Madame President - Tara Sue Me Page 0,62

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