CHANGE OF PLANS
Charlotte
“Is he alone?”
“Yes, but . . .” Portia trails off as I walk in.
“I was ready to leave for my Kids for the Future campaign when Clarissa told me you gave her the order to pause until I looked at the schedule again,” I tell him.
He’s in the middle of picking up a call and says something unintelligible into the receiver.
Pressing my lips into a thin line, I spin around to leave.
“Stay,” he tells me as I cross the room for the door.
I inhale and turn around, staying in place, the presidential seal right beneath my feet.
His brow furrows as he listens on the phone.
Moving forward, I place my palms on his desk and lean forward. Scowling. I’ve been working on this event for weeks; I told him that yesterday. Does he not trust that I’ll be careful? He’s being so frustrating!
I wait for a moment. He’s still absorbed in his phone call, so I walk around the desk and then plant myself between him and the damn desk, hands on my hips as I give him my fiercest scowl.
A tug plays at the corners of his lips all of a sudden. He reaches out to pop a button of my shirt loose. I catch my breath, his eyes flaring.
“Absolutely, I concur that won’t be a problem at all,” he says into the phone.
He tugs me to his desk and props me up with one arm, parting my legs so he can slip his fingers under my skirt and pull down my panties.
My voice is hoarse. “Don’t.”
Enough for him to hear, but not the other person on the line.
I catch my lower lip between my teeth, breathing heavily as he strokes his index finger along my opening. He’s talking about some bill as he trails one finger over my sex, then eases it inside. I’m so wet that it slips right in. I moan and arch back.
He loosens my shirt until it parts. “Then we need to get on it, don’t we?” he says, looking at me meaningfully as he brushes my shirt aside, then tugs the fabric of my bra beneath the swell of my breast. My nipple is puckered, so hard even the air brushing across the peak hurts.
I gasp as he leans over and blows on it. Pleasure races down my nerves. He bites down on me, and I bite back a cry and fist my hands in his hair, grabbing him for dear life.
“Good. I expect that on my desk tomorrow.”
He stands as he hangs up, grabs me by the waist and leads me across the Oval to the adjacent sitting room, and kicks the door shut behind us and ushers me down on the couch, settling on top of me. Pulling my skirt up to my waist, I fumble with his zipper while he pulls my panties aside and then slips his finger back inside.
I pant. The fingers of his free hand trail down my temple.
My cheeks warm with eagerness.
“Lick off the taste of you,” he commands, raising his hand from between my thighs to tease my lips open.
I do.
He frees himself—then he’s inside. Deep inside, where I want him. Need him.
He starts to thrust, groaning as I do.
He trails wet kisses along my neck, fastening his mouth over my nipple, then stroking his hand along my small, rounded belly. The shadows of the trees outside the window fall over us, but I’m unable to focus on any one thing but him.
I tilt my hips upward, hungry for him—always hungry for him.
“Oh god,” I groan.
“Quieter, baby,” he hushes, tender as he plunges his tongue into my mouth, and he thrusts harder until he drives home, taking us where we need to go.
Afterward, I sit up and rearrange my clothes, and watch him for a minute. His hair rumpled by me, his mouth pink, and looking a little bit possessive, he’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. But I don’t want him to know this.
“I’m still irritated,” I mumble.
He stands and zips up. Then he takes my chin and leans over, kissing me, voice husky. “So am I. I know you know better, Charlotte.”
I groan, pushing at him as I straighten. Matt’s eyes drink me in as he’s straightening his tie and securing his cuff links, while I feel like I just got high on a drug called President Hamilton.
“I’m not canceling,” I warn him.
“I don’t want you to cancel,” he firmly retorts. “I want you to take it easier on yourself. Pace yourself. I warned you last night. I’m not fucking kidding about you or our child. You have years to champion your cause.”
“Matthew . . . the doctor said that I should continue with life as normal.”
“And there lies the caveat. You don’t live a normal life, Charlotte.”
He swings open the door of the Oval, striding to his desk, grabbing his glasses and slipping them on, his forehead scrunched as he settles back in his chair.
He scrapes his thumb across his chin, thoughtful, as he starts reading papers again.
“Matt?” I demand.
He lifts his head.
“I promise. Nothing matters to me more than you and this baby,” I assure him.
He nods curtly, voice calm. “Good. We’re clear then,” he says easily, back to work.
I just stare.
He looks up. “I lost my father too damn soon. I’m not going to lose you to exhaustion—or our child to extensive touring. It’s not worth it. Nothing is.”
My anger melts a little; I can’t seem to be able to get angry for long.
I know he’s frustrated the FBI hasn’t found any new leads into his father’s case. It’s an old case. What Matthew wants is near impossible. But he’s been pressing the Bureau to be better, do more, enhance their strategies, their intelligence, and their teams—he’s even strategized to get an increase of funding to both the FBI and CIA, to ensure the United States have the highest degree of competence when in search of justice.
