Mr. President

I spend more time listening than the five minutes we spent alone together just now, and then I quickly excuse myself.

I notice the steely frustration in his gaze as I leave, the way his jaw clenches as if he’s keeping himself from saying something.

30

NEWS

Charlotte

I hardly slept. I kept wanting to go to him, I kept sort of hurting, remembering how Matt got ticked off just thinking of me in the same situation his mother once endured. I kept thinking of him wanting to spend more time with me, and I kept checking my calendar, crossing another X on another day with him that I won’t ever recover.

I also got a call from my mother, and if I hadn’t already had enough on my mind, that phone call also had me tossing and turning all night.

She’s concerned about the rumors and concerned I might be harming this campaign more than doing it any good.

“Half of the press is speculating about you two,” she warns. “Are you sure you don’t want to consider quitting while you’re ahead and Matt is the country’s favorite, and come back to Women of the World?” she asked.

“I’m sure,” I told her, but last night, as sleep eluded me, the kernel of doubt she planted sat like a ton of bricks in my gut.

This morning I’m rushing to get ready. The TV is set on the local news, and I’m half listening—when I hear my own name being said.

I freeze in the bathroom, where I was applying makeup.

Disbelieving, I walk out to the bedroom and stare at my face on the TV screen—a picture of me from a high school yearbook, another of me standing discreetly behind Matt at one of the events.

A big red circle is around Matt and me in that picture. Next flashes an image of me from my social media that the campaign staff had actually asked me to take down; I’m in a bikini, pictured with Kayla, Sam, and Alan. Did the press gain access to it through other posts on my friends’ sites?

It’s a shock to see my image on the TV. My personal images out there. True, social media is public. But on TV?

I set the lipstick aside on the nightstand, my eyes widening as I listen.

They’re now speculating about me? Just me?

“Think there’ll be a romance . . .?”

“Maybe, Carl. Her Georgetown colleagues describe her as being a sweet, hardworking girl who always did the right thing.”

“President Lawrence—or as they called him, ‘Law’—Hamilton and Senator Wells had a friendship dating back to their years in the army, so maybe it really is just a friendship between Matt Hamilton and Charlotte Wells. Time will tell.”

I flash back to the last night I spent in Matt’s arms. The hotel room becomes tiny, claustrophobic. I’m reeling like a drunk, and the kernel of fear my mother planted seems to grow a thousand and one limbs.

Really, there are other news stories to be told.

I skim the channels. On another station, they’re talking about Gordon having a deal to funnel supporters from the Republican candidates who lost their bid for the presidency.

Another has a story about President Jacobs and his latest executive order.

I flip to another channel, which is showing Matt speaking during one of his engagements. “Our country is on the brink of transformation.” And the crowd, drunk on him, is swept up in the moment.

I frown, march into the hotel closet to search through the clothes I packed, and pull out my most powerful power suit that says I mean business—and that’s all I mean.

I’m grateful the rest of the day focuses on what matters. The campaign.

Even more grateful to find that Matt had decided to cut the speculators’ wings, flat out.

Matt’s comment on the issue of our relationship on TV that evening: “Miss Wells is an old family friend, and more important, she’s perfect at her job. Thank you.” And with a nod and a grin, he leaves them all whispering and tittering.

Feeding them crumbs . . . but for how long will it be enough to satiate their appetites?

31

DEBATE

Charlotte

I ride to the first debate with Hessler and Alison, and arrive at the event just in time to watch Matt get out of the car right in front of us, the cameras swarming him like bees to honey. I know that physicality is important in debates and speaking engagements. Matt doesn’t have any problem with that. He walks straight in, his jacket in his hand, a trail of us behind him.

“What did you do to prepare for this this morning?”

“What's your plan—how are you going to win the debate tonight?”

“No preparing. I was born for this.” His lips curl wickedly and he then nods formally at the reporter.

We head into the debate hall for the walk-through, preparing, seeing the stage and taking in his position to the right of the center, where President Jacobs will be.

There’s excitement in the air, the vibration so charged, you can feel the anticipation. Matt looks calm, but he’s got his game face on.

I know that this is not a moment to change plans or rethink strategies; it’s a moment to feel confident, calm, and steady.

Carlisle, too, looks relaxed. He knows Matt does well in this kind of setting. He has an innate strength for connecting with audiences and voters, even reporters.

Before the debate even starts, Alison is taking pictures as if it’s her last camera.

I watch him stand there, composed and powerful, his every word measured and smooth. I know he’s improvising it all; his speeches are very conversational, frequently making people smile even when he’s not trying to be funny. He’s simply natural and charming when he meets people, treating them as equals—something many politicians pretend to do but actually don’t. Matt doesn’t have a politician’s bone in his body.

And maybe that will be what ends up making us lose this race. He doesn’t want to do things Carlisle assures us had worked for his father’s campaign, such as exchange support for future positions in the government. Matt won’t sell out. He wants people to work in high positions because of their merit, not because he needs their backing.

He’s the only candidate fully funding his own campaign. All the money from fundraisers has gone to support some of the causes he holds important—I was surprised when I got a phone call from my mother, thanking him for his donation to Women of the World.

The heat is on. Sweat beads along my brow as the candidates take their positions.

Matt is speaking about women’s rights, and looks at me briefly before the topic veers to equal rights for all. I can’t believe how turned on I get watching him talk about his vision, his plans. It stimulates me in every way—mentally, emotionally, and physically. He speaks of what I hope my country’s future will be like.