Commander in Chief (White House #2)(10)

“I want the drafts for the Clean Energy bill. The Healthcare bill to fix what’s broken in our healthcare system. I want to look into a bill for equal pay and opportunity for working mothers,” I tell Dale as we head down the halls of the West Wing to the Cabinet Room—I walk inside, and everybody stands. “Good morning,” I tell my cabinet members.

“Mr. President.”

“Good morning, Mr. President,” Vice President Louis Frederickson greets me.

I chose him as my running mate because he’s honest, humble, no-nonsense, and a no-kiss-ass kind of man—exactly what we need to get real changes in our country.

I take my seat, then glance at the press corps standing behind the members of my cabinet.

“This meeting will be closed to all members of the press,” I say.

“A quick picture, Mr. President?” one coaxes.

“We have work to do here. But I’m aware, so do you. Make it fast, guys,” I say as I flip to the first page of the thick file before me, an identical one seated before each cabinet member.

Flashes erupt for the next ten seconds, and then Dale opens the door.

“That’s enough,” he says, waving them out.

The door shuts and I look at all the members of my cabinet, letting the taste of the silence sink in.

“We’re going to have so much work, there’ll be days when we sleep very little, eat very little, and can think of very little else but the things we’re going to do. I want to be sure everyone understands, I’m taking no prisoners for the next four years. What I aim to do is vast, extensive, and very concrete. Let’s get started, then.” I slip on my glasses, take a sip of my water, and we begin.





4





WHITE HOUSE





Charlotte



There is a majesty about the White House that envelops you even from miles away. Today, though, I cannot help but be overwhelmed by its size, its splendor, its very whiteness as I’m led by my new chief of staff, Clarissa Sotomayor, into the White House and along the second floor of the residence—more specifically, to my bedroom. If being transferred from my apartment to the White House in a black car by men with guns wasn’t enough to blow my mind, walking down the White House’s endless wings certainly is.

I’m going to be the youngest first lady in history—as Matt is the youngest POTUS in history. Speaking to Kayla about Jackie and Lady Di last night, I sort of blow my own mind that I’m even comparing myself to these women—is this really my life?

I’m in love with the president, for god’s sake!

And Matthew asked me to be here, asked to see me, asked me to take on this role.

It’s actually happening—and I can hardly believe that it is.

It’s barely after lunch, and here I am.

“And this will be your bedroom,” Clarissa declares as she swings the door open.

My jaw just . . .

Drops.

I didn’t have to lift a finger—every one of my belongings that I wanted to take was transferred from my “shitty, unsafe” apartment (as my mother called it) to the secure, huge, and glamorous White House.

To this room.

My room.

My room in the White House.

“Charlotte, are you sure about this?” my mother asked this morning.

“Yes,” I lied, as I packed, nervous, excited, knowing only that I’d do anything to make a difference, and that this is the best chance I’ll ever get to make a mark. Knowing, also, that I’ll do anything for him—to be close to him.

As I spoke, I was fully aware of a group of Secret Service agents, my new detail, outside my door.

“Charlotte,” my mother said tearfully.

“Don’t tell anyone yet, not until the president gives the press conference.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know if I’m terribly proud or terribly concerned right now.”

“It’s okay, you can be both.” I exhaled. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“You never could.”

Oh yes, I thought to myself, I could, but I didn’t want to think of the one selfish act that, if discovered, could have shamed my mother terribly. The one thing I took for myself, without concern for anyone else. The affair I had with Matthew Hamilton before he became president. I was so afraid of a scandal.

I still am. He made it clear from the start that he didn’t want a family, and I’m not sure I’ll bear my heart getting broken twice. Still, not for a second would I think of denying him. I guess I’m hoping.

Hoping we can make things work. Hoping that maybe . . . I belong here. Determined to try.

Matt began his presidency without a wife. I know his greatest fear is not being able to have both, and he sacrificed his personal needs for those of his country. I admire him for it. If he can put his country first, so can I.

We can take things slow. I can try this role on for size—and even though it already feels gargantuan, I’m excited. The only other time I’ve ever been this excited was when he asked me to join his campaign.

But for slow, things sure are moving fast. The Secret Service at my door, very early this morning. Now here I am, inhaling as I take in the room.

“It’s the Queens’ Bedroom,” she explains.