The impossible for him does not exist.
And yet, chaos is the evildoer’s best friend, after all. And yesterday I leapt right into it without thinking—stirring Matthew’s frustrations anew.
I smile as I watch him read the thick document in his hand. “I love you and those silly glasses,” I admit.
My smile fades a little when he looks at me. He gives me a smile.
And he pulls his glasses to the bridge of his nose and eyes me across the room. “Don’t try to sweet-talk your way into working yourself to the bone. That won’t work with me.”
“I didn’t think it would,” I lie, taking myself to the door. “I know what works.” I mouth, Oral.
And I see the most adorable smile touch his lips before he leans back in his chair, looks at me soberly, and purrs, teasing me, “That’s right.”
I laugh as I leave, heading straight to Clarissa.
“Did you give the president a piece of your mind?” Clarissa asks with a twinkle in her eye.
“Oh, definitely.” More like a little piece of pregnant mama booty. I head to my desk and look over the schedule. “Do you agree with him that this is a hectic schedule?”
“I told you from the moment we drafted it that we couldn’t reasonably cover all these schools in such a short amount of time.”
“Why didn’t you insist?” I groan. “We need to redo it.”
“Because I knew he’d set his foot down,” she admits, still seemingly amused.
I sigh and look over everything, exhausted just thinking about moving all the visits around.
“What if I recruited a group of passionate women to help me cover all these areas—spread our Kids for the Future message?” I ask.
Clarissa loves the idea so much that by that evening, we’ve got a new plan hashed out, and meetings set up with women like me who want the kids to have the best opportunities, the best futures, the best self-esteem, and the best chances at achieving their dreams one day.
* * *
I’m beat that night when I feel the mattress of his bed shift, and his body spoon me from behind. I sigh contentedly as he buries his nose in my neck, planting a kiss there.
“Guess what? I won’t bribe you with oral after all,” I breathe sleepily.
“You may most definitely try.” His chuckle is warm as he nuzzles my throat.
I smile. “I had a great idea today and found a way to have it all without . . . what did you say? ‘Working myself to the bone’?” I frown and flip around, shooting him a black stare as he props himself on his elbows above me.
Even in the shadows, I can make out the amusement on his face, his chest bare, gloriously bare and muscular as he leans above me. “That’s right,” he says.
His eyes. I swear they’re like the best coffee you will ever have.
“I appreciate you taking my concerns seriously,” he says as he brushes back a strand of hair behind my forehead. “What’s mine is mine. And I want my girl to be safe, always.” He eases down my body, his eyes on mine looking wolfish and proprietary as he places a kiss on my belly. “And our little one, too.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, his tender kiss spreading warmth all over my body.
“Are you ready to find out the sex on Friday?” I reach out to stroke my fingers through his thick sable hair, then against the stubble on his jaw, feeling it rasp over my skin.
“I’m ready for it to be born already.” He grins against me.
I run my fingers over his scalp as he nuzzles my pregnant belly. “I can’t decide what I think it is,” I say thoughtfully.
“It doesn’t matter what you think, it is what it is,” he says, quite practically, as he comes back up, propping himself on a pillow and drawing me to his side.
I laugh. “True.”
“I’ve moved things around so I can be there with you to receive the news,” he says, his voice husky now as he pulls my chin up and kisses me.
“Thank you.”
“I wouldn’t miss it. Not if I can help it.”
* * *
Friday, we’re stepping out of the car after my checkup with the gynecologist. Matt is fixing his tie after the full-blown kiss I gave him in the car on our way here. I’m just so happy. Blown away. The baby looks well. I have a picture in my clutch purse—several pictures, in fact—and we could see its perfect body, its eyes, and its face. And its sex.
When the doctor confirmed what it was, he told us with a grin, and Matt and I just looked at each other—all of it so real, now that we can give the baby a name.
The reporters at the White House are restless, having heard of my appointment and been given permission to wait for our return on the steps.
“President Hamilton, do you know what you’re having?”
He draws me to his chest as we both face the reporters, and they all calm down. He says just three words.
“It’s a boy.”
“It’s a boy!” they return happily.
“Quick picture, Mr. President!”
I hear the echoes of other reporters who second the thought.
“All right—take a few shots, and then I trust you’ll let us get back to our jobs.”
They start snapping pictures in excitement, and we pose at the entrance of the White House, Matt’s hand on the small of my back, his eyes drifting down to meet mine as we smile at each other. I think we’re both still replaying the news in our minds—me bewildered and enchanted that I’m having a little boy, my little Matthew Junior—when Matt, back to being businesslike, tells them, “All right, have a good day, everyone,” and ushers me inside.
He pats my bum as we head down the halls. “Have a good day, wife.”
“I will. I have a baby room to decorate. You go get it, husband.”
He winks, his smile dazzling as he starts walking away to the West Wing.