Chapter 6

Henry

I’m led down to the car by the security team, and I’m thankful for the silence once the door is closed, shutting out all of the noise from outside.

A member of my security team who is seated next to me turns and speaks, his tone firm.

“Do we need to make any stops before we head back to the White House, Mr President?”

It’s more of a courtesy that he asked than anything, not really an offer to stop. Sure, if I demand it, they would, but that would mean setting up a perimeter, securing the area, diverting traffic, etc.

It’s not like I can just pop in to a 7-Eleven for a Diet Coke.

“No, thank you. Back to the White House is fine.”

He relays the instructions to the driver, and our motorcade takes off, heading back to the White House to finish up for the evening. I have a million and ten things to do before I could turn in for the night, and making the visit to Beatrice’s apartment has set me back.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve wanted to do it, and I’m glad I did, but it definitely could have gone better. Or, rather, I could have handled it better.

I sigh and lean back in my seat, reflecting on how the impromptu meeting with Beatrice had gone and how foolish I must have sounded to her.

Asking her to move in to the goddamned White House? What was I thinking?

Actually, I know the answer. I want her to be easily accessible at all times. The presidential and professional part of my mind wants me to believe that it’s for work purposes, but really, I just want her to be close.

Walking into her apartment and seeing her standing there have woken something up inside of me that has been pushed back for years. All the memories of working with her on my campaign came flooding back—along with the attraction.

The electricity between us and the connection we shared all those years ago are just under the surface, threatening to break through as soon as there’s a chance. I felt it as soon as I shook her hand and she smiled at me with those big brown eyes.

There’s an obvious physical attraction. Sure, she’s a gorgeous woman. It isn’t just that, though.

She’s one of the hardest workers I’ve known, and if I’m being honest, I don’t think my campaign would have been successful without her.

I remember wanting her then, and she had made it clear that the feelings were reciprocated, but there was only one thing I wanted more than her: the presidency.

During that time, there was no way that I’d be able to win the election if I’d taken up with her, though. Sure, we were technically both consenting adults. But a presidential candidate getting involved with a young campaign aide?

It was the perfect recipe for a scandal, and I just couldn’t risk it at that time. I haven’t been able to get her out of my head since.

I smirk as I recall seeing her name on the list of candidates for the White House biographer. You bet I picked her. No one else stood a chance.

Now, though...

A relationship with her could work.

I’m no longer a newly elected senator running my campaign for the presidency. I’m the President of the United States.

She’s no longer a young college student working on my campaign. She’s a successful journalist with quite a bit of impressive work under her belt already, and she’s made her own way.

Her success isn’t tied to me or the presidency. She’s got a fair amount of pull within her own field, and we’re older now, so the age difference wouldn’t be such a big deal to critics.

Between pursuing her back then and pursuing her now, waiting was definitely the better choice. We’ve both got our own successes and experiences, and neither of us has relied on the other to get there.

She’s grown into a very successful woman, and she’s done it all by herself, without my help or influence. I have definitely made the right choice there.

Still, though, asking her to coffee or dinner is one thing, but asking her to move in to the White House? God, I’m an idiot sometimes.

I look out the window and try to focus on my tasks for the rest of the night. I’ve got briefings to go over and calls to make. I still want to meet with my Chief of Staff, and I’m sure there’s a whole other slew of things I’m not even aware of yet.

Still, even with all of those on my mind, I’m still not able to shake my thoughts of her—of how happy I am that she’s going to be on my team again, but also of how frustrated I am at myself for handling it the way I did.

Showing up to her apartment? Inviting her to live in the White House?

Presidents don’t do that.

Obsessive teenage boys do.

I cringe as I once again see the expression on her face flashing through my mind when I asked her, how she froze and politely declined.

That must have been how she felt when I rejected her on Campaign Night. Fuck.

We pull in to the secured driveway, and I still can’t keep my mind occupied on anything other than her, and I feel a sense of foreboding dread as I look up at the White House.

Home sweet home...where the minute I walk through that door, I’ll be bombarded with a thousand things that I have absolutely no desire or gumption to do right now.

It’s made very clear to me by my wandering thoughts and inability to focus on anything important that I’m not going to get much done and that I need to work out some of this frustration. I turn to the Secret Service agent sitting next to me and propose something different, my voice hopeful.

“How do you feel about running?”

He looks at me, his face a mixture of perplexed confusion and apprehension at my unusual question.

“Uh, running, Mr President?”

I laugh and roll my eyes, raising my brows as I reply back to him.

“Yes, running. You know, the repetitive motion of putting one foot in front of the other, usually at a higher speed than walking? Running.”

He looks at me and nods, the hint of a smile threatening to break through the stone-faced façade he had going. Wouldn’t kill him to smile every now and then, would it?

“I used to run track in high school, Mr President. I actually enjoy it quite a bit. Why do you ask?”

Oh, perfect! This means he’s probably competitive, and he’ll give me a run for my money.

Run for my money, hah! I’m hilarious.

“Well, I’d like to go for a run and was wondering if you’d like to join me. I need to blow off some steam and running’s a good way to do that.”

I watch as he nods and goes to speak to another security team member but stops, his gaze whipping back to me before he does.

“Is this a run around the White House grounds? Or do you want to go somewhere else? If you’d like to run at another location, we can, but it’ll take some time to—”

I cut him off with a wave of my hand, shaking my head as I speak.

“No, no need for that. A run around the grounds is fine.”

He nods and lets the security team know that we’ll be running along the track and to alert the rest of the staff of our whereabouts.

The car pulls up, and I step out, anxious to get on the track and clear my head. The better focus I have, the better tomorrow will go.