Madame President Read online

  Her

  Hotel Suite

  New York City, New York

  David has us staying in Manhattan for the night. It’s late now and I should be tired after a day of endless meetings, a working dinner with David to solidify my cabinet member picks, and telephone conferences after that, but I’m wide awake.

  David, God bless him, must have been able to see how not well my meeting with Navin went. He hadn’t even blinked when we spoke privately before meeting the CEO of GBNC and I announced I’d be attending the balls alone. I don’t care how good David thought it’d look for me to attend with a member of the press. It’s time to mix up the way we do a few things. America knows I’m single and I’m not ashamed of it. That, I thought to myself, was that.

  But it wasn’t. I’m wearing a path on the carpet from my pacing. It’s ridiculous. I have so many things to do, so many plans I need to make, and instead of doing any of them, I’m thinking about him. Why he turned me down. I need to stop.

  I sit on the couch in my hotel room and turn on the television. Of course, when it turns on, it’s showing GBNC, and of course, Navin is the first thing I see. He’s with Gabe and a few of the other anchors. They’re having a round table discussion and I should turn it off because if they’re not talking about me, they will. On a normal day, I don’t mind watching the various media outlets talk about me, but on a normal day, I’m not turned down by Navin Hazer, one of their senior ranking members. I turn it off with a huff and close my eyes.

  For once, I don’t stop my mind from going down paths I’d long ago vowed never to walk again. I bargain with myself and promise only to remember the beginning. The very beginning.

  I was talking with a group of fellow law students on one of our first days of classes and Navin walked in. All the females and a good number of the males watched as he strolled into the room. His eyes swept over me and I was certain I saw a flicker of interest reflected there. But he continued on, without even a smile.

  “Who is that?” I’d asked the guy I’d been speaking with, wanting to know everything about the Adonis of a man who actually looked at me.

  “Navin,” the guy said. “I don’t know much about him except that he—"

  “Graduated first in his class at Colombia and scored insanely high on his LSAT,” a woman said.

  “Really?” I turned to face her. “All that and brains, too?”

  She sighed. “Yes, and word is he never dates. Only has the occasional one-nighter.”

  “Damn,” I said and promised myself I’d stay as far away from him as possible.

  One of the very few promises I’ve ever broken.

  We didn’t interact much to begin with. Just a casual nod of recognition if we crossed paths, or a smile of camaraderie when our gazes met in the library. It was December of our first year before we had an actual conversation.

  My undergraduate degree was in International Affairs, but I minored in Spanish, and while at Harvard, I volunteered to be a translator. I quickly discovered how rewarding it was to bridge that gap between people and volunteered as much as possible.

  In December, the organization held a holiday party as a thank you. I never turned down an offer of free food, so I showed up, not anticipating to stay very long. Or that was my plan until Navin walked in, alone, and it hit me.

  Even though he had a reputation as a playboy, I never saw him with a woman. Wouldn’t a playboy bring a date to a party? I abandoned my leave-the-party-early plan and decided to watch him instead. In the fifteen minutes that followed, three separate women approached him. All three were sent away with a smile, but they were definitely sent away.

  As the third one made her way back to the crowd, Navin moved toward me. Though I saw what he was doing, I wasn’t prepared for him to stand before me and hold out his hand.

  “Navin Hazar,” he said. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  I shook his hand. “Anna Fitzpatrick.”

  Chapter Seven

  Him

  Inauguration Day

  Washington DC

  Even though I’m a jaded cynic, I’ll admit the transitioning of power from one president to the next - always peaceful, calm, and dignified - never fails to make my chest swell with pride for what we have accomplished in this country. It’s not a sight I ever want to grow complacent with. For a sitting Commander-in-Chief to willingly step aside and let another take his or her place without violence or bloodshed, is a feat in and of itself.

  Today is no different. Anna stands on the platform built for the occasion on the Capital’s West Front, places her left hand on George Washington’s Bible, and holds up her right. Her voice is full of the strength, passion, and determination she is quickly becoming known for, as she recites after the Chief Justice.

  “I, Anna Elizabeth Fitzpatrick, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. So help me, God.”

  The crowd gathered erupts in a flurry of cheers, whistles, and applause. For a brief moment, I allow myself to hope that this time, this president will be the one to change things. But that hope is quickly dashed with the knowledge that experience doesn’t make this likely.

  Nor is it helped by the mutterings of the stranger at my side.

  “Damn, she’s hot,” he says as Anna addresses the country for the first time as our President. I glare at him, hoping he’ll stop. He lets out a low wolf whistle. “I’d definitely hit that.”

  “Do you mind?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  “What?”

  I nod toward Anna. “That’s our President. Have some respect.”

  “Why don’t you mind…” His words fall away and his eyes grow big as he recognizes me. “You’re that news guy.”

  “Yes,” I say. “I am and unless you want to be the star of my upcoming feature called Sexist Assholes, I suggest you watch yourself.”

