Chapter 13

Beatrice

Six months pass before I’m truly aware of it. If I thought my previous job was fast-paced, then this is surely an Olympic sprint.

“So, make sure you bring flat shoes, Beatrice,” Hope says, finishing her barrage of things I need to remember for an event in a couple of days.

I nod my head in acknowledgment.

Hope has been indispensable over the past six months. I have a lot to thank her for for teaching me.

She responds wordlessly to greetings from several people as we power walk through the White House, and down to the mess hall in the basement for some much-needed coffee. Everyone notices Hope.

Well, who can blame them? She’s authoritative, intelligent, and gorgeous to boot. She’s perfect at her job.

What’s even better is that, when I’m with her, people hardly seem to notice my presence. This ideally places me to gain a better, more honest insight into the way things are run around the White House, which means my biography will be all the better for it.

As will my career.

I can’t help but feel my cheeks heat up with excitement at the prospect of my biography finally being out in public to be read by all—it’s truly exhilarating. And more than a little overwhelming. Well, the entire job has been overwhelming, but I’m confident enough in my own abilities that I’ve taken everything in my stride.

I almost miss sight of Henry as Hope and I rush down the corridor, but I notice him just in time to incline my head slightly before moving on.

Since that confusingly pleasant and informal dinner six months ago, Henry has asked me out to dinner no less than eight times—you would think that by the eighth excuse, he would simply give up asking, right? Clearly, Henry can see that I desperately want to give in and say yes.

But I’m keeping focused on my job—it’s what I’m here for, after all. A silly, fanciful crush has no place in the White House.

I’ve even stuck to calling him “Mr President” to keep things professional, and to keep him at arm’s length, of course. I know Henry hates being referred to by his official moniker, but I’ve got to utilize anything I can think of to maintain a barrier between the two of us.

It’s for the job.

“Bea? You listening?”

I jump a little in surprise and smile apologetically at Hope.

“I’m sorry, I was just committing everything to memory. I’ll have a cappuccino, please,” I say, directing that last sentence at the serving staff in the mess hall.

I hadn’t even realized we had reached it.

Hope shakes her head fondly at me. “You’re a lost cause sometimes. Do you need me to run over the schedule for next week again?”

We sit down at the only vacant table in the bustling mess hall, both of us sighing as we recline into our seats—we’ve been on our feet all morning.

“No, the final schedule was sent to me a couple days ago, so I took the liberty of memorizing it.”

Hope raises an eyebrow as she lifts her Americano to her lips.

“I know the schedule can be subject to change, though. So if there’s something new you need to tell me about, then please do!” I add on quickly,

Hope laughs.

“I wasn’t chastising you, Bea. I was impressed. That schedule is long,” she replies, stressing the ‘o’ in ‘long’ for emphasis.

I relish the taste of my frothy cappuccino whilst taking in the compliment.

“It’s gonna be pretty close quarters for the duration of the week,” Hope continues. “Lots of plane travel between The Hague, France, Italy…”

“I get it, I get it!” I say, holding up a hand in protest. “Be prepared. And bring some books for the plane.”

Hope smiles at that last part. “You’ve got that right.”

We sit in companionable silence as we take in our much-needed caffeine hit. Before long, Hope notices me watching everyone in the mess hall.

“Bea?”

“When did Rogers and Barrett hook up?” I inquire, giving a pointed look at the maid currently giggling away with an off-duty Secret Service agent.

Hope looks at me appraisingly. “I didn’t even know they had. About time, though—Barrett’s friends have been talking about nothing else but Roger’s interest in her for weeks. I was getting sick of it.”

Gossip is rife in the White House—and more than a fair share of that gossip has at least a kernel of truth to it.

Lots of affairs. Lots of backstabbing.

Lots of exciting little stories to put in my biography. People do love a scandal, after all.

Reassuringly, none of the gossip is about the President—save what everyone says about Hope and Henry.

I feel my heart twinge painfully for a moment before ignoring the feeling. So what if Hope has a relationship with the President, or is even just sleeping with him?

That’s their business, not mine.

But then why would he be so interested in going out for dinner with me if he has her?

Not that I feel inferior to Hope in that way. I respect and like her far too much to allow myself to be plagued by such puerile thoughts.

It would help me to get a much better grip on Henry’s personality if I only knew what his intentions truly were, however. Is he just playing around? Is he serious? What does he want, exactly?

Am I reading too much into things? Am I merely allowing my years-old crush to get in the way of things—just as I swore it wouldn’t?

“That’s a lot of sighing, Bea,” Hope remarks, cutting through my thoughts.

“Oh, I just…miss my dog,” I reply foolishly, though it isn’t a lie. “I’ve not been taking him out on enough walks, and he definitely knows. I think Duke’s in a mood with me, which makes me a little sad.”

“People and their pets,” Hope chides softly, though I know she isn’t really making fun of me.

“So, there’s no cat nor dog at home for you, then?”

She lets out a guffaw of laughter as she finishes her coffee.

“As if I have time for a pet right now. I had a horse when I was younger, though, named Apple.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Which is precisely why you won’t tell anyone about it, or I’ll have to kill you,” Hope mock threatens as she points to the pen and notebook that seem to be glued to my side. “And it was off-the-record, too. You know I don’t want my personal life in the biography if I can at all avoid it.”

“Dutifully wiped from my memory, then,” I laugh.

Hope stands up, and I hurriedly finish my coffee. I make to follow suit, but she waves me back down.

“Enjoy a few more minutes of blessed chair time, Bea. I just need to make a call.”

I smile up at her as she leaves the mess hall, leaving me to my thoughts.

I hope to God that this business trip won’t be as close quarters as it seems to be building up to. I’m not sure I can handle any more curious glances from Henry, or rebuff any more of his dinner advances. I’m going to have to—if I want to finish this job.

And despite the fact that the last six months have passed in a blur, I can’t help but be quite certain of one thing:

The trip will likely be the longest seven days of my life.