just too protective.
“Alright. Well, if this is how it’s going to be, then we need to figure some things out.”
I feel as though the smile pulling at my lips is about to engulf my face.
“Once the press gets wind of this, and we both know they will, we’ll have to protect her from the paparazzi and everyone else,” he says before taking another drink from his water.
“Agreed. So, what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking we figure out which room of the White House we’re going to put her in. And we’re going to have to assign a security detail. She isn’t likely going to enjoy that last bit.”
“You’re probably right, but she’s smart. She knows what she’s getting into.”
“Let’s hope,” he says with a heavy sigh. “You’re a hundred percent on this?”
“I am,” I reaffirm.
“Alright then. That’s good enough for me.”
Lawrence crosses the room and embraces me in a hug that reminds me of the ones that I used to get from my father when he was happy or proud of me.
If there’s any sign that could have been handed down by the divine, this is it.
Chapter 22
Beatrice
I haven’t even put my key in the door, and I can already hear Duke on the other side whimpering in excitement.
When I do open the door, I’m nearly knocked off my feet by my overly excited four-legged companion.
“Hi, Duke! Did you miss me?”
A rough, wet tongue licking my face feverishly is my answer.
“I had to put a picture of you down by his bed so that he’d sleep at night.”
I look past Duke to my dog sitter, Jackie.
I remember meeting the quirky brunette back when I first adopted Duke from the animal shelter. She was one of the girls who looked after him since the day he arrived.
And now, she’s the only other person I trust to leave Duke alone with.
“Awww, you really did miss me,” I coo to Duke’s delight. “Thanks again for watching him, Jackie. I really appreciate it.”
“You kidding? I love spending time with Duke. He’s such a good boy.”
“He really is, isn’t he?”
Duke sits between us, looking on in approval of the compliments we’re giving him.
“Besides, your water pressure here is so much better than my place.”
I grab my suitcase off the floor and head inside the apartment. I’m fairly certain that my apartment is cleaner now than when I left it.
“Did you clean while I was gone?”
“I did. ‘Twas the least I could do.”
“You really didn’t have to do that, Jackie.”
“It’s no biggie. Besides, it kept my jealously of you at bay,” she says with a laugh.
“Jealously?”
“Yes, jealously. Not only were you overseas staying at all those swanky hotels and rubbing shoulders with world leaders, but you were there with President Thatcher. He’s quite possibly the hottest man on the planet. Can you imagine what kind of body he has hiding underneath those suits of his?”
Oh, I don’t have to imagine. I know full well what he’s packing.
“Trust me when I say it’s not all sunshine and rainbows.”
She looks at me in disbelief. I likely wouldn’t believe myself either.
The two of us share some more idle chitchat before Jackie takes her leave.
Once she’s gone, I’m left to my own thoughts, and the only thing on my mind is the night I shared with Henry—and the conversation after it.
I’m dating the President of the United States.
No matter how many times I run that sentence through my mind, it’s still so surreal.
It has all happened so quickly that it only feels like yesterday that I was working on his senate campaign.
I throw myself back against my plush sheets and comfy bed. Duke jumps up beside me and lays his head down by my face.
My head lulls to the side, and I smile as I look into his big chestnut brown eyes.
“This trip was crazy, Duke—real crazy.”
He yawns and tilts his head to the side.
“What do you think? Should I order out?”
Duke gets up and drops down to the floor.
He returns a couple moments later with a menu from Chao’s Restaurant in his mouth.
“Well, Chao’s it is then.”
I call on over to the Chinese restaurant and place my order.
With food squarely taken care of, I turn my attention to my next order of business: unpacking.
I manage to get everything unpacked by the time there’s a knock on the door.
Duke’s tail wags back and forth, hard enough that I feel like there’s a fan against my leg.
“Just a second,” I call out.
I grab some cash from my purse and make my way to the door.
When I open the door, I’m expecting to see Jimmy, the delivery boy from Chao’s, but it’s not Jimmy I see on the other side of the threshold.
It’s Hope Olivier.
She may not be carrying my Chinese food in her hands, but she does have a bottle of red wine in them.
“May I come in?”
I’m more than a bit curious as to why she’s here, and seeing as I also don’t want to be rude, I step aside to let her in.
“So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?” I ask as I shut the door.
“Well, I happened to stop by the liquor store on the way home, and I hate drinking alone,” she says as we reach the kitchen.
Both Duke and I give Hope a disbelieving look.
“Alright, let me just cut to the chase then. Do you care about Henry or not?”
Her tone is abrupt, and it, along with her question, catches me off guard.
“Yes, of course, I care about him. Why?”
Hope sets the bottle of wine down on my counter and gives me a concerned gaze.
