friend.
One particular number has sent me over ten messages over the last few hours.
Hi Veronica! It’s Stephanie from ClickBoom News. I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me? Xx
Hi Veronica. Stephanie from ClickBoom News here again. I was wondering if you’d be up for a quick chat about your relationship with President Shepard? Xx
Veronica, Stephanie here from ClickBoom. Is it true that you’re the President’s fiancée? The people really want to hear from you. Call me. Xx
Veronica. It’s Stephanie. We met at the press conference. I have my doubts about the relationship between you and the President. If you want to talk it over, call me.
I have no idea how she got my number, but reading her messages over makes me feel more nervous than ever. Stephanie… I do vaguely remember her as the pushy journalist from the press conference. The one that questioned the relationship between David and I so much it almost seemed as if she was reading my mind.
Does she know something? Her last message... almost seems like a threat. My finger hovers over the ‘call’ button. Should I try to figure out what it is that she has over us?
I glance at Jackson. Asking him for help is risky if he doesn't even know that I have a secret to hide. I imagine he’d tell me to never contact the press under any circumstances.
I can’t call her with him in the room anyway. Instead I type my own message back:
Hi Stephanie. Can’t talk now. What is it that you would like to discuss? Xx
Her reply comes back within seconds. I know about Trevor. Should the public know too? Call me. Xx
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Trevor. What does she know? Sure, I’m not a big social media type of girl, but there are probably pictures of Trevor and me together on my friends’ accounts. And if she’s managed to snag an interview from anyone back home, it’s not like Trevor and I have ever talked about breaking up.
If she goes public with this, I’m not only going to be branded the President’s whore but also a cheater too.
And yet still no message from Trevor. Every time I look down at my phone and see he hasn’t even tried to call me back, I feel a little bit more nauseous.
I need to call Stephanie. I need to work out what she knows.
Before she decides to tell everyone herself.
Veronica
Before I know it, it’s already getting late.
Jackson sits up, pressing a hand to his ear. “Yes, sir. Affirmative. Of course, sir.”
I shoot him a confused look.
He gestures to his earpiece. “The President is on his way, ma’am.”
So it’s time. I stand up, resuming my restless pacing. Is the dress too much? Am I really about to have a private meeting with the President of the United States?
All the courage that was raging inside of me earlier in the Oval Office seems to have evaporated. The blunt way I’d spoken to him… it was hardly respectful.
He can’t keep you locked up here, a sensible voice in the back of my head reminds me, waggling her finger. You’re not his puppet.
But he does have power over me. Even Jackson’s warning of his arrival has me nervous, every inch of me alert and alive. I imagine the President has that influence on most people, but… most people don’t get personal visits from him late in the evening.
“Miss Waters?”
I look up and he’s there, hands folded behind his back. Truth be told, I could feel him before I saw him. There’s this magnetism that seems to suck all the energy in the room towards him.
“David,” I say gently, keeping my voice soft. I don’t want this to turn into an argument again. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Oh god, there’s something wrong with my dress. His eyes are all over it, looking me up and down with unreadable intensity. On most men, I might consider that a good thing… but he’s frowning.
“Your dress…” he trails off, his eyes suddenly elsewhere.
“I’m sorry,” I reply, tugging at one of the red shoulder pieces. “It was in the wardrobe here. I probably shouldn’t have touched it.”
He sighs. It’s deep and weary. I’m not quite sure what I’ve done wrong, but whatever it is he isn’t pleased.
“I can take it off,” I assure him quickly.
My words don’t help. His face falls even further as if I’ve just told him I set half the White House on fire or leaked pictures of my underwear to the tabloids.
“No,” he