Commander in Chief
Page 23
“Not vengeance. Justice.”
My eyes widen when I see the shadows in his gaze.
The press has been all over the Middle East conflict—Matt has been talking to the generals, executing several covert operations to clear our men out of there. Aside from that, everyone is still hung up on us dating. And his kisses, and the fact that he takes my hand to help me out of the car and doesn’t necessarily let go. The fact that he puts his hand on the small of my back when leading us somewhere.
All of it has been photographed and recorded, to my continued blushing about the celebrity of our now open relationship.
A reporter observes, “It does seem that the president appreciates having Miss Wells around, as we can see in this short video, where not only the public seemed enchanted by Miss Wells and her cute little purple dress at the state dinner held for President Asaf, but the president himself didn’t look at anything else for a brief but very obvious moment. What we all want to know is how this is going to play out and whether our president’s head will be in the right place.”
He powers off the TV, leaning back and looking at me with a silent, dark expression as our staff leaves us alone for the night.
Matthew booked only one suite for us—another fact that was recorded.
I swallow and look out, remembering all the people that have been gathering around him, how much they crave just a glimpse of their president.
“I don’t want to distract you. The media seems more hung up on us than what you’re doing. I don’t know that I like that.”
“They focus on what gives them ratings. So be it.” He looks at me as if he thinks I’m the cause of their ratings—not him, the most coveted bachelor shamelessly chasing after me—and glances at the eagle pin I’m wearing on the right side of my dress. I know he loves it when I wear it. His voice lowers a decibel. “Every presidency has had its defining moments. We don’t know what they will be for us. Battling ISIS. Nuclear war. Cyber war.” He tells me, “Do you know what the problem is with the past decades of elections, and why the candidates’ views shift so dramatically, their promises unkept, after they take office?”
“What?”
“The day you’re sworn in, you become privy to confidential information—everything you need to know to run the country. Information that’s sensitive, powerful, from espionage, delicate treaties, foreign relations. Some of this knowledge crushes the candidate’s dreams of what he wished to accomplish. People get disappointed, and the country continues carrying the weight of decisions made even decades ago, three presidents past.”
I’m transfixed, wanting to know more.
“Every president leaves the office looking aged far more years than those he served. It’s the hardest office in the land. I swore I’d never walk in. Every time my dad and I flew back on Marine One, onto the lawns of the White House, and he would tell me, ‘We’re home,’ I’d say, ‘Home to jail.’ And he’d say, ‘Yes, son.’”
“What did you find, Matt?”
“Nothing without loopholes. Treaties not to our benefit. Dangers lurking that we must tread carefully around. This is why I’m here, Charlotte. I knew this wouldn’t be simple. But I’m sick and tired of watching the train wreck and doing nothing to stop it. I know what it takes to run the country—it takes your very soul, and tough calls that might not always be the right ones. But we deserve someone willing to make them and back them up, make us thrive again, even if he has to sacrifice everything to do so.”
“But your father sacrificed his life,” I say miserably.
He rubs the back of his neck, then drops his hand with a sigh as he tugs his tie a bit loose. “I’m not sure he was killed because of the presidency.”
“What do you mean?”
“Cox and I suspect it was something personal, more than his policies.”
A thousand—no, a million—knots wind up in my stomach. “Matthew, please don’t put yourself in danger. You’re the commander in chief; you can’t be opening a can of worms, like my dad once said.”
“I will take care of myself. And Charlotte,” he specifies, his eyes darkening as he shifts forward to brush his thumb along my jawline, until he uses it to tilt my head back by the chin. “I will take care of you. Do you hear me?” He holds my gaze with steely determination. “You and this country. Go to sleep now.”
He kicks off his shoes and throws his tie off as I take off my clothes and slide into bed in my lingerie, under the sheets.
“I bet you joined me here because you missed me.”
“Not one bit,” he says too easily, grabbing some papers and bringing them to the chair by the bed.
“Not a little bit?” I put three centimeters between my fingers.
He narrows his eyes, then from his seat, leans forward and squishes my fingers. “Maybe that.”
“You’re a dick.”
He scowls. “Hush, you don’t talk to your president like that.” He slips his glasses on and starts thumbing through the papers.
“I just did, Mr. President. Sir.”
He laughs, sets the papers on his lap, and reaches out and strokes my hair. “Go to sleep. I’ve got to read up on something.”
I lie down, Matt, with those sexy glasses, reading but sporadically glancing up to check on me, as if it gives him peace to watch me sleep. The monsters lurking in the shadows can’t get close to me, not with him here.
“Do you remember the boy we visited when campaigning?” he asks.
