The President's Wife - Kathy Myme Page 0,2

Mr Keating to be. The short blonde bob she sports looks worlds more sophisticated than the dark ponytail I now realize I’ve scraped back too tightly.

“That’s me,” I reply quickly. I stand up and shake her hand. “I’m here for the internship…?”

“Come this way.” She beckons me to follow her. Something about her voice makes me do it unquestioningly.

We head through a series of corridors. I watch in wonder at every wall we pass, gazing at paintings and decor that are probably worth more than my entire life savings. The woman marches forwards, unperturbed until we reach a particular office. The name ‘MRS HAMILTON’ is inscribed upon the door.

“My name is Rebecca Hamilton,” she says as we each take a seat. “I have some unfortunate news. There appears to have been a mistake.”

“A mistake?” I don’t move an inch but my heart pounds in my chest as if I’ve just run a marathon. “What’s wrong?”

“It seems your name has… how to best say it… well, ah, has been lost in the system.” She looks slightly flushed, apologetic. “We have records that show you were initially accepted for an internship here at the White House. But following that, it appears you’ve been accidentally excluded from the pool of successful applicants. It must have happened during the hand over with my predecessor.”

“Excluded?”

“I’m sorry I can’t tell you more,” she sighs. “It’s been a long two weeks since I took this position. Keating’s departure was quite a surprise. But yes, it appears we’re in quite the unique situation.”

It’s like my world is falling apart around me. All the training I’ve done… all the preparation… has it all been for nothing? Am I going to have to trail back to my dad’s old house in California with nothing but a wasted plane ticket to show for it?

Maybe Rebecca sees my face fall because she moves on quickly.

“This isn’t the end, Miss Waters. It’ll be a challenge, but I promise to try to sort this out for you.”

My life stops falling apart. “Really? This can be fixed?”

Another agonizing minute of silence as she glares at the computer monitor.

“Unfortunately, all of the internship posts we had on offer are now filled or non-existent…” She turns on the computer on her desk, and within seconds she’s typing away frantically. “That will be a problem. I’m not sure we have a desk for you here. Have you ever thought about working in local government?”

Oh god. She’s going to ship me off to some office in who-knows-where, isn’t she?

“Umm,” I say, “not really.”

She shakes her head. “Then-“

“Hamilton, sweetheart, can I have a minute?” The door slams open and I almost jump out of my skin. The man who entered strides into the room as if he owns it.

There’s something weirdly familiar about him. Something I can’t quite place… The sandy brown hair, the dazzlingly white teeth… something about him seems to ring a far-off bell. If he wasn’t at least ten years older than me, I would wonder if he’d been in one of my classes at college.

The man notices me as well. His eyes fix on me, and then Rebecca, and then back to me again. Maybe he does know me somehow?

“Hamilton, you have company,” he says. “Rude of me to barge in, huh?”

“I’ll be ten minutes, Mr Andrews,” Rebecca assures him. “We’re just finishing up here.”

Finishing up? I try to read Rebecca’s face, but she’s looking straight at the other man. I didn’t think we’d even really begun.

But his name rings a bell. Andrews, Andrews, Andrews… oh, of course! No wonder he’s familiar. I pinch myself on the wrist in chastisement, as punishment for my stupidity.

How on earth could I have forgotten? Stephen Andrews is a face I’ve seen on TV a fair few times. The man standing before me is none other than the White House Press Secretary.

“Sir,” I say, bowing my head quickly in respect. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, sir.”

“It’s really not any trouble,” he replies. The corners of his mouth tilt upward. “Now, if I’m not mistaken you strike me as an intern…”

My jaw almost drops to the floor. That’s it. As soon as I get home, I’m burning everything that I’m currently wearing. Is there a giant flashing neon sign screaming ‘I’M AN INTERN!’ floating above my head?

“Yes, sir,” Rebecca confirms. “We’re just sorting out her internship details. I won’t be long.”

But Mr Andrews still loiters in the doorway. “Her internship? Is there a problem?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Rebecca pinches