Madam President (8 page)

"The legit press will pick it up if it's hot enough. And we all know that if three of the scandal sheets pick up the story of Lauren living in the residence at the same time, it must be true. It's a law... like gravity or Murphy's."

Dev laughed to herself and stuffed David's pen into her pocket, rubbing her thumb along the warm metal. "It is true, Mr. Smarty Pants. Try to remember that."

*
 
*
 
*

Lauren sat down on her new bed, in her new room, in her new house... the White House. "Wow." She shook her head in amazement, allowing herself to absorb where she was and what she had gotten herself into.

Since November, she'd been on a continuous, whirlwind publicity tour for her last biography, making the big push to drive up holiday sales and keep her publisher very, very happy. That had left her with no time to even scratch the surface of who Devlyn Marlowe was. And it left her feeling unusually insecure, slightly disconcerted even, like the college student who had blown off studying for the big exam and was now getting ready to pay the piper.

Lauren chided herself for her worries.
It's not like you don't know anything about her... Hell, her face and those annoying, endless sound bites have been plastered all over your TV for the past six months.
But the writer did admit to herself that the President was a lot more palatable when she wasn't being crammed down your throat.
Okay, more than palatable. Nice, really.

She exhaled slowly. Lauren had finally been left alone for more than ten seconds at a stretch, her curious gaze unhampered by Secret Service agents and the milling, ever-present White House staff. It gave her a moment to order the mental snapshots she'd been taking since she met Devlyn. Although she itched to get her hands on her camera.

The thrill here, in this place, was the same she'd gotten when she was permitted inside some of the most private, holy areas of the Vatican while doing Cardinal O'Roarke's biography. Her stomach fluttered in a cross between nervousness and raw excitement, her palms moist and cool even as her keen intellect began cataloging information. But her tour of the Vatican had been a brief, escorted visit. She was actually going to
live
here. At least for a while. Lauren didn't think her penchant for privacy would allow her to stay here too long. But she was going to make the most of it while it lasted.

Her gaze glided across gleaming, Colonial style, cherry wood furnishings and the rich oil paintings of previous Presidents in heavy wooden frames that adorned the walls. The room was nearly as big as her entire apartment back home. And while it didn't have a kitchen or laundry room, it did have what amounted to a full bedroom, a well-stocked bar, and sitting area, complete with two small sofas that faced each other across a short, delicate-looking coffee table.

The bed was so tall that Lauren's feet barely touched the floor when she sat on the edge of the firm mattress. Predictably, it was a four-poster model made from the same cherry wood that dominated the room. Its deep, rich shine was so brilliant that Lauren could see her distorted reflection winking back at her when she looked at it. She immediately lifted her hand and ran her finger across it, smudging it with the same weird delight a kid gets when he rolls around in a pristine bank of even, white snow, happily making his mark by destroying its almost unnatural perfection.

A slender, matching dresser, nightstand with brass handles, and massive armoire flanked the bed. On the nightstand, in a cut crystal vase, sat two dozen long-stemmed, yellow roses, their gentle fragrance filling the room and mingling with the scent of wood polish. Long, cream-colored curtains that matched the impossibly soft comforter had been pulled open a few feet and tied with a gold sash, allowing the early evening's moonlight to spill in through the frosty glass.

Her few boxes had been unpacked by White House staffers, after, of course, everything had been properly inspected, X-rayed, sniffed and scanned... and that included her Pug, Gremlin, who was scampering around her feet, trying furiously to jump up onto the too tall bed. Lauren was actually surprised the little dog didn't glow by now.

"I must be dreaming, Gremlin."
But, God, talk about pressure.
"I hope I'm this good." Lauren blew pale golden hair off her forehead with a puff of warm air. An incredulous laugh bubbled up from inside her. "This is totally surreal." The fingertips of one hand idly grazed the satiny-soft top of the bed's comforter, while she leaned over and scratched Gremlin behind the ears as the dog growled in pleasure.

Slate gray eyes flecked with blue and green widened when the woman peered down at her watch and realized that it was already time to meet Devlyn and be introduced to the President's children. She wondered if they'd all be lined up like the Von Trapp family, awaiting inspection from their Commander in Chief.
Ewww... I hope not.
Lauren cringed.
Plus, I can't sing for crap.

She was a little nervous. Life as an only child hadn't prepared her for dealing with kids. And always having your nose in a book when you were a child yourself, didn't help make you Miss Popularity. Then again, she was pretty sure she wouldn't do something embarrassing like lift up her shirt and show her boobies in exchange for two Hershey bars and the window seat on the school bus. Again. A grin tugged at her lips... of course that might depend on who was asking, and how good the candy was. She decided not to rule anything out for the time being.

The writer stood up and straightened the belt to her russet-colored slacks, sparing a wistful thought for the blue jeans she didn't think she'd be seeing a lot of in the next four years. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it.
Should I?
She thought for a moment then nodded. "I think we've got a minute, Grem. Let's call him, huh?" Lauren chuckled. "Let's just hope this doesn't give Wayne that heart attack he's been worrying over for the past five years. Because he is going to die when I tell him where I ended up staying."

The second shelf of the dark nightstand slid out, forming a small table, making the phone easily accessible from the bed, but still keeping it mostly hidden from view, so as not to spoil the decor of the room.