“Of course. They named him after you!”
“I followed up on him. I invited him to the White House. He and his parents will be gracing us with their company next month.”
“You kept your promise.”
“Of course I kept my promise.”
I squeal and I leap out of bed to throw myself at him, tackle-hugging him and raining kisses on his face. “You’re the best!”
But the best is truly Matt’s low, quiet laughter as I pry off his glasses and shower him with my appreciation. He tugs the papers I just sat on and sets them aside, letting me rain kisses all over him.
Getting instantly hard.
“Now that missed me at least,” I whisper in his ear.
His voice is gruff as he cups my face gently in both hands, and his eyes are hot and liquid as they coast over my face. “You know I missed you, girl. You know I miss you.” He lifts my hand and laces our fingers, running his thumb along mine, and then he lifts my fourth finger to his mouth and wraps his lips around it, licking it clean.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, suddenly more aroused than ever.
“Hmm. You taste good.” He smirks, letting go of my hand and grabbing a fistful of hair as he crushes my mouth beneath his.
Once back in the White House, Matt schedules a few press conferences during the week. I steal into a couple just to hear him.
I love Lola introducing him. “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States . . .”
I love how the room shifts and reenergizes when he enters. How everyone seems to feel more important, wants to do more, be more in his presence; the man has red, white, and blue running in his veins. American royalty: the country’s new commander in chief. The press can’t get enough of him.
He speaks to the reporters casually, as if they’re longtime friends, as if he’s used to speaking to them, which is quite true.
I’m actually sorry that Clarissa told me I needed to look at some crucial issues about the upcoming state dinner this morning, causing me to miss the last press conference.
21
HEADLINES
Matt
“Make no mistake about it. Right and left need to be working together. There needs to be an understanding and full cooperation to move forward. Globalization is a must not only for society, but for our industry, for our trade, for our personal growth, for our mental understanding. We’re working on eliminating the fragmenting of our society. Right and left wings against each other . . . those burnt bridges we’ve encountered? They must be rebuilt. The misinformation that helped lead to those breaking points must be addressed. The White House will have more open communication—online, via letters, and through appointments with the president. New knowledge about our policies, our passed bills, and our plans will be at your fingertips. We’re opening up more than we ever have with a new portal, and . . . ladies and gentlemen . . . the portal will go live tonight.”
My eyes widen when I see the shadows in his gaze.
The press has been all over the Middle East conflict—Matt has been talking to the generals, executing several covert operations to clear our men out of there. Aside from that, everyone is still hung up on us dating. And his kisses, and the fact that he takes my hand to help me out of the car and doesn’t necessarily let go. The fact that he puts his hand on the small of my back when leading us somewhere.
All of it has been photographed and recorded, to my continued blushing about the celebrity of our now open relationship.
A reporter observes, “It does seem that the president appreciates having Miss Wells around, as we can see in this short video, where not only the public seemed enchanted by Miss Wells and her cute little purple dress at the state dinner held for President Asaf, but the president himself didn’t look at anything else for a brief but very obvious moment. What we all want to know is how this is going to play out and whether our president’s head will be in the right place.”
He powers off the TV, leaning back and looking at me with a silent, dark expression as our staff leaves us alone for the night.
Matthew booked only one suite for us—another fact that was recorded.
I swallow and look out, remembering all the people that have been gathering around him, how much they crave just a glimpse of their president.
“I don’t want to distract you. The media seems more hung up on us than what you’re doing. I don’t know that I like that.”
“They focus on what gives them ratings. So be it.” He looks at me as if he thinks I’m the cause of their ratings—not him, the most coveted bachelor shamelessly chasing after me—and glances at the eagle pin I’m wearing on the right side of my dress. I know he loves it when I wear it. His voice lowers a decibel. “Every presidency has had its defining moments. We don’t know what they will be for us. Battling ISIS. Nuclear war. Cyber war.” He tells me, “Do you know what the problem is with the past decades of elections, and why the candidates’ views shift so dramatically, their promises unkept, after they take office?”
“What?”
“The day you’re sworn in, you become privy to confidential information—everything you need to know to run the country. Information that’s sensitive, powerful, from espionage, delicate treaties, foreign relations. Some of this knowledge crushes the candidate’s dreams of what he wished to accomplish. People get disappointed, and the country continues carrying the weight of decisions made even decades ago, three presidents past.”
I’m transfixed, wanting to know more.
“Every president leaves the office looking aged far more years than those he served. It’s the hardest office in the land. I swore I’d never walk in. Every time my dad and I flew back on Marine One, onto the lawns of the White House, and he would tell me, ‘We’re home,’ I’d say, ‘Home to jail.’ And he’d say, ‘Yes, son.’”
