Mr. President
Page 26
“Patrick, I appreciate you voicing your opinions to Matt, but I’m not happy with him even running. Matt”—she turns and looks at me beseechingly—“we gave this country all we had; we gave them your father. We don’t owe anyone anything anymore.”
“Not all we had. There’s still Matt,” Grandfather says. “This is what Lawrence wanted.”
I keep my attention on my mother. I know this is her worst nightmare. She doesn’t want me to run. “I’m finishing what Father started—this is our legacy. All right?” I nod firmly, quietly asking for her understanding.
She’s not over what happened to my father.
She shakes her head with her signature stubbornness. “You’re still so young, Matt—you’re only thirty-five.”
“Yeah, well, my thirty-five years count as double.” I smile wryly and lean back in my seat, glancing at my grandfather. “I was closer to my dad than the vice president for a term and a half. I’m doing this, and when I get to the top, my cabinet will be appointed on merit, not political favors we owe.”
“Goddamnit, boy, you have a will of your own, but you need to look at the big picture here. The parties’ resources cannot be denied.”
“I’m not denying them. I simply trust that I have resources of my own to combat them.”
Grandfather sighs. He stands and buttons his jacket, then kisses my mother on the cheek. “Thanks, Eleanor.” He looks at me as I come to full height too. “You’re making powerful enemies, Matt.”
“I’ll be an even more powerful one.”
He laughs and shakes his head in disbelief, then pats my back and says, “I’ll support you then.” Grudging and grumpy, he leaves, and my mother sighs.
I stare after him. His words hit a bull’s-eye, though not the target my grandfather had aimed for.
All of this effort, the dream I’m pursuing . . . I’ve been determined to do it alone. I saw what my father’s neglect did to my mother. I experienced firsthand what it did to me. I wouldn’t want to wish it on someone I cared for.
But a redheaded, blue-eyed scheduler with a gentle heart and true love for her country keeps hammering in my head. For the first time, I wonder what it would be like to reach the heights I aspire to with someone by my side.
“Matt.” My mother presses her lips together as she wages an inner battle, the mother’s battle between supporting her son and protecting him. “You want to use the White House to change the world, and I’ll support you.” She walks over to me and pulls me into her arms to speak in my ear. “But it changes you before you can change a centimeter of it,” she says sadly, kissing my cheek.
I drag my hand over my face in frustration as I watch her head upstairs. She’s a strong woman, but even strength breaks. When Father won, she went from private citizen to public and handled it with grace and style.
The country never saw her quiet suffering as she slowly lost my father to his job—and then to two bullets, one to his stomach and the other to his heart.
Yeah, the White House changed us all.
But what happens in the White House is reflected across the entire nation, and I’m determined to change things for the better.
I still have a busy day ahead when I step outside and climb aboard the black Lincoln that Wilson has parked by the front door.
I ride in silence toward my first speaking engagement of the day. In my mind, Charlotte is gasping as I slide my lips across her cheek and toward hers. She’s holding her breath as I press softly, testing her, nearly losing control when I realize she wants it.
She wants it as much as me.
I push the thought aside as the car stops, and I step out into the crowd.
“Matt!” I hear my name surround me, and I start shaking hands on both sides of the people flanking me, as many as possible on my path to the main building, thanking them for coming.
16
COFFEE
Charlotte
I’m nervous the next day after what happened in the car between Matt and me. I’m at the kitchenette, sort of wondering if I should go and take him coffee. Maybe because I want to talk about it, to know why he kissed me. Or maybe because I want to see him.
Before I can think better of it, I pour two cups—remembering the time he brought coffee to my desk the night we both stayed in late. I set mine on my desk on the same spot he did, then head to his office and peer past the opening.
“Can I come in?”
Matt was looking over some paperwork and when he lifts his eyes to look at me above the rims of his glasses, my heart trips a little. He nods permission, and I start when I spot Jack getting to his feet from where he was lying by Matt’s desk.
“Hi, Jack,” I say awkwardly. “I brought you coffee,” I then tell Matt as he comes to his feet.
As I hand him the warm cup, the dog races toward Matt and jumps up, desperately trying to lick the coffee mug, accidentally spilling its entire contents over Matt’s shirt.
“Jack, down!” The dog immediately sits, but the coffee is already soaking into the shirt. “Coffee’s his weakness.”
“That’s definitely something you can’t relate to. How does it feel to live a life without vices?” I ask.
He winks at me as he crosses the room to shut the door. As he passes, he gives me a heated once-over, and says, close to my ear, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
My stomach feels like he just lit it on fire with the combination of his words and the look in his eyes as he raises his hands and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
Suddenly I’m staring at an expanse of bare chest.
He’s so hot I can barely breathe.
Though it’s a well-published fact that Matt Hamilton looks amazing in clothes, amazing cannot even capture the complete athletic perfection of his shape and form and muscles. Every single muscle of his chest is defined and flexed hard. He’s also got silky dark hairs on his chest—and I find this so hot that liquid heat seems to flood between my legs.
Something warm and female starts flickering in my tummy as I stare helplessly at him.
“Hand me that campaign T-shirt?” he asks.
