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Of course, it would be far from the first time a politician had been a complete fake and their true personality came out inside the halls of the White House.
The president’s secretary greets us in the Outer Oval. He’s young and excited, and the only decoration he’s put up on his desk is a picture of a gorgeous woman in a wedding dress. His hair is longer than usual for DC, a shag cut that curls at the ends. I can picture him on a surfboard easier than here in the West Wing.
He holds out his hand and beams. “I’m Matt.”
“Agents Theriot and Ellis, here for the president’s briefing.”
“Absolutely.” Matt is bursting with excitement. “You guys are right on time.”
We’re two minutes early. I let it slide. Matt will learn a new definition of punctual soon enough.
Henry shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “So, how’s your first day going, kid? Settling in?”
“It’s amazing,” Matt gushes. “I can’t believe how incredible this place is. It’s literally a dream come true.”
He’s pure California, effusive and laid-back and in love with life. He’s been with Walker for years, working with him in the California governor’s office before the campaign. In fact, that’s a North Face fleece jacket I spy draped over his chair.
Henry and I share a quick look. We don’t have to say a word.
I hope Washington doesn’t change Matt.
Henry leans into my shoulder, a silent moment of support hidden in the sudden rush of activity as the doors to the Oval open and the leaders of the national security watch, a gaggle of civilians and military officers, file past us. I check their faces, their expressions, reading entire paragraphs in the set of their jaws and the tilt of their heads. Smiles all around, and a few of them are laughing. It was a good meeting.
“And you’re up.” Matt smiles and ushers us into the Oval Office.
Even after all these years, the Oval never fails to awe me. The moment it does will be the moment I need to turn in my badge.
Matt is on our heels, drinking in the Oval in sips and ogling it between meetings. I was like that a decade ago, brand-new to the White House and straining for peeks inside as I stood the worst shifts of the detail and paid my dues on my way up the ladder.
My gaze sweeps over the office: the doors to the president’s private study, the hallway to the Roosevelt Room, French doors heading out to the Rose Garden and the West Colonnade. President Walker has his back to us, and he’s rolling his neck as he braces himself against the Resolute desk. It’s a Kennedy-esque moment: shoulders taut beneath his suit jacket, palms flat on the desktop.
I know that pose. Migraine incoming, Mach 2.
He turns as Matt announces our arrival.
The branches on the cherry trees outside stutter, and everything screeches to a stop.
Brennan Walker’s presence—restrained power, raw masculinity—fills the office, as thick as the ocean is with salt.
His strength is tempered with some quality that the campaign and the news tried to define and couldn’t. Authority wrapped in velvet, leadership and solemnity and grace combined in equal measures. His eyes are brighter than blue, and his dark hair is longer on top than previous presidents’, long enough to rake his fingers through.
An electric silence buzzes through the Oval, a hum that sinks into my bones. It smears away the edges of the world, narrowing my focus, drawing me into Walker’s gaze. I’m about to fall, tip over into those bleu clair eyes, slide into the center of this man—
Reality snaps back into focus, and suddenly everything is moving too fast. Henry crosses the office. The door shuts. President Walker stares, his lips parting as he stays rooted to the spot.
Henry moves between Walker and me. “Mr. President, I’m Special Agent Henry Ellis, assistant special agent in charge of your detail.”
This awkward silence builds as Henry’s hand hangs in the air. President Walker and I are still lost in each other.
My blood is starting to burn. My pulse is rising. My thoughts jerk out of sequence, words and images that don’t make sense. Bleu profond. Captivant. De toute beauté. Merde, merde.
Finally, Walker turns to Henry, but it takes another moment before he drags his eyes from mine. He shakes Henry’s hand and flashes his understated and almost secret smile, the one that sent spasms through America’s heartland.
“Mr. President.” I step forward. “Reese Theriot, special agent in charge of your detail.”
“Agent Theriot.” There’s a different timbre in his voice with me than when he spoke to Henry. His fingers tremble, ever so faintly, in my hold. When he drops my hand, he makes a fist, his knuckles clenched so tight they’re white as moondust.
“I’m sure it’s been a long day for you, Mr. President,” Henry says. He clears his throat. Eyes me. “We won’t take up too much of your time.”
