Mr. President (White House #1)(20)

I ask my dad why he thinks there wasn’t any conclusive information on President Hamilton’s assassination.

“Killer was never caught.” He shrugs. “One theory is it was a terrorist act because of President Hamilton’s liberal views; others say it was a conspiracy among the parties.”

I frown worriedly.

“You’re concerned Matthew will be in danger?” he asks me.

I can’t help but look at him with a concerned expression.

He sighs. “He’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t open that can of worms.”

I frown even more. “Matt doesn’t strike me as a man who won’t open a can of worms, especially if he feels strongly about it.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about things you can’t control. Do your best and keep your head down—that’s the only way to get ahead in politics. Otherwise, anybody who’s anybody is going to see your head poking up and push it back down.”

“But I don’t want to be in politics.”

He laughs. “You’re in it now.”

“I’m only there because—”

“You have a soft spot for the Hamiltons, I know. People in the news are surprised you’re participating. Good ol’ Charlotte, you did charm Matthew that night, didn’t you? Even President Hamilton. They have a soft spot for us too.” He smiles wistfully, his eyes sad with memories.

“You know what else Matt has a soft spot for? Aside from the country? His dog,” I say, remembering this morning as I pick up Doodles from my feet, set her on my lap, and stroke her forehead, hearing her purr happily.





11





GIFT





Charlotte



The next morning, I take a bath, change quickly, and stop at a pet store on impulse to make a purchase. I don’t know why I want to make this particular purchase, but my mother has always been the sort of woman to have sweet little surprises for my dad. I don’t know if it’s her way of saying thank you for something nice that he did or just the way he made her feel. I want to get something for Matt, but I know that it wouldn’t be proper. But when the urge to get Jack a little something hits me, I decide not to even fight it.

Once I get to the campaign headquarters, I step off the elevator and I see Matt in the hall. Immediately my body responds: pulse skipping, nipples tightening, * clenching.

He’s in dark jeans and a soft-looking taupe cashmere sweater that contrasts strikingly with his dark hair. He’s talking to his campaign web manager when he spots me. He pauses mid-sentence, and my heart stutters when he smiles at me.

His eyes look warm and there’s something else in his gaze, almost like protectiveness.

He continues talking with the guy—positively oozing that confidence that seems to cling to him like a second skin—and I head to my chair. I exhale and glance around my desktop, telling myself I have to catch up.

Everyone here is smart, lightning fast, and eager to work, most of them confident. A little more experienced than me, too.

I’ve seen them effortlessly answer phone call after phone call, letter after letter, email after email. I get sentimental about these things. I’ve found myself needing a box of Kleenex or to cover my response when I read the letters.

After a whole day back, I still don’t know how to answer this little boy’s letter.

I’ve dealt with women in my mom’s foundation, but never anyone younger than eighteen. There’s something about someone younger having a hard time that gets to me doubly hard.

“Read this letter,” I tell Mark, whose desk is a few feet away from mine.

“What about it?”

“I’d like to ask Matt if he could squeeze in a visit—”

“What? No way. He’s got four hundred speaking engagement requests this week. He doesn’t have time for everything and everyone. We have thousands of letters just like it in these piles. Just answer and go to the next.”

I walk to my desk, unhappy about Mark’s suggestion.

He leans back in his chair and peers into my cubicle for a moment, and I’m sure he was trying to catch a glimpse of my boobs as I bent to take my chair. “What does it matter asking him? It’s just one among thousands,” he then asks me, rolling his eyes.

I wave the letter in the air. “It matters to this one.”

Back to the letters on my desk, I set it aside and duck my head to continue answering in longhand.



Dear Kim,



Matt is very moved by your letter and he would like you to receive his best wishes on your upcoming graduation. Please receive this set of bookmarks with both Matt and his campaign team’s most heartfelt congratulations. I’m sure we can expect great things from you in the future.



Kindest regards, Charlotte Wells, campaign aide



A few hours later, Carlisle summons us for a meeting. I grab a yellow notepad and stand to follow my coworkers toward the conference room.

Matt is watching every step I take into the room while we’re briefed on the new campaign strategy. When everyone leaves, nerves eat at the walls of my stomach as I go to my desk, get my purchase from this morning, and head to the corner nook of the building where Matt has taken up office.