I can’t help wondering if she’s asking out of jealousy or if this is all for official channels.
“Thatcher, Henry, isn’t just my boss. He’s also my friend. So I want to make sure that you care about him, truly care about him, and that this isn’t just some school girl crush.”
I’m a bit stunned by how straightforward Hope is, but I can understand where she’s coming from.
“This isn’t just some crush, Hope. I care about Henry. This is very real for me. It’s not some fantasy.”
My tone is every bit as serious as hers.
Then comes a reaction that I wasn’t expecting at all to come from her. Hope’s lips turn upward into a beaming smile, and her eyes seem to dance with delight.
“Good, because your world is about to be turned upside down. And I have to make sure myself that this is real for you and that you want it.”
“Damn right, I want this.”
“Perfect. Now let’s grab
a corkscrew and open this baby up,” Hope exclaims as she lifts the bottle from the counter.
I’m still a bit stunned, and I look down at Duke. His dark eyes look from Hope to me, and he lets out a soft bark.
Well, if it’s good enough for Duke, then it’s good enough for me.
My attention turns back to Hope, and I offer a smile to match hers.
“Alright. Wine and strategy it is,” I say with a light chuckle. “I hope you’re hungry. I ordered from Chao’s down the street.”
“I fucking love Chao’s. It’s the best place in Washington for Chinese. Their fried wantons are to die for.”
I stare blankly at Hope for a moment before giving my head a shake.
“Did we just become best friends?”
“That depends. Do you have a corkscrew here?”
“Yeah. Second drawer from the left.”
“Then yes, we just became best friends.”
Laughter breaks whatever tension there is between us, and Duke lets out a louder bark of approval—or at least, I think it’s approval.
There’s another knock on the door. I go to answer—hoping this time, it’ll actually be my food—while Hope goes digging for the corkscrew.
I pay Jimmy and bring the food back into the kitchen, just in time to hear the pop of the cork coming from the bottle.
Hope begins to scour my cupboards for wine glasses while I lay out food containers on my table like a miniature buffet.
“So where do we start on this?”
“Well, first, we need to figure out how we’re going to divulge all this to the press,” she says, pulling a couple of glasses down. “And then I figured, we’d start in on that moo goo gai pan.”
“Alright then. Let’s do this.”
Chapter 23
Beatrice
I open my eyes to the early morning sun in a slight panic. I was plagued with weird dreams for the entire night, and I must have slept incredibly fitfully, as well. The sheets are in a tangle around my legs, and Duke isn’t in his usual spot.
I hope I didn’t kick him in my sleep, at least.
I fumble for a glass of water next to my bed before finally getting up to do a quick pass of my morning routine.
There’s a faint whining from the other room as I compose myself, slightly slower than usual. Duke must really need to go out. With a sigh, I head to the kitchen to grab his leash and my runners.
When I arrive in the kitchen, Duke doesn’t even pay me any mind. He’s pawing and scratching at the door.
“Duke, hold your horses, buddy. That little poodle up the street probably isn’t even awake yet, so I don’t know what you’re expecting.”
His whining only grows louder. I just shake my head as I clip his leash to his collar.
“Alright, boy, let’s go.”
Once we step outside the apartment building, we’re greeted by the orange glow of the sunrise across my eyes. My lungs fill deep with the cool morning freshness. I take a moment to enjoy the lovely world around me waking me naturally, but I’m cut short by Duke yanking hard at his leash, sniffing around every inch that he can.
“Jeez, okay!” I exclaim and follow him, trying to rein him in.
He stills sniffs around at every step, peeking around nervously. He whips around with a yelp, but I don’t notice what he’s looking at until it’s too late.
“Miss Barlow, Miss Barlow!”
A yell comes from behind me. I spin around on my heel only to find a comically over-sized camera right in my face.
“Miss Barlow, can we ask you a few things?” a man to my right shouts in my face, putting a black tape recorder right into my bubble of personal space.
“I’m sorry, wha—” I begin, but a woman behind him cuts me off.
“Hello, New York Times here. You were seen with the president recently, care to make any comments?” she says with a nasal urgency.
“Ma’am, our sources say you and President Thatcher were dancing quite closely in Italy at the prime minister’s state dinner! The entire continent of Europe is buzzing with questions! We just have to hear from you!”
“The world’s favorite bachelor tied down! Care to comment?”
“Beautiful temptress seduces the cornerstone of the United States! There are rumors of you being a Russian spy! Can you verify this?”
Before I can even react, I’m swarmed with people, the shouting and flashing of lights making it so I can’t even think at all. Duke is yelping and barking, trying to keep all the paparazzi away from me.
