The President's Wife - Kathy Myme Page 0,16

won’t work here.

“I have one other idea, sir,” Andrews says, with a faint smile on his face. “But we’ll need to get Miss Waters down here immediately.”

I nod. We clearly aren’t getting anywhere the way things are going. “Fine. Get her here now.”

Veronica

I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing. Trevor, I think, grasping for it quickly even if I am groggy. I have no idea how long I’ve been out for.

But it’s not Trevor calling. The name on my screen is far more comforting.

“Mr Andrews,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t sound half as drowsy as I feel. “What’s going o-”

“There’s no time for chit-chat, Miss Waters,” he says. He sounds worse than I feel. “You need to get here right away.”

I reach for my blinds, taking a peek outside. The crowds of journalists are still there, lurking in search of me.

I squint. Is the sky… light? How long have I been out for?

“Yes, sir,” I reply. “I’ll be there in around an hour, sir.”

“An hour, really? It takes that long for you women to get ready?”

“Um…” Admitting to using public transport shouldn’t be something embarrassing, but I find myself hesitant to say it out loud. “I have to catch a few buses, sir. It takes time.”

“Buses?” he scoffs. “Sweetie, buses aren’t a privilege you get anymore.”

“Then how am I meant to get to work?” Am I supposed to master teleportation this morning on top of adjusting to being in the centre of a national scandal?

“Leave via your back entrance. Jackson will be waiting for you.”

“Who’s Jackson?”

There’s noise in the background. Mr Andrews grunts. “Sweetie, I have to go. Be here as soon as you can. I hate to say it, but the future of this country rides on it.”

There’s a soft click and he’s gone.

I have no idea what’s in store for me, but I know I need to hurry. I roll out of bed as if I’ve just been told it’s on fire, hitting the floor ungracefully with a thunk.

When I’m in the middle of brushing my teeth, my phone goes off again.

“Mr Andrews?”

“Few words of advice, sweetie. I wouldn’t bother wearing a suit today. Do you own a dress? It needs to be fairly conservative.”

I think of the only fancy dress I own, a hideous purple thing that is currently sitting in the back of my closet. Mom made me wear it to fancy parties ten years ago. The two most shocking things about it are a) the putrid color and b) the fact it still fits.

I pause. “Yeah, but-”

“Great. See you shortly.”

I groan. Why on earth does Mr Andrews want me to wear a dress? I suppose it makes me less recognizable than the intern in the business suit… but if anyone catches a picture of me wearing this, it’ll be aired for the whole world to see. It’s like I’m in my own personal nightmare.

When I finally squeeze the thing on, I slide open my door and leave my bedroom. Thankfully, there’s no Hailey in the living room. I do feel somewhat guilty about leaving her to fend for herself against the hordes of paparazzi on the way to pilates, but at least there’s nobody around to scream at me.

Mr Andrews had told me to leave by the back door. That had been my plan anyway, seeing as I don’t fancy fighting off photographers.

But I’m not expecting what’s waiting for me when I step outside.

A long, shiny black car is pulled up in my back alleyway. I know nothing about cars, but even I can tell that the thing is absurdly expensive.

“Veronica Waters?” A man dressed all in black opens the driver-side door and gestures to me.

I nod. “Yeah, that’s me.”

He opens a car door. “Get in.”

Ordinarily, all my common sense would be screaming at me not to get into a car with a strange man. But I suppose this is ‘Jackson’. As weird as it is to be climbing into a car like this, it sure beats getting two buses into work.

The inside is nice. Dad had never let me go hungry, but we’d hardly been able to afford things like this. It even smells pricey.

“We’re going to the White House?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you know why?”

His eyes watch me closely from the rearview mirror. “No, ma’am.”

Somehow I suspect he wouldn’t be allowed to tell me even if he does.

As we set off, I lean back in my seat and take a deep breath. It’s not every day that you’re picked up in