  He slinks off into the crowd. I look over the packed streets, the flurry or two falling from the sky and take a deep breath before turning back into what Anna is saying.

  I think back on the day I turned down her invitation and wish I hadn’t been such an ass. At the time, I’d said no out of a sense of self preservation, thinking it would be the best for all involved if we stayed as far apart as possible. Now, all I can think is I’ve lost the last opportunity I’ll ever have to be close to her again. I want to rage against that thought. It couldn’t have been my last chance. Fate can’t hate me enough to bring her back into my life only to yank her back out.

  Her being single was surprisingly not a major deciding factor in most people’s minds when evaluating the Presidential candidates, at least according to GBNC’s data, but I assume her advisors wouldn’t pass up the opportunity for a few good PR shots at the balls by pairing her up with someone. It came as no surprise when it was announced recently her escort for the evening was Captain Jackson Phillips. Jackson grew up in the foster system and bounced around from house to house until he turned eighteen and enlisted in the Navy. He’d served our country bravely for over twenty years. Until around a month ago, when he’d almost single handedly stopped an armed robbery at a bank the week before Christmas, and was shot in the chest twice by the suspect.

  There were holdups, misfiled papers, and massive amounts of red tape to get through in order for his benefits to kick in. Jackson called everyone he knew and quite a few people he didn’t before eventually making it to one of Anna’s staff members. Needless to say, when Anna heard of his plight, she stepped in and got it taken care of.

  I know all of this because I interviewed Jackson last week. And that’s not where his story ends. Because, yes, it has a happy ending, and yes, Anna’s ensuring that those who serve their country are not overlooked by that same country, but that’s not why everyone will be watching coverage of the Inaugural Balls tonight.

  No, tonight will be the most watched ball because of what ha
ppened next. Anna flew to Tennessee to ensure Jackson had everything he needed. He said he did, and he thanked her. That should have been the end of the story. Closed. Done with. All’s well that ends well.

  But it wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

  Before she could leave, Jackson just happened to mention that if she didn’t have anyone to escort her to the Inaugural Ball, it’d be his honor to do so.

  “I don’t know what came over me,” he said during our interview. “I just had this thought of, you’ll never know if you don’t ask.”

  After word about her upcoming date went public, Anna laughed and said Jackson was the only man who’d asked. She doesn’t mention that she had asked someone and had been turned down. No, of course not.

  Jackson is a nice enough looking guy, I suppose. He’ll be in his dress uniform tonight and that always tips the good looks scale in your favor. It’s very easy to know they’ll look beautiful together. Then, just in case being beautiful isn’t enough, throw in the fact that she’s President and he’s a national hero. Even people who had opinions about her being single before are a lot less vocal now that they heard he would escort her for the night. Seriously, if her campaign went out looking for a guy, they would never dream of landing one so perfect.

  Anna’s probably happy now that I turned her down. She’ll get more positive press from attending with Jackson than she would with me. That alone should make me feel better.

  It doesn’t.

  Chapter Eight

  Her

  Inauguration Night

  Washington DC

  There is no way to adequately prepare oneself to being sworn in as the POTUS. None. It’s an eerie feeling as I realize there are only five people currently alive who have felt the way I do standing on the grounds of the Capital Building moments before taking my oath of office. Five. I met four of them today, the fifth is at home and under hospice care. The other four men who held this position before me are pleasant to my face, but I get the impression I’m an outsider in their eyes.

  Though I’m surrounded by people, I feel indefinitely alone, yet I’m not lonely. It’s odd to gaze out over the sea of people gathered to watch, knowing only a little more than half voted for me. Likewise, I’d be lying to say I don’t feel former Vice President Roberts’s eyes burning a hole in my back.

  Following my win, there were rumors he wanted to demand a recount, but someone talked him out of it. In some stories, it’s his wife, and in others it’s the current administration. One of craziest things I heard indicated Roberts didn’t care about winning one bit, and it was his wife who had her eyes on the White House. Of course, most of those stories end with a whisper that I would be wise to stay near my Secret Service detail. Frankly, that last one pissed me off, but I try not to dwell on it.

  Though I had security detail throughout my campaign and after the election, it’s gotten progressively heavier. I know it’s necessary, but it does take time to grow comfortable with everything. I’ve never thought I was an overly private person, but having somebody, or somebodies, as is more often the case now, around me twenty-four/seven has taken a bit of getting used to.

  I met President Turner and his wife, Dorothy, at the White House earlier this morning. He’d been in office for eight years and I get the impression from Dorothy that she couldn’t be happier to leave. She nearly bubbled over with excitement to the point where Turner looked irritated.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she said not too long ago. “I’ve enjoyed our time in Washington and we’ve accomplished a lot, but I’m so ready to live out from under a microscope.”

  Those four men sit behind me now as the Chief Justice starts the Presidential Oath. My heart is galloping but I’m able to keep myself from showing nothing except the calm and evenness I’m known for.

