Chapter One

 

The small Minnesota office was crowded with campaign staff, supporters, and the hopeful presidential candidate, Adam Andrews, current governor of the state.

He looked so confident, so calm. I was falling apart inside, my nerves beginning to get the better of me as the reporter updated the race. One by one, Adam was winning the major states, and it was looking like a clear victory.

“Another glass of wine?” Adam whispered in my ear.

His hot breath startled me as it rolled down my neck from behind. “Yes, please,” I smiled, trying to hide my nerves as he handed me the glass of chardonnay. “It’s looking good,” I said, staring up at the large television hanging on the desolate blue wall.

I wondered what this office would be once we cleared out, what it was before we arrived. “I’m a mess,” he admitted, still with confidence that made him unbelievable.

I chuckled. “You look fine to me.”

His smile was wide and inviting, contagious, and nearly intoxicating. “I hide my stress well,” he sighed.

Unlike me, I thought to myself. The soft blue eyes he laid upon me made it clear he thought I needed some assurance.

Adam, 49 years old, a veteran that served in the U.S Air Force, ranked Chief Master Sergeant, was twenty years younger than his presidential rival, Grant Owens, a loud cowboy with outdated views and unorganized thoughts.

Adam was a Democrat, and everyone said our country was in need of a party change. I agreed, and strongly believed in everything Adam stood for and behind.

“What are your plans when this is all over?” he asked, staring directly at me instead of the television that held his fate.

“I guess I’ll go back to the paper,” I smiled, unsure if that was what I truly wanted.

“Ah, yes. You were a force to be reckoned with there. I’m sure they’ll be happy to have you back,” he stated, his eyes shifting from mine to the screen above.

I hated to admit I had a crush on him, one that would somehow be amplified if he was truly going to be our president.

The reporter soon announced Adam Andrews the winner without the final states being calculated. There was no way Owens could win, even with the remaining states. That was it. I was standing next to the next President of the United States.

The entire office cheered, letting off confetti bombs into the air as their yells of victory flooded the room. “Congratulations,” I shouted over the noise.

He sipped his wine, smiled, and then set his glass down on the table behind us. I watched as he took center room, commanding authority effortlessly, and exuding confidence that was more than strong: it was sexy.

I gulped my wine, emptying my glass as he thanked everyone for their support. My moment of excitement and happiness was quickly glazed over with sorrow, realizing I would no longer be spending long hours by his side.

My desk was cluttered with campaign materials and only one small picture frame. I picked it up, staring at the woman inside the tiny frame, her head bald, her eyes worn and tired, and her smile, faded, but present. Rowena Hamilton, my older sister, and one of the strongest women I knew, or had ever known. Only a few years older than myself, she’d carved herself an important editorial position at a prestigious paper in Washington D.C, raised twin boys, both in medical school, and survived cancer.

She hated that I gave up my position as a journalist to run Adam’s campaign. She had pushed me my entire life to chase my dreams, and she didn’t believe Adam had a chance in hell against the quick-talking cowboy he was up against. Rowena was wrong for once, a revelation that both shocked and pleased me.

There wasn’t much else on or in my desk I needed to gather, just a few notebooks with my campaign strategies scribbled inside, and a picture taken with Adam at one of the rallies.

I shoved the small picture frame and notebooks into my purse and then held the picture of Adam and myself between my fingers. In it, he wore the blue polo that I encouraged him to wear. It brought out the blue in his eyes and made him impossible to ignore. He was casual and relaxed that day, and when the picture was taken, his hand was resting on my lower back. I could still feel the sensation of my weakened knees, tightened breasts, and speeding heart from his touch.

“That was a great day,” Adam’s voice sounded from behind.

I turned, blushing and nervous from his closeness. “Yes, it certainly was,” I admitted.

“That was all thanks to you. In fact, I don’t think I’d have gotten here if it weren’t for you,” he grinned.

“No. You got yourself here. You deserve it,” I replied.

“I’m serious, Quinn. From telling me what to wear, what to say, and even how to run my campaign, you’ve been amazing,” he said.

“Thank you. Those are very kind words,” I blushed.

“Any chance you’d consider moving to Washington, D.C.?” he asked.

My heart raced. I loved the idea of continuing to work with Adam. He was a1 brilliant, charming, and intelligent man, who just happened to make my pussy swell whenever he was near.

“It’s just the power.” I could still hear my sister’s words echoing through my brain.

She knew of my crush, but I’d sworn her to secrecy. I’d had a crush on Adam since I was just a girl, barely hitting puberty. He was my first crush, the first boy—well, man—that had made my heart flutter and gave my skin goose pimples when he was near. Rowena argued that also had only to do with power. Adam was twenty-four, home from the Air Force and wearing that beautiful blue uniform that brought out the kindness in his eyes. I was just twelve, no breasts, braces, and no hopes of gaining his attention as he sat at our dinner table, brought home on leave by my brother Garrett who’d become his best friend while serving our country.

