Madame President Page 15

  I don’t like this line of questioning one bit, and this is the exact reason I requested to see the questions beforehand, so I could shoot down ones like this. The production crew looks a bit confused as well, and it occurs to me that even though I may not have received the questions, they more than likely did. From the shrugged shoulders and flipping pages, I observe, Navin has gone off script.

  Because of the drilled remark? Really, is he going to be that petty?

  “I think I answer for all of America when I say I don’t really care about James Buchanan. Why are you still single?” he asks. “Are you trying to make a statement?”

  I’m determined not to let him know how much his line of questioning bothers me. “Why does anyone remain single?” I ask him back. “I haven’t found the right one yet. Why are you still single? You’re a good looking man with a steady job and you speak in complete sentences, why hasn’t some woman snapped you up?”

  “I doubt the people watching care all that much about my marital status,” he says. The look in his eyes tell me he is not happy with my attempt to deflect the attention and focus of the interview. Too damn bad. He should have thought about that before he started down this path.

  “I wouldn’t sound so sure about that, Mr. Hazar.” I can’t hold back the grin I feel. “I’d bet more than one or two of the single ladies at home watching are more than a little interested in what it’d take to win the heart of a certain news anchor.”

  “In that case, I’ll be sure to ask Gabe the next time I see him.”

  “Touche, Mr. Hazar.”

  He only smiles. “Following onto that question, you’re thirty-six, which means you’ll be forty after your first term and if re-elected, you’ll be forty-four at the end of your second. What are your thoughts about children?”

  I roll my eyes and try to play off the question. “Have you been talking with my mom? She’s always bugging me about giving her grandkids.” When he doesn’t reply, I continue. “I’ve always thought it best for children to be raised in a home with two parents. I understand there are any number of reasons and circumstances that prevent that from happening, but I would prefer to be married before even thinking about bringing children into the world.”

  I hope that’s the last question he has concerning either children or marriage, but of course I’m not that fortunate.

  “Since you’re thirty-six now,” he says. “If you were to meet Mr. Perfect during your term as president, can we expect to see a White House wedding, maybe followed by baby news?”

  “No,” I’m quick to reply. “I made a decision before I announced my intention to run that if I won, I wouldn’t actively pursue any sort of romantic relationship. Which also means no White House baby.”

  His eyes widen. “Really?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Sorry, Mom.” Several members of the production crew laugh. Navin does not. In fact, he does nothing, so I continue, “I knew I could be a mother and President at the same time, but I also knew I couldn’t be great at both, not at the same time, anyway. It just so happened when the opportunity presented itself, I was recently out of a long term relationship and wasn’t looking for another. There was a need in Washington I knew I could fill. The decision seemed to have worked itself out.”

  “That sounds rather lonely, Madame President.”

  “Being alone does not make one lonely,” I tell him. “In fact, some of the loneliest people I’ve met are those often viewed as the life of the party.” I level my gaze at him because I’ve had enough. “No more questions about either my marital status or children. One more and this is over.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Him

  White House

  Washington DC

  Hours after the interview ends, Anna’s words still echo in my head.

  “Being alone does not make one lonely. In fact, some of the loneliest people I’ve met are those often viewed as the life of the party.”

  I know she wasn’t talking about me specifically, but she could have been. I’m rarely by myself, and yet there are relatively few people who I would say know the real me. Gabe comes to mind. Sunshine in her own little way. And, surprisingly enough, Anna. For some reason, I find it easy to be myself when I’m with her.

  Strange is how I would label my relationship with the President. It’s not like any relationship I’ve ever had with a woman.

  I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I’ve never had a long-term relationship. Sure, there are a few women I took out more than once. But it wasn’t due to a desire to get to know her on a deeper level. It was simply to take the hard work out of sex.

  I acknowledge how shallow that sounds, but if you think about it the way I do, it’ll make sense. Let’s face it, it can be hard work to find someone you’re sexually compatible with. Then try to find someone who shares your preferences concerning frequency, positions, and willingness to try new things. It can be close to impossible. So yes, when I find a woman who matches me in two or more of those areas, I’ll do my best to keep her happy for a while. I don’t think that makes me an asshole, just someone who knows what he likes.

  But if that makes me shallow, then I guess I’m shallow.

  The problem with dating that way, though, is the relationship can never last past a few weeks. By the time you hit the two week mark, women get clingy. She’ll start talking about being exclusive and she’ll want to stay over more. I don’t like thinking about sharing my space with someone. Truthfully, I’ve yet to find anyone I want to be around that much of the time.

  I’m not sure I have it in me to do long term. I’m too set in my ways. I like things done a certain way, and I hate to cuddle.

  But at the end of the day, it’s like Anna said, I’m not just alone, I’m lonely.

  By her own admission, that’s not the way it is with her. Anna might be alone, but she’s not lonely. I wonder if that’s true or if she’s only sprouting words and hoping by saying them she can somehow make them true?

