Commander in Chief (White House #2)(11)

I clear my throat as I take in the luxurious bedroom before me. Oh god, the man I love is . . . sleeping somewhere near. Night after night after night.

“The president will be right across the hall. His chief of staff asked me to take you to see him, once you were ready.”

I inhale, stepping into my room in the most photographed residence in the land, overwhelmed, happy, honored . . . and afraid that I won’t be able to fit the shoes of all the first ladies before me. I set my things down, then I look at Clarissa and smile, nodding, terribly humbled as I stride down the long, busy halls and toward the West Wing.

“Miss Charlotte Wells, here to see the president,” Clarissa tells Matt’s assistant. She worked with us on the campaign, but she was stationed in San Francisco and I didn’t have the opportunity to talk to her. I say hello now, and she smiles and quickly steps away from her desk.

“He’s expecting you. I’m Portia. It’s very nice to meet the first lady.”

“Thank you.” I’m a little light-headed. She opens the door of the Oval Office after a few raps.

I gulp as I see the regal curtains framing the windows at the end. And the desk.

And . . . Matt. In a suit.

I walk into the Oval. Matt stands leaning on his desk, arms crossed, while five other men and his chief of staff are there. I spot Hessler and Carlisle among the group, and I smile, my eyes sliding back helplessly to a pair of dark espresso ones.

“Charlotte,” he greets, his lips curving.

“Mr. President.”

“So nice to see this lady right here.” Carlisle gives me a brief hug, and Hessler a nod and a rare smile, before Matt motions with his head and they all start leaving.

The door shuts, and I’m alone with him.

With him.

And he is everything.

All of him.

All of this place. This room.

He smiles a little. “Welcome home, beautiful.”

I swallow. I laugh, aware of his eyes sort of quietly, intensely caressing me. “This room is bigger than I imagined.”

He just smiles at me, motioning to the sitting area. I follow and sit across from him, licking my lips nervously.

“I’m so happy to see Carlisle and Hessler. I thought you’d ask Carlisle to be your chief of staff?” I breathe.

“I did. He declined due to health. Besides, he likes campaigning. He wants to be ready in four years when we run again.” His voice so close is soothing, yet quietly arousing, too. “He’s part of my kitchen cabinet—him, Beckett, and Hessler.”

“Hessler won’t be joining you either?”

“He wanted experience before attacking the position of chief of staff himself. They both seem more inclined to be ready for when I run again in four years.” There’s a trace of laughter in his voice. “I know—seems so far away. But that’s the way their minds are working.”

“How do you feel, Matthew?”

“Ready. I’m ready.” His expression stills and grows serious, and he glances around the Oval, at the George Washington portrait, then at me. “I’m making big changes and it’s going to take time, but I’m getting them done no matter what I have to do.” He frowns, his eyes level under drawn brows. “How do you feel?”

“Scared. Happy. Scared,” I repeat, laughing. Then I shrug, and meet his watchful, intent gaze. “I couldn’t sleep, thinking of this opportunity. I want to open the White House a bit more, for citizens to experience it in a different way, not just as a museum they walk into. I’d like to do things for women and children, too.”

“Do it,” he says, no questions asked.

“Okay. I will.” I exhale, smiling. “I’m excited. So many things I want to do, I don’t know where to start.”

“Are you all right so far? Do you need anything?”

I shake my head. “All this is so much more than I need.”

“I want you to feel at home.”

“I’m trying.” I shoot him an honest smile. “I don’t want to make a mistake when it’s simply too easy to make one . . . All this is too new. So I’ll just take it one day at a time.”

Matt smiles. “When you love something as much as you love our country, you take care of it—you do anything for it. I have no doubt in my mind I’ve picked the right first lady.”

I’m flushing. Head to toe.

He sets his elbows on his knees as he shifts forward. “I hope you know, baby, asking you to act as first lady is not only an excuse for me to see you. I believe you have a lot to offer our citizens. Regardless of our relationship, I want you to have a salary, and you will be directly compensated for your time by me,” Matt says.

“What? I couldn’t possibly.” I shake my head. “I don’t want a salary.”

“Everyone working here has a salary—except the first lady. Is that fair?” He grins.

“I wasn’t elected to office.”

“Not everyone here was elected.”

I look around, awed by the sumptuous surroundings, the plush upholstered couch beneath me, and I glance at Matt. “I get to do what I most want, sleep safe in the grandest home in the land,” close to you, I don’t add. “I don’t want a salary. If you insist, then we can donate it to Women of the World, help women who can’t find jobs get on their feet.”