Garrett never came home again after that, but Adam remained close with our family, having none of his own.

“Is that a no?” he chuckled.

I pulled out of my memories, my daydreams, and the struggle within my brain that told me all the reasons I should say no. I was a journalist, not a politician, even though the rush of power had flooded through my veins like heroin these last few months. “No. I’d love that. But I’m sure there are more qualified people in line,” I said graciously.

“I need people around me I can trust. I need people who aren’t afraid to tell me when I’m wrong,” he smiled.

My cheeks burned as his eyes pierced into me with a wild amusement. Yes, that was me, the one who liked to point it out when Adam Andrews was wrong. I felt foolish now, realizing this was my president, the president of the United States—POTUS, as us journalists liked to say for short.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so pushy,” I sighed.

He laughed. It wasn’t a heavy or deep laugh, but a soft, light, and free laugh. It calmed me just to hear it, similar to the ocean gently slapping the shore. “You pushed me all the way to the White House,” he smiled. “Just give it some thought,” he said just as someone pulled him away for an interview.

It was late, we’d all been drinking wine and champagne, and the giddiness of the lack of sleep, stress, and the excitement of the moment had him saying things he probably didn’t mean. I mean, seriously. Me, in the White House?

I shoved the picture still gripped tightly in my fingers into my purse, carefully placing it between the notebooks, so as to avoid it being bent.

“I’ll drive you home,” offered Sal, one of the faithful campaigners, as I walked toward the door.

I’d planned on calling an Uber, but knew at this hour I’d have a decent wait for it to arrive. I was exhausted, and all I wanted to do was climb into bed. “That’d be great. Thanks, Sal,” I accepted.

Sal opened the passenger door to an older Camry, quickly pushing in front of me to sweep the pile of papers from the front seat onto the floor. The car was filled with fast food bags, campaign buttons, and loads of papers. It looked like my life felt in that very moment: messy, neglected, and overwhelming.

“Sorry for the mess,” he apologized, starting up the car and adjusting the heat buttons.

“It’s okay. We’ve all been busy,” I laughed nervously, realizing that was true. We all had been busy, and tomorrow, there was nothing to do.

“So, what are your plans now?” he asked.

I looked over at him as he pulled the car away from the curb. His thick glasses made a glare when the street light shone through the windshield, making his bright green eyes almost disappear. I realized I’d worked side-by-side with this man for months, yet knew nothing about him.

“I’ll probably get my job back at the paper. What about you?” I asked, curious about this kind soul who’d spent weeks of his life to help Adam, gaining nothing in return, except maybe the satisfaction that he’d helped put his president-elect into office.

“I’ll probably just start writing again,” he said calmly.

“You’re a writer?” I asked, hoping the surprise in my voice wasn’t offensive.

“Yes. Political views mostly. ‘Donkeys have worked their asses off for over five-thousand years, while elephants have played in the circus,’” he said, reciting the passage of a book I’d read.

“You wrote that?” I asked, even more surprised.

He grinned proudly. It was a good book, at least what I’d read. It was a very unique view on the history of the Democrats and Republicans. “You’ve written several autobiographies of past presidents,” I pointed out, as if he didn’t know.

“Unauthorized versions, but yes,” he agreed. “I’m actually surprised you weren’t asked to join President Andrews in Washington, D.C. Damn, that’s the first time I’ve said that aloud: President Andrews,” he said with a chuckle.

It was strange to hear, but the part he said prior to that was even stranger. “Why would you think that?” I asked.

“You two were pretty close. He seemed to rely on you for direction,” he stated.

“I’ve known Adam—err, President Andrews—for years,” I said, unsure why I was becoming defensive.

“That explains a lot,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked carefully.

“Well, just the way you two interacted with one another. There was certainly something there, a connection, an attraction. I actually thought it was romantic, but if you’ve known each other that long, that makes sense,” he explained.

“He was in the Air Force with my brother. He became a close friend of the family before my brother passed away, and he’s just always been there,” I explained.

I wasn’t sure why it made me so uneasy that Sal had noticed something between Adam and me, maybe for the fear it was more than just a closeness shared between two friends. I’d yearned for something romantic to blossom between us during the last few months. What if others noticed my feelings, or worse, what if Adam had?

Sal pulled up in front of my apartment building as I directed him. “I guess this is it,” I said sadly, not so much because I wouldn’t see Sal again, but because I might not see Adam for a long while.

“Look for my new book. I plan to write about the campaign trail,” he smiled.

That explained the loads of papers scribbled on and floating throughout his car.

“Will do, Sal. Thanks for the ride,” I said, sliding from the car and shutting the door.

What if he wrote about what he thought were romantic vibes between Adam and me?