  I stand up and walk out of my office, determined not to think about Anna anymore tonight. Some of the single guys on the Press Pool have mentioned a bar not too far away they like to frequent. Thursday’s are a busy night, surely I can find someone to share a drink or two. Maybe make our way to a nearby hotel.

  I take a cab to the bar. As expected, it’s busy, but not unbearably so. I grab a local brew they have on tap and make my way to a nearby corner. It’s not out of the way enough for me not to be seen, but it’s outside the flow of traffic. Perfect spot in my opinion because it allows me to both see and be seen without having to deal with a lot of people.

  It isn’t long before I’m approached. I notice her as soon as she starts making her way to me. She’s attractive, with long blonde hair I know from working with countless women over the years, it took damn near forever to get as straight as it is. Her outfit is black, unsurprising since the majority of women seem to think it’s the only color allowable.

  Anna doesn’t think that.

  I push every thought having to do with Anna out of my head, and smile as the blonde approaches me.

  “You know, that’s normally my spot,” she says, with a flash of perfectly white and perfectly straight teeth.

  I give her a smile back. “I’m more than willing to share.”

  She doesn’t accept, but she doesn’t walk away either. “You look familiar for some reason. Have we met before?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I’d remember if we had.”

  She leans forward, showing off more of her cleavage. I refrain from ogling. “I was thinking the same thing about you. That’s why I came over, but now that I see you better, I know what it is. You look like that TV news guy.”

  I nod. “I get that a lot. I like to say we’re distant cousins, and I’m the better looking one.”

  She laughs a bit too loudly. “You’re not really cousins though, are you?”

  I chuckle because she sees right through me. “No.”

  “Too bad,”
she says. “If you were, then maybe you could have introduced me.”

  I’m trying to decide if she’s joking. Did she really not know it was me?

  “But that’s okay,” she continues. “You are good looking, and I agree with you. You’re even better looking than that old news guy.”

  I couldn’t have planned it better if I’d tried. She really doesn’t know it’s me. I’m pretty sure if I ask her, she’ll leave with me, but I don’t see any reason to rush things. It’s been a while since I’ve had sex, and there is no way to know when the next time might present itself.

  I’m going to take my time tonight and make it last damn near forever.

  Except, I’m not excited about it. Not even a little. It’s incredulous. I have a gorgeous blonde all but throwing herself at me, and I want nothing to do with her. What the hell is wrong with me?

  It may be the world’s stupidest question. I can sum up what’s wrong with me in one word.

  Anna. Thinking her name makes my body feel as if I’ve touched a live wire. Just thinking her damn name. I look to my side where the blonde sits, waiting, and I know we won’t be leaving together. The strange part is, I’m not even upset about leaving alone.

  I make up a lame excuse about something I left at work I have to run back to get. Having made the decision to leave, I suddenly can’t get out fast enough. I put a twenty on the bar and tell the bartender to keep the change. Lastly, I bid the blonde goodbye and apologize once more, realizing I never asked for her name, and it’s much too late to do so now. She sends me off with a wave and a mumbled, “Lucky bitch.”

  I hail a cab and hesitate when the driver asks me where I’m going. My answer should be quickly given. It should be my address. But when I answer, it’s not my address I give.

  “The White House, please.”

  The driver raises an eyebrow, and I hold up my clearance badge. Only then does he pull into traffic and head toward the White House.

  It’s late now. No doubt Anna will be asleep. Though in the second interview we had, she did mention an ongoing battle with insomnia. It doesn’t matter, I tell myself, even if insomnia’s bothering her tonight, it’s not like she’ll be down in the press area. More than likely she’ll be in her bedroom or maybe wandering around the East Wing, trying to think of something to do with the First Lady’s rooms.

  In less than twenty minutes, I’m in the White House, and in my office. No one’s anywhere nearby, of course. There are a few agents scattered around, I passed two on my way down to my office, but I can’t see them now that I’m here.

  Why did I want to come by the White House? I’m not going to work on anything, and it’s stupid to be in my office if my sole reason for doing so is to be under the same roof as Anna. What is it about that woman that makes me do crazy shit like this? If Gabe told me he was going to sleep out in the hallway of the apartment building some woman he’d met lived in so they could be in the same building? I’d tell him he was an idiot and probably needed mental help. Yet here I am doing the same.

  There’s a rustle down the hall and a mumbled curse. Whoever it is sounds female. I don’t want them to come upon me accidentally. A woman alone at night, in a dark building, does not want to find herself in the company of a man, even if the building is the White House. I stand up and move into the hallway so she can see me and hopefully put any potential fears to rest. I need to go home, anyway.

  I take a few steps down the hall, but don’t hear anything else. Maybe whoever it was either left or went into an office. I’m looking over my shoulder to see if perhaps they were behind me when I run smack into someone and, inadvertently, knock whoever it is down.

  “Ow!” They say from their spot on the floor, and the voice is all too familiar.