“President’s concubine a mutt peddler? Does her dog get violent? We have the questions you wonder!” a man says into a camera.
“What the hell? Get out of here!” I shriek, trying to shoulder my way through the throng of people back to my home.
“Wait! Before you go, can we get a quick two-hour interview?” another man says as I finally break free, running with Duke back to my home.
I trip and stumble on a jutting sidewalk. I nearly fall and land on my butt, but I’m able to brace myself against a lamp post. Duke nudges my side, making sure I’m okay.
“Gorgeous but clumsy. Is the president’s new fling too dangerous to be around him?” a girl says, shoving a microphone against my lips. “You were seen dancing with him. With two left feet like that, do you think that was really wise?”
“What the hell is wrong with you people?”
With a slight shove, I get the microphones and cameras out of my face, waving my arm then giving them all a nice dose of the finger before stomping back through the door of my apartment building.
The last thing I hear before slamming it shut is, “Is the president’s new fling violent?”
I can’t even begin to express how thankful I am to live in a secure building right now.
I look down at my hand and swallow hard as it shakes uncontrollably. But it’s not just my hand shaking; it’s my entire body that’s trembling thanks to the rush of adrenaline.
At my feet, Duke whimpers. The large crowd certainly scared him just as much as it scared me.
“It’s okay, boy. There’s no way they’re getting in here.”
On the other side of the door, the horde of paparazzi and journalists are yelling to get my attention.
I take a couple of deep breaths in the hopes of calming myself and lead Duke away from the door to the elevator. I’m having to lean against the wall to keep myself from falling over.
Never in a million years would I have seen this coming just from having a dance with Henry—and thank God in heaven that they don’t know what happened later after the state dinner.
My phone is already buzzing against my kitchen table when we walk through the threshold of our home.
I ignore it as I struggle to take off Duke’s leash. Once freed, he goes straight for my bedroom, and I go straight for the fridge to grab a bottle of water. I drink about half of it in one go, but it does nothing to calm my nerves.
My gaze falls to my half empty bottle of wine on top of the fridge.
If there was ever a time to take up day drinking, now was it.
My fingers wrap about the dark green bottle, and I yank the cork from it.
The sweet red Merlot tastes amazing—but it’s not any better than the water to calm my nerves.
My phone finally stops buzzing, and I grab it off the table.
I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I pull up Hope’s number before another call comes in and dial it.
“Morning Beat—”
“Hope, I need help,” I cut her off in my panic.
“Bea, what’s going on?”
“Paparazzi. New York Times. Other tabloids. Everyone is out front of my apartment building right now. They ambushed me while I was taking Duke out for his morning walk, and now I don’t know what to do.”
“Alright. I’m on it. Don’t leave your apartment.”
She’s incredibly calm, and that does help to calm my nerves.
“Thank you.”
“Don
’t worry about it, Bea. Just grab a drink and hold tight.”
“Oh, I’m way ahead of you there.”
She hangs up on her end, and I look down at the wine bottle held tightly in my hand. My knuckles are almost white from my death grip.
I take another drink—as Hope suggested—and sit down at my table.
Now to wait.
Chapter 24
Henry
My morning workout is done, and now it’s time to settle into my presidential duties. I don’t have any meetings until later in the afternoon, but I do have a dozen briefs to read stacked on my desk.
With my coffee in hand, I waltz over to the Resolute desk and sit down in the plush leather chair. I lean back and let the strong smell of my coffee waft into my nose. It makes me smile; there’s just nothing quite like the small of fresh coffee in the morning.
Just as I lift the cup to my lips to take that first swill, the doors to the oval office swing open. Lawrence and Hope both enter with concerned looks upon their face.
“Well, I can tell today is going to start off just peachy, isn’t it?” I put my mug down and sit up in the chair.
“We have a problem with Beatrice,” Hope states.
“The press is all over her, and they are hungry,” Lawrence chimes in.
Well, fuck.
“Alright, well, we need to send someone over there. Get her out of there and bring her here. Press can’t touch her here.”
“Agreed. I’ll go get it set up,” Lawrence says before he leaves.
“I’m going to get started on press release. In the meantime, you should give her a call,” Hope says before she, too, leaves the office.
I lift the receiver from my phone and dial Beatrice’s number.
Halfway through the second ring, she answers.
“Henry?!”
I can hear the panic in her voice. She’s shaken—and still probably shaking.
Before I can answer, she starts speaking frantically. She’s talking so fast that it’s hard to keep track of what she’s saying. The only words I seem to catch are ‘trapped,’ ‘dog,’ and ‘cameras.’
“Bea, relax. You’re talking too fast. I can barely make out what you’re saying.”
“I can’t get out of my apartment, Henry!”
