The President's Wife - Kathy Myme Page 0,6

I stare at it. It’s another few seconds before I realize he’s asking me to take it.

I consider it for a moment, but then-

“My coffee!” I gasp, sitting upwards.

I look around frantically, searching for the cup. When I find it, it isn’t good news. I hope the grass was thirsty because it’s being treated to a nice hot serving of latte.

I groan.

“I don’t expect you have much of that coffee left,” the man says, following my gaze. “Now take my hand.”

It’s an order. But I shake my head disappointedly, pushing myself to my feet. Not only have I failed to get Mr Andrews’ coffee, but I’ve also managed to crash headfirst into another White House employee. It’s one thing to mess up yourself… and it’s another to be a liability towards others.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I say, pushing myself up with my own two hands. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”

But then I make a mistake. I look at him.

Holy shit.

It’s like looking at the sun. My natural instinct is to avert my eyes and look away for fear of being blinded. I can’t feel anything but disbelief. This man cannot be real. He has the type of face that looks like it belongs on a TV screen and nowhere else.

His dark hair looks freshly cut and styled, impossibly perfect in a way I am sure doesn’t just happen naturally. High, angled cheekbones cut across a smooth, slightly flushed complexion.

It’s his stormy grey eyes that pull me in the most. They stare at me, unblinkingly, like his entire world is waiting on my response.

His lips are pursed tightly. I swallow thickly, hanging my head. He’s angry with me.

“So, do you make a habit of pushing people to the ground?” he asks me, his voice cool.

“No, sir. I’m sorry. It’s my first day here and I’m lost,” I try to explain.

“Just be more careful next time,” he snaps.

There’s something weirdly familiar about the shape of his face. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

I frown, trying to smooth down the wrinkles in my skirt. “It was an accident. There’s no need to be rude.”

“I don’t have time for accidents,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes at me. “Not today.”

I don’t want to start a fight. But this whole thing has been an honest mistake. And although it’s my fault too, the guy bumped into me just as hard as I bumped into him. I’m not expecting an apology, but he doesn’t have to be so annoying about it all.

When I don’t respond, he gives me a stern look and turns around with an entitled flair. Like he owns the place.

I still don’t know what it is, but even the back of his head makes me think that I know him from somewhere...

“You’re the one that had your hands on my boobs a minute ago, pervert,” I call out. “You don’t see me being an asshole about it, do you?”

With his back to me, the man stops. Slowly, he spins around.

And I gasp.

The reason he’s so familiar… is because I know who he is. Exactly who he is. In fact, I’d be shocked if anyone on the entire planet didn’t recognize him.

I’m talking to President Shepard.

The President Shepard.

The youngest man ever to become President of the United States. The thirty-year-old genius lawyer-turned-politician who rose to power with the highest percentage of the popular vote in history. The man who ran for president without being attached to either major political party… and somehow came out on top. The #1 entry for Hello Magazine’s ‘Hottest Celebrity Bachelors Ranked’ article that I’d been reading just this morning.

A man who is changing the world every single day.

And I just got cranky with him.

“You’re…” I can’t help stumbling over my words. “Oh my god. You’re him.”

The man - President goddamn Shepard - raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Who is ‘him’, exactly?”

When I open my mouth, struggling to remember the English language, nothing comes out.

“Be careful where you walk,” he says, after a few excruciating moments of me staring at him slack-jawed. “Not everyone is as forgiving as I am.”

And then just like that… he’s gone. So quickly that I’d doubt any of it really happened if it wasn’t for the ruined mess of a coffee cup sitting on the lawn.

I just spilt my coffee after crashing into the President of the United States.

Scratch that. I called the President of the United States an asshole. And a pervert.

Accident or not, the President of the United States had his hands on