  Shit. “Anna…. I mean Madame President,” I stammer, embarrassed because I knocked her down and yet I also feel surreal because it’s as if I summoned her to me. “Are you okay?”

  I reach out my hand to help her up, but she doesn’t take it. She stands and brushes herself off. “Yes, of course I’m fine. Maybe a little flustered because I thought I was alone.”

  “Rather late to be walking around, isn’t it?” I ask her.

  “I’ve found it helps with the insomnia and the White House is so different this time of night compared to how it is in the middle of the day.”

  She looks different tonight, and it’s not because she’s wearing black knit lounge pants with a gray tee-shirt, and no makeup. No, there’s something almost vulnerable about her. And while I like the thought of her exploring the White House, I hate that she does it because she can’t sleep, and that she’s by herself.

  She arches an eyebrow at me. I want to ask her if she practiced that move in a mirror before doing it in public, but she beats me by asking me a question first. “What’s your excuse for being here this time of night?”

  I weigh my options. I either lie or tell her the truth. She probably won’t like either answer, but I’d rather her dislike the truth than to appease her with a lie. “You,” I say. We’re close enough that I can reach out and touch her if I dare. I lift my hand and she doesn’t move away. I slip my fingers behind her neck, to cup her head and dig my fingers into her hair. “You’re the reason I’m here.”

  “Me?” she asks in a whisper of a sound.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  I lower my head to where my breath is brushing her cheek. “Because I don’t want to be lonely tonight.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Her

  The White House

  Washington DC

  Oddly enough, there’s a part of my brain that is still able to function. It’s the very, very reasonable part of my brain, and it keeps repeating the same basic message. I should walk away. I should ask him to leave. If nothing else, I should at least take a step back so I can’t feel the warmth of his breath against my skin or how good his fingers feel buried in my hair.

  The rest of my body wants nothing to do with anything reasonable and isn’t the least bit interested in listening to what the other part is saying.

  Okay, so maybe I lied earlier today when I made that remark about not being lonely. The truth is, I’m often lonely, but I always assumed it to be a side effect of wearing a mask all the time. How can anyone really get to know you if they never meet the real you?

  That’s not entirely true, though, I realize. Somehow, Navin sees past the image I project to the woman I am inside.

  “Tell me you don’t want to be lonely tonight, either.” He’s captured my face between his hands and the look in his eyes...I’ve never seen such naked need before.

  Could it be he’s as lonely as I am? I don’t think it’s possible, but obviously he knows something about how it feels.

  And he came back for me tonight. Just happened to be where I was walking. Is that fate? Probably not. Probably, it’s me justifying what I want. Because right now I want in a way I have never wanted before. That truth is right in front of me if I’m brave enough to acknowledge its existence.

  “I don’t want to be lonely tonight, either,” I admit. It hits me that maybe he’s the reason I couldn’t sleep tonight. That something inside me knew he’d be back and waiting for me downstairs.

  Whatever force brought us together tonight is no longer present. It’s only the two of us. And whatever we want. I hold out my hand to him, my choice made. I can belong to the country every other moment of every day and night of my presidency. Tonight I only belong to me.

  And him.

  “Come with me,” I say but there really isn’t a need, he’s already following me.

  There’s no way to avoid being seen. No matter where we go, someone will be nearby. Just as well, I’ve never been good at sneaking around. It always made more sense to be upfront and honest.

  “Where are we going?” he asks.

  “My rooms.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “They aren’t going to let me leave and book a hotel room for th
e night.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then don’t ask stupid questions. We’re going to my rooms. There are agents we’ll have to walk past. It’s possible they might think we’re doing something work related.”

  He snorts. “No they won’t.”

  My face heats because he’s right, but I’m not going to dwell on it. It’s for one night only, and I’m an adult. Perfectly able to make my own decisions.

  Even with all my bravado, when we reach the Residence and are face-to-face with the agents standing there, it’s more than slightly awkward.

  “Madame President,” one agent, Wes, says. “Did you have a pleasant walk?”

  “Yes,” is all I say in reply.

  “Mr. Hazar,” he says to Navin, and Navin nods back.

  It’s very odd to be thirty-six years old and to feel like you’re sneaking around. But that’s exactly the way it feels.

  “That was fun,” Navin says when we finally make it inside my private suite of rooms with agents stationed outside.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, cringing and turning away from him. Nothing like the Secret Service to kill the mood. He’ll probably want to leave now, and I can’t blame him.

  “Hey.” He moves to stand behind me, and places a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t apologize. You’re an important person. I’d be upset if there weren’t agents limiting access to your home.”

  It’s unnerving to be standing in my room with him. I can hold my own in a meeting filled with world leaders, argue with the heads of both political parties when they attempt to block me, and give a speech broadcast around the world, but being here, with him, it’s almost too much. I’ve never been so nervous and unsure.

  “You don’t want to leave?” I ask.

  “Why would I want to leave? I just got here.”

  I don’t know how to respond.

  “Anna?” He turns me around so I have no choice but to face him. “Do you want me to leave?”