Madame President - Tara Sue Me Page 0,25
killed me I hadn’t noticed before. I had been so caught up in the fact he was on my Press Pool, I neglected to answer the most basic question—why was Navin on my press detail?
I know the executives at GBNC, and I know how they operate. They would never allow for their top news anchor to be part of my Press Pool for four years. Never. Which meant one thing—they knew something newsworthy was going to happen, and they wanted their best man to be nearby when it did.
Maybe I should have waited for my anger to dissipate before talking with Navin, but that’s not what I wanted. I wanted him in my office and to look me in the eye and lie. There’s never been a doubt in my mind he was a smart man. He wouldn’t be where he was if he was stupid. Let’s face it, you don’t get to be known as one of the best of anything by accident.
I knew the second he crossed the threshold into my office on Air Force One he was well aware of why I wanted to talk with him. But I’ll hand it to him, he never straight out lied to me. On the other hand, I wasn’t able to get anything useful out of him other than more confirmation my gut was right.
Back in my suite at the hotel, I greet the various staff members working there. They’re welcome to be anywhere in the suite outside of my bedroom and private bathroom. I hate now that I’ve spoken with the Director and Navin, it’s no longer easy to smile and greet them. Every interaction, every movement, every word I scrutinize for underlying messages. Is the traitor in my suite right now, standing with me and smiling as they catch me up on the news of the day?
The thought makes me sick.
“Madame President,” David asks, walking toward me. “I trust the meetings went well?”
I return his smile back as much as possible while telling myself there is no reason to feel guilt over not telling him about my discussions with Wiggins. I can’t allow for a crack in my mask. Not now. Not ever. “Yes, Mr. Herdsman,” I say needing to get away from him somehow.
He opens his mouth to fill me in on something, but I hold up my hand. “Just a minute please.” My personal secretary has walked up to stand beside him. “Nicole,” I call to her. “How long do I have?” It’s a code the two of us have developed, no one knows it, not even David. How long do I have is what I ask her when I need to get away from wherever it is I’m at or from whomever it is I’m talking with. If there’s nothing needing my immediate or urgent attention, she’ll mention something, but add that it can wait. If that’s not the case she’ll add they were insistent.
“Mr. Hollingsworth called, Madame President,” she says, not even blinking an eye. “But it can wait.”
“Thank you.” I look to David. “I need to freshen up before tonight, can we talk later?”
“Of course, Madame President,” he says. “In fact, it can wait until morning.”
“Well,” I say, in an attempt to appear lighthearted. “My shower cannot.”
I keep up the fake smile until I’m safe behind my bedroom door. Only then, when I’m alone, do I let myself simply be. Rolling my shoulders, I stretch and look for my slippers so I can kick off my shoes. I’m not a diva and I’m not high maintenance, I just don’t like walking on flooring that’s not my own in bare or stockinged feet. When I travel, I always carry around half a dozen pairs of cheap slippers, that way it’s easy for me to find them quickly. I know I left a pair near the door this morning because that’s where I put on my heels.
Once I slide my slippers on, I sit at the desk my private suite holds. I can spare a few minutes before heading to shower. I jot down a few notes and reminders I want to give to Nicole, and a few things I need David to follow-up on. Everything always seems easier to handle when it’s written down. Satisfied and still not tired in the least, I head to the spacious spa-like bath to prepare for the reception.
My gown for the reception is a deep burgundy that’s fitted at the waist, with a scooped neckline and a full