Madame President - Tara Sue Me Page 0,35

family later.

I slide Navin’s file back into the larger hanging folder, and as I do, I see a name I don’t recognize. I yawn again. I’ll look at it later. Leaving the files where they are on the couch, I turn to go crawl into bed, not even bothering to undress again.

Chapter Eighteen

Him

The White House

Washington DC

A week after returning from London, Anna’s personal secretary calls to tell me President Fitzpatrick has requested to meet with me over breakfast the next morning. I can’t begin to think why Anna would want to share a meal with me. The only time in the last twelve years we’ve been able to talk longer than five minutes without an argument was at the balls and I chalk that up to there being so many cameras around.

Regardless of Anna’s reasoning, I tell Nicole it would be my pleasure. She confirms the time and location before disconnecting. Deciding I need a walk to stretch my legs, I stand and feel the weight of numerous stares. My fellow Press Pool members still don’t consider me to be one of them, even if they’re more willing to chat occasionally. No doubt they heard my half of the conversation and wonder what it would be my pleasure to do.

They can keep wondering. I’m not telling them.

As I’m escorted to the dining room the next morning, I still haven’t come up with a good reason for Anna to invite me to eat with her. My collar feels tight and I pull at it, attempting to loosen it up. The agent escorting me glances out of the side of his eye at me and I lower my hand. He mutters something into his earpiece, but I can’t make out what. If I had to guess, I’d say it had something to do with the flowers I have. He had to call his manager minutes earlier for approval for me to bring them in. I blame my mom.

My mother taught me to never show up for a meal at someone’s house without something to offer the host. I’m not so sure she meant for that to apply to the President and breakfast at the White House. Regardless, I couldn’t find it in me to show up empty handed.

After stressing out and giving the whole situation too much time and effort - there is no guide on the internet for what to bring the President for breakfast, FYI - I decided I wasn’t going to bring anything. Then halfway through my drive over I heard my mother yelling in my head and I made a quick stop by a florist.

Now, every eye is on me and I feel like an idiot because they all know I’m on the Press Pool and now they know I’m bringing flowers to the President. I shouldn’t care what people think, and the fact I do only proves how far gone I am for Anna.

Fortunately, the further we get into the White House, the fewer people we pass. We stop at the door to the dining room and once I step inside, I forget all about idiot me because Anna is, well, Anna.

“Madame President,” I say, hyper-aware we’re alone except for one Secret Service agent in a far corner. And that doesn’t count.

“Mr. Hazar,” she says, but her eyes are on the flowers. “Did you... Are those…”

I can’t talk for a second because I’ve never heard Anna stutter or not have the perfect words to speak. “I got these for you.” She doesn’t say anything as she takes the flowers from my outstretched hand, and I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible faux pas. “It’s probably inappropriate, but my mother would disown me if I showed up at someone’s house without anything.”

Her eyes are downcast and I can’t tell what she’s thinking. “You got me flowers,” she states.

I’m not sure if I should apologize or not, so I say, “Yes.”

She lifts her head. “Thank you.”

It’s my turn to be speechless, because for one glorious second when she looks at me and smiles, she’s just Anna.

She recovers quickly. Or at least that’s the impression she gives. The mask is back, her eyes hooded and expression calm. Just that fast, President Fitzpatrick has returned. “They’re beautiful.”

Of course, I’m useless. I have no idea what to say or how to react. It takes me a second to realize she’s talking about the flowers and not her eyes. I should probably say something about the flowers, but I can’t. Nothing on earth exists