“What did you find, Matt?”
“Nothing without loopholes. Treaties not to our benefit. Dangers lurking that we must tread carefully around. This is why I’m here, Charlotte. I knew this wouldn’t be simple. But I’m sick and tired of watching the train wreck and doing nothing to stop it. I know what it takes to run the country—it takes your very soul, and tough calls that might not always be the right ones. But we deserve someone willing to make them and back them up, make us thrive again, even if he has to sacrifice everything to do so.”
“But your father sacrificed his life,” I say miserably.
He rubs the back of his neck, then drops his hand with a sigh as he tugs his tie a bit loose. “I’m not sure he was killed because of the presidency.”
“What do you mean?”
“Cox and I suspect it was something personal, more than his policies.”
A thousand—no, a million—knots wind up in my stomach. “Matthew, please don’t put yourself in danger. You’re the commander in chief; you can’t be opening a can of worms, like my dad once said.”
“I will take care of myself. And Charlotte,” he specifies, his eyes darkening as he shifts forward to brush his thumb along my jawline, until he uses it to tilt my head back by the chin. “I will take care of you. Do you hear me?” He holds my gaze with steely determination. “You and this country. Go to sleep now.”
He kicks off his shoes and throws his tie off as I take off my clothes and slide into bed in my lingerie, under the sheets.
“I bet you joined me here because you missed me.”
“Not one bit,” he says too easily, grabbing some papers and bringing them to the chair by the bed.
“Not a little bit?” I put three centimeters between my fingers.
He narrows his eyes, then from his seat, leans forward and squishes my fingers. “Maybe that.”
“You’re a dick.”
He scowls. “Hush, you don’t talk to your president like that.” He slips his glasses on and starts thumbing through the papers.
“I just did, Mr. President. Sir.”
He laughs, sets the papers on his lap, and reaches out and strokes my hair. “Go to sleep. I’ve got to read up on something.”
I lie down, Matt, with those sexy glasses, reading but sporadically glancing up to check on me, as if it gives him peace to watch me sleep. The monsters lurking in the shadows can’t get close to me, not with him here.
“Do you remember the boy we visited when campaigning?” he asks.
“Of course. They named him after you!”
“I followed up on him. I invited him to the White House. He and his parents will be gracing us with their company next month.”
“You kept your promise.”
“Of course I kept my promise.”
I squeal and I leap out of bed to throw myself at him, tackle-hugging him and raining kisses on his face. “You’re the best!”
But the best is truly Matt’s low, quiet laughter as I pry off his glasses and shower him with my appreciation. He tugs the papers I just sat on and sets them aside, letting me rain kisses all over him.
Getting instantly hard.
“Now that missed me at least,” I whisper in his ear.
His voice is gruff as he cups my face gently in both hands, and his eyes are hot and liquid as they coast over my face. “You know I missed you, girl. You know I miss you.” He lifts my hand and laces our fingers, running his thumb along mine, and then he lifts my fourth finger to his mouth and wraps his lips around it, licking it clean.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, suddenly more aroused than ever.
“Hmm. You taste good.” He smirks, letting go of my hand and grabbing a fistful of hair as he crushes my mouth beneath his.
Once back in the White House, Matt schedules a few press conferences during the week. I steal into a couple just to hear him.
I love Lola introducing him. “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States . . .”
I love how the room shifts and reenergizes when he enters. How everyone seems to feel more important, wants to do more, be more in his presence; the man has red, white, and blue running in his veins. American royalty: the country’s new commander in chief. The press can’t get enough of him.
He speaks to the reporters casually, as if they’re longtime friends, as if he’s used to speaking to them, which is quite true.
I’m actually sorry that Clarissa told me I needed to look at some crucial issues about the upcoming state dinner this morning, causing me to miss the last press conference.
21
HEADLINES
Matt
“Make no mistake about it. Right and left need to be working together. There needs to be an understanding and full cooperation to move forward. Globalization is a must not only for society, but for our industry, for our trade, for our personal growth, for our mental understanding. We’re working on eliminating the fragmenting of our society. Right and left wings against each other . . . those burnt bridges we’ve encountered? They must be rebuilt. The misinformation that helped lead to those breaking points must be addressed. The White House will have more open communication—online, via letters, and through appointments with the president. New knowledge about our policies, our passed bills, and our plans will be at your fingertips. We’re opening up more than we ever have with a new portal, and . . . ladies and gentlemen . . . the portal will go live tonight.”