I glance at the shelves behind me. I reach over for a white T-shirt with a purple Hamilton ’16 logo. It’s like a sports jersey.
“Not all we had. There’s still Matt,” Grandfather says. “This is what Lawrence wanted.”
I keep my attention on my mother. I know this is her worst nightmare. She doesn’t want me to run. “I’m finishing what Father started—this is our legacy. All right?” I nod firmly, quietly asking for her understanding.
She’s not over what happened to my father.
She shakes her head with her signature stubbornness. “You’re still so young, Matt—you’re only thirty-five.”
“Yeah, well, my thirty-five years count as double.” I smile wryly and lean back in my seat, glancing at my grandfather. “I was closer to my dad than the vice president for a term and a half. I’m doing this, and when I get to the top, my cabinet will be appointed on merit, not political favors we owe.”
“Goddamnit, boy, you have a will of your own, but you need to look at the big picture here. The parties’ resources cannot be denied.”
“I’m not denying them. I simply trust that I have resources of my own to combat them.”
Grandfather sighs. He stands and buttons his jacket, then kisses my mother on the cheek. “Thanks, Eleanor.” He looks at me as I come to full height too. “You’re making powerful enemies, Matt.”
“I’ll be an even more powerful one.”
He laughs and shakes his head in disbelief, then pats my back and says, “I’ll support you then.” Grudging and grumpy, he leaves, and my mother sighs.
I stare after him. His words hit a bull’s-eye, though not the target my grandfather had aimed for.
All of this effort, the dream I’m pursuing . . . I’ve been determined to do it alone. I saw what my father’s neglect did to my mother. I experienced firsthand what it did to me. I wouldn’t want to wish it on someone I cared for.
But a redheaded, blue-eyed scheduler with a gentle heart and true love for her country keeps hammering in my head. For the first time, I wonder what it would be like to reach the heights I aspire to with someone by my side.
“Matt.” My mother presses her lips together as she wages an inner battle, the mother’s battle between supporting her son and protecting him. “You want to use the White House to change the world, and I’ll support you.” She walks over to me and pulls me into her arms to speak in my ear. “But it changes you before you can change a centimeter of it,” she says sadly, kissing my cheek.
I drag my hand over my face in frustration as I watch her head upstairs. She’s a strong woman, but even strength breaks. When Father won, she went from private citizen to public and handled it with grace and style.
The country never saw her quiet suffering as she slowly lost my father to his job—and then to two bullets, one to his stomach and the other to his heart.
Yeah, the White House changed us all.
But what happens in the White House is reflected across the entire nation, and I’m determined to change things for the better.
I still have a busy day ahead when I step outside and climb aboard the black Lincoln that Wilson has parked by the front door.
I ride in silence toward my first speaking engagement of the day. In my mind, Charlotte is gasping as I slide my lips across her cheek and toward hers. She’s holding her breath as I press softly, testing her, nearly losing control when I realize she wants it.
She wants it as much as me.
I push the thought aside as the car stops, and I step out into the crowd.
“Matt!” I hear my name surround me, and I start shaking hands on both sides of the people flanking me, as many as possible on my path to the main building, thanking them for coming.
16
COFFEE
Charlotte
I’m nervous the next day after what happened in the car between Matt and me. I’m at the kitchenette, sort of wondering if I should go and take him coffee. Maybe because I want to talk about it, to know why he kissed me. Or maybe because I want to see him.
Before I can think better of it, I pour two cups—remembering the time he brought coffee to my desk the night we both stayed in late. I set mine on my desk on the same spot he did, then head to his office and peer past the opening.
“Can I come in?”
Matt was looking over some paperwork and when he lifts his eyes to look at me above the rims of his glasses, my heart trips a little. He nods permission, and I start when I spot Jack getting to his feet from where he was lying by Matt’s desk.
“Hi, Jack,” I say awkwardly. “I brought you coffee,” I then tell Matt as he comes to his feet.
As I hand him the warm cup, the dog races toward Matt and jumps up, desperately trying to lick the coffee mug, accidentally spilling its entire contents over Matt’s shirt.
“Jack, down!” The dog immediately sits, but the coffee is already soaking into the shirt. “Coffee’s his weakness.”
“That’s definitely something you can’t relate to. How does it feel to live a life without vices?” I ask.
He winks at me as he crosses the room to shut the door. As he passes, he gives me a heated once-over, and says, close to my ear, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
My stomach feels like he just lit it on fire with the combination of his words and the look in his eyes as he raises his hands and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
Suddenly I’m staring at an expanse of bare chest.
He’s so hot I can barely breathe.
Though it’s a well-published fact that Matt Hamilton looks amazing in clothes, amazing cannot even capture the complete athletic perfection of his shape and form and muscles. Every single muscle of his chest is defined and flexed hard. He’s also got silky dark hairs on his chest—and I find this so hot that liquid heat seems to flood between my legs.
Something warm and female starts flickering in my tummy as I stare helplessly at him.
“Hand me that campaign T-shirt?” he asks.
I glance at the shelves behind me. I reach over for a white T-shirt with a purple Hamilton ’16 logo. It’s like a sports jersey.