The blonde woman opened her mouth to give the voice command to 'call', but stopped when she got a good look at the smooth machine. It didn't have a voice box on the top. "Huh."
Must be a genuine old phone.
Next she picked up the receiver and stared at the cord, pulling at it a few times and looking slightly annoyed. "Pain in the... okay, I can do it the hard way." She lifted the receiver and flipped it over to press the button pad, but there wasn't one. In fact, there was no visible way to call anyone.

Suddenly, a genuine smile lit up Lauren's face. "Hot damn, Gremlin." The dog finally took a running jump and was able to make it onto the bed. His tail wiggled furiously in victory, and his beady, black eyes fixed on the object in his mistress' hand. "It's the Bat Phone!"

A light knocking sound drew Lauren and Gremlin's attention to the door. "Time to go meet the miniature humans. Wish me luck, boy." She waggled her finger at the mutt. "No... you can't come." She almost ordered him off the beautiful comforter but shrugged instead. If she was going to live here, this would be Grem's home too. And he'd be up there for bed tonight anyway. "Just be careful," she pleaded, straightening the pillow Gremlin had mashed in his excitement. "Martha Washington or somebody probably made that. And I don't want to have to take out a loan to replace it."

The dog jumped to the edge of the bed to follow her, but hesitated when he looked down at the floor. He whined softly.

"Uh huh. Now you're stuck, aren't you?" Lauren laughed as she made her way to the door. "Serves you right."

She opened the door to find Michael Oaks standing there. Lauren was vaguely disappointed.
Why was I expecting Devlyn?
She looked over the slender black man's shoulder. "What? No reinforcements this time?"

Michael stiffened at her reference to his visit to Nashville. "The Secret Service agent assigned to this hall is properly positioned at his post, Ms. Strayer. I assure you. I saw no reason to bring him to the door." He tucked his purple necktie deeper behind his suit coat. "You're ready, I assume?"

"Yes.... err... no... just one minute." Lauren dashed back to the desk perched against the wall opposite the bed. Digging into a bag, she pulled out a camera and quickly slid in a fresh roll of film. She waited to click the cover closed before she spoke. "Now I'm ready."

"You can't..." He pointed toward the camera. "That's not..." he began to sputter.

Lauren arched an eyebrow. "
Full
access, Mr. Oaks. These will be for my own research purposes, not for publication. And I already have David McMillian's full permission. Do you outrank him?" she asked innocently, inwardly chuckling.

"Well, umm... of course not." Michael's frustration began to mount. "But..."

"Get over it." She looked back down at her watch. "We're going to be late. Shall we continue to stand here and discuss it?" Lauren was fully aware of how much she was annoying the aide, and she was loving every minute of it.

He gave her a thin-lipped smile.
Bitch.
"So we are." He extended his arm, and Lauren brushed past him, closing the door behind her. She hadn't taken two steps when a surprisingly loud, prolonged howl rang out from inside her room.

Gray eyes slid closed.
Not now, Grem!
Lauren bit her lip and turned back around to face Michael, who looked appalled. "I'm sorry," she apologized sincerely. "He's not used to his surroundings yet. Let me go calm him down. Or I could bring him? We're only going a few doors down to see the kids, right?"

"I'll have a cage and muzzle delivered immediately."

Lauren stopped dead in her tracks and turned icy eyes on the well-dressed man. "You can order those things if you'd like. But they certainly won't be for Gremlin," she ground out harshly.

"He can't continue to howl like that."

Lauren's hands moved to her hips. "Actually, he can."

"That's unacceptable."

"I agree. I should go get him."

"No," Michael said flatly.

Lauren sighed. God, she was already tired of this person, and she'd only been living here for three hours! "The apartment I had all picked out before my plans changed, permitted pets. Gremlin is doing the best he can here."

"This isn't an apartment complex."

"No, it's not. And I don't have a problem with calling the apartment manager and seeing if the place is still available," she shot back. "Look, Mr. Oaks, it isn't as though there are a lot of options here. Either I leave him alone, and he howls. Or I bring him with me, and he's quiet. Or I stay in the room with him for a little while and get him settled down, and he's quiet. " Lauren crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. "Your call."

"Do you expect that... that
thing
is going to have the run of the White House?!" Michael was almost yelling now, his anger getting the best of him.

"No," Lauren answered evenly. "He'll calm down soon. He's used to traveling, but he's only been here a few hours. Gremlin's also been poked, scanned, prodded, and don't even get me started on that glowing, bright green liquid they made him drink. Then they X-rayed him
several
times as though I had hidden a nuclear bomb in his Dog Chow! He's only an animal. He can't be expected to endure endless disruption and not react." With that, she marched back into the room and sat down next to Gremlin.

"I thought we had an appointment?" Dev poked her head into the room, acting as though she hadn't heard the voices raised in anger. She had been waiting impatiently for Lauren and finally came to seek her out. Michael scampered out of Devlyn's way.

Lauren jumped to her feet. "We did... I... I'm sorry..."

"No problem," the tall woman said casually, feeling a little guilty for her childish impatience. But all throughout the day her mind kept drifting to tonight. Well, tonight was here, dammit! She tilted her head toward the inside of the room. "Can we come in?"