The President's Wife - Kathy Myme Page 0,17

something with this much style.

The only downside to being driven to the White House is that it’s pretty clear that we’re not just regular commuters. Thankfully the windows are tinted black, but as we pull out and around the street the press catch sight of us and a storm of bright flashes descends upon us. At least they might leave my apartment alone now if they see that I’m leaving.

The rest of the journey is over far too quickly. I try to chat with Jackson, but his eyes remain firmly on the road and his mouth closed. They clearly train these guys well. Almost too well, I think wistfully. Some small talk would take my mind off worrying about what’s to come.

The guards at the White House don’t give Jackson more than a moment's scrutiny. He leans out of the window and says something rushed that I can’t hear, and that’s enough for them to open the barrier and let us drive-in. When we pull up outside, Jackson steps out and opens my car door for me before I have a chance.

“Follow me, ma’am,” he says. “The President is waiting.”

The President is waiting. Only four words, and yet… a shiver runs down my spine. Only a few days ago, I never would have dreamed of hearing those words directed at me.

The hallways and corridors are a lot emptier than I remember. In fact, it’s almost as if hardly anyone is here at all.

“What time is it?” I ask Jackson, confused.

“4:15AM, ma’am.” He doesn’t miss a beat, as if that’s a perfectly normal time to be awake.

Holy shit. I’d been so busy following Mr Andrews’ orders and escaping the paparazzi that I’ve somehow neglected to notice that it’s still the middle of the night. Jackson had certainly given nothing away, dressed in his immaculate dark suit without a hair out of place.

We don’t go upstairs but go around to a room on the ground floor that I’ve only seen once, on Mr Andrews’ tour. The Situation Room.

The absurdity of the situation hits me all over again. I’m living through a situation. If there’s a reward for The Most Embarrassing First Day On The Job, it has to go to the girl who managed to cause a national scandal.

“They’re in there?” I ask.

Jackson gestures to the door. “This is where I leave you, ma’am.”

I’m on my own. My heart screams at me to run or to find some way out of this. But I gather all the courage I can and push the door open firmly, stepping inside.

“Miss Waters,” Mr Andrews says loudly, striding over to me as soon as he spots me. “Thank God.”

Much like Jackson, he’s looking entirely too comfortable with being awake so early. There aren’t even any dark circles under his eyes.

The President… is a different story. It’s obvious that he hasn’t slept. His hair is a mess, with his dark curls no longer neatly brushed but sticking up at odd ends like his hands have been running through them for hours.

I almost do a double-take at his clothing. I’ve never seen the man out of a suit, in-person or in the media. But here he is, stripped down to a crumpled white shirt with the two top buttons undone and a tie hanging loose around his neck.

Immediately I feel my traitorous cheeks going red and I look away. I have no idea why it should make me blush, but looking at the President without his suit on feels like looking at him naked. It’s a stupid thought, but it’s true.

“Mr President, you might remember Veronica Waters from the introduction I gave you the other day.” Mr Andrews looks between us both, raising an eyebrow. “Although it seems you were both acquainted previously, doesn’t it?”

“Very funny, Andrews,” the President says. He looks me up and down, his eyes examining every inch of me like I’m hiding something unexpected underneath my clothes. “So here she is. The cause of all my problems.”

If my face turns any redder, I’m going to spontaneously combust.

But I keep my chin up and look the President dead in his cool blue eyes. “We both bumped into each other, sir.” Silence. “At least… that’s the way I remembered it.”

The pause after I speak goes on for far too long.

The President’s face is unreadable. “Really now? Because I remember a clumsy girl throwing her coffee all over me and accusing me of being… oh, what was it?” He smirks. “A ‘pervert’?”

My mouth drops open. “I…”

“Play nice,