  “I, Anna Elizabeth Fitzpatrick, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

  “So help me, God,” I finish, and a rush like nothing I’ve ever experienced washes over me.

  It’s exactly noon and I am now the President of the greatest country in the world. I feel the weight of that responsibility settle on my shoulders and along with it, the pressure of being the first female to hold that position. Feeling somewhat humbled at the trust my country has placed in me, I turn to address not only the people of my nation, but all of those watching from other countries.

  I tell them I know what they’re feeling, and I know what they want. Likewise, I have a plan to continue along the path our forefathers laid before us when they created the blueprint and started the foundation of what was to come.

  My desire is to unify our country with more than words and empty promises; to ensure “With liberty and justice for all,” is not a phrase spoken so frequently, we forget its meaning. It’s not an impossible dream, but will demand more than my wanting to make it a reality. The America we all crave will only exist if every person does their part and works toward making it happen. One of the lessons history has taught us is that America is more than one person and is bigger than the president. There’s a place for each of us at the table, but we must all move a bit closer to the middle to ensure everyone gets a seat.

  The rest of the day goes by in a blur so quickly, it’s impossible to soak up every detail I want to remember. I’m pulled into several directions and multiple conversations with various prominent people in politics, and though it is nonstop controlled chaos, there’s nothing about the day I would change.

  When it’s time to prepare for the Inaugural Balls, I enter my ridiculously large dressing room in my residence at The White House and find the gown and shoes I selected, with the help of my stylist, to wear waiting for me. The gown is made of silver-moss green, heavy satin with a handmade lace silk overlay; it’s off the shoulder of one arm with a full sleeve on the other. A full skirt gathering at one side completes it. Everything together has an elegant and regal appearance with a timeless quality. The gown is custom made by a young up-and-coming designer whose work I noticed while in New York. He’s right on the cusp of making it big, according to my stylist, and I’m hopeful tonight will help.

  A knock on the bedroom door tells me the crew responsible for making me look effortlessly flawless tonight has arrived. I arrived a few minutes too early and this has obviously thrown them for a loop because the sound of angry whispers is audible until an assistant waiting in the bedroom opens the door to let them in. I take a deep breath and make my way to the other room to greet the people who will prepare me to start the next part of this crazy day.

  Hours later, I worry the night has been too much for Jackson. I feel partially at fault, I should have found a polite way to turn him down when he asked to escort me. No matter how I try, he won’t take my apology.

  “I’m the idiot who thought there was only one,” he says after we leave our fourth ball.

  I have two more to stop at before I can call it a night, unfortunately, and Jackson refuses to let a car take him back to the hotel. Being with him feels like I always imagined having a brother would feel like. He’s protective and takes his role as keeping me safe seriously. Even so, I can see the pain he’s trying valiantly to hide, and I have to try again.

  “Captain Phillips,” I start, but he holds up his hand.

  “President Fitzpatrick,” he says. “I said I’d be your escort for the night and that is what I’m going to do.”

  There are reasons he’s risen so high in the Navy and hearing him talk, they become even more evident. It occurs to me that I outrank him and could, if I wanted, command him back to the hotel. But the mere thought seems cold and underhanded. He’s made his mind up and I respect that part of him, so I promise myself I’ll take this gift he’s generously offered of ensuring his Commander-in-Chief didn’t go unescorted to her Inaugural Balls.

  I’ll be wasting more breath if I try to insist we don’t have to dance
, having already tried that at the second ball. If I wanted to have my way, I could make it happen, but he sees this as being an honorable gentleman and I will not take that away from him. Part of being the most powerful woman in the world is knowing the right time to use that power. Which sometimes means setting it aside.

  There are only two more balls left to attend. Surely we can make it through two more.

  We pull up to the next location and Jackson hops out on his side of the car so he can be by my side, ready to give me his arm after I step out. He moves too fast, though, and lets out a gasp of pain. I glance at him, but his expression might as well be stone. I hold his arm as lightly as possible as we make our way inside.

  We’re met by a large group of people and after shaking a dozen or more hands, I turn around to ask Jackson if he’s ready to be introduced, but he’s not there. Odd. He didn’t disappear at the other four balls. Scanning the small room, I find him leaning against the wall, and cringe inwardly.

  I make my way toward him and it’s not until I’m steps away I see that he’s talking with someone. Navin Hazar.

  I haven’t spoken to Navin since he turned down my offer to escort me tonight, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s discussing with Jackson.

  “Madame President,” Navin says.

  “Mr. Hazar.” I look over to Jackson. “Captain Phillips, are you okay?”

  His expression is one long grimace now. I shouldn’t have let him do this. It’s much too soon after being released from the hospital.

  “Actually, Madame President,” Jackson says. “I was just chatting with Navin. I’m going to take you up on that offer of a car back to my hotel. Navin said he’d step in and finish the evening with you.”

  “He did, did he?” I arch an eyebrow at the man in question, not for one minute will I ever forget his refusal of my offer. “Why would he do that?”