The President's Wife - Kathy Myme Page 0,32

rubbing his fingers across my bare skin. I’m nervous because it takes me far too long to remember that Trevor exists.

As if he can read my mind, David seems to jump on my insecurities. “Have you briefed your boyfriend yet?” On his lips, the word boyfriend sounds like a dirty stain or an unwanted household pest.

“He won’t accept any of my calls.”

“So it’s over between you two?” His tone is perfectly neutral.

“No,” I cry out, suddenly defensive. “Why do you think that?”

“If he won’t answer your calls…”

“I’ll explain it to him when I get the chance.” I fold my arms. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” I’m hardly the biggest reader of the gossip magazines, but they have several candidates for who they think the President might have dated. Because a man as frustratingly attractive as him… surely can’t have been single for so long. It wouldn’t make sense.

“I don’t do girlfriends,” he says simply. “Not anymore.”

“A partner?”

“No, Veronica.”

“Then what?”

There’s something I can’t quite put my finger on bubbling beneath his surface. Something unsaid. He leans forwards and I mimic him, entranced.

I watch his face carefully. We’re close now - so close I can feel his warmth, I can smell that soft musky cologne - and that’s how I catch it. The President is so well-trained at acting, like any good politician, that he hides his facial expressions well. But I catch the way his eyes drop to my lips and the slow, heavy breathing that seems to hold him fixed in place.

“I don’t do feelings.” He shrugs and leans back. Like that, the spell is over. “It’s as simple as that.”

At once I feel so incredibly stupid. Had I really thought, even for a second, that David could really… be attracted to me? This man that seems so beyond normal that a part of me still can’t believe he exists in front of me?

“Oh,” I say, dumbly. “Right.”

He shifts in his seat. “We should take care of business.”

“Go for it.”

“Rule number one: you must never tell anyone about our arrangement. Ever.” He clasps his hands together. His fingers are distracting, so long and narrow. Now that I think about it, I can imagine them planting seeds here. “No matter what you are offered or what they try to do to you-”

“Or the White House will ruin my life,” I reply. “Would you try to take me out? Like, assassinate me?”

He doesn’t dignify me with a reply. “Number two: you will obey my every order. For this to succeed, I need you to follow my instructions.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ve made my feelings on this very clear. The world isn’t going to end if you don’t plot out every aspect of my day.”

“Veronica.” Suddenly there’s something wild and intense in his eyes. “I have worked and planned and toiled every day of my life to get where I am today. I need to know that you trust my orders.”

“I’m not following your itinerary.”

“I’m going to make you an offer,” he says, carefully. “You will obey my scheduling in the mornings. Barring special events, the afternoon will belong to you.”

I think about this. As far as deals go, it’s not terrible. A regular 9-5 would take up way more of my day… “What about security?”

“You’ll still need to be watched in the afternoons, of course. I am not allowing you to be endangered.”

Drat. So even the ‘freedom’ there isn’t really true freedom.

“Take it or leave it, Veronica,” he says. “It’s a generous offer. If you don’t accept, I will expect you to follow my full schedule-”

“Fine,” I sigh. “Mornings are fine.” I’m just going to have to get used to hours of boring etiquette training.

“The classes won’t last forever,” he promises. “Just until you’re used to your role here.”

“Okay.”

“And that brings me to rule three: don’t fall in love with me.”

“Are you serious?” My whole face goes beetroot red, although I can’t tell whether it’s from embarrassment or from anger.

David looks at me blankly. “Do you agree?”

“Why would you even ask something like that? As if… as if I’d…”

“Calm down. It’s simply a rule I’m putting in place as a formality. We have to ensure that the relationship between us stays professional.”

“It’s a stupid rule,” I grumble. How had he asked me that with a straight face?

“Rules are necessary. This agreement between us won’t work without them.”

“Then you have to promise to stop touching me so casually,” I insist. If I don’t stop it now, I’m pretty sure