“Amanda?” the voice said.
I realized I hadn’t seen Xavier in a number of days, not since I’d recommended Jason. I swallowed.
“Mr. President. Would you like me to alert the campaign leader?”
“No, Amanda. I’d like to see you in my office.”
I swallowed, peering at my computer. It was so bright before me. It was like I couldn’t hear anything anymore, like I was alone in this raucous world of politics.
“Amanda. Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” I whispered. But I could hardly hear myself.
“Please, Amanda. Come to my office.” The voice was nearly pleading. It was ringed with some sort of despair.
I hung up the phone without answering and stood, tugging at my dress once more. I began walking toward the edge of the room. I felt Jason’s eyes on me. He looked at me so in a snarky manner—revealing to me that he was my superior. I allowed my eyes to graze over him. I knew that the president’s call was about more than the escalation of Jason’s career. I knew it was about our relationship—about the undercurrent of our normal conversation. I still had so many, many feelings for him. My stomach turned and I quickened my step.
Another Secret Service agent stood outside the Oval Office door, standing tall. I stopped before him, without speaking. The man turned the handle and allowed me to enter.
Outside, it was a grey September day. I sniffed and tapped in, noting that the president had turned the chair away from me, toward the window. He was looking at the rain.
Before I could speak, he interrupted my thoughts. “Quite a bleak day, Amanda,” he stated. His voice was gruff.
“Yes,” I quivered. “It certainly is.”
He swung around, then. His fingers were laced together. He looked very much like a cartoon version of a world leader. He gestured forward, offering me the seat before him once more.
“Is there something wrong with the campaign?” I asked him.
But he just waved his hand before his face, shaking his nose with an almost imperceptive movement. “There’s nothing wrong. Both you and Jason seem to be doing a stunning job. Truly.”
I sat, hearing my knees creak a bit. I knew that the stress was getting to me. I swallowed, feeling the strained sexual tension between us once more. “So. What’s the deal, then?” I was challenging him, trying to comprehend what was going on in his head.
Xavier brought his hands apart and placed them before him, on the desk. He flexed them slightly. “Well. The thing of it is, Amanda. I’m quite worried about you.”
I swallowed. “Worried about me?”
He nodded. “The woman I met all those weeks ago—the woman I came to grow fond of, let’s say, would never have quit this. Would never have given this position off to another man.” He shrugged, then. “She wouldn’t have allowed this to happen.”
I shook my head vehemently. “I can assure you, sir. I can assure you that—“
But he interrupted me. His voice was soft. “Amanda. I want you to be happy; I don’t want what happened between us the other evening to interrupt your career. I told you before: your life is set here. You have a job whenever you need it. This path is yours.”
I bowed my head. “I understand that, Xavier. I’m just—I’m in shock about what happened between us. You have to understand that.”
He tipped his head to the right, trying to gage me. “You haven’t grown close to anyone recently, have you?”
I didn’t know what to say. Of course I hadn’t grown close to anyone. I’d been married to my career. My career was the only reason I’d gotten this far: all the way to the Oval Office, playing the part of the other woman. “I haven’t,” I murmured.
He nodded, then. “I understand how you must feel about all of this, of course. I understand that this is a lot to take in—that every day here must be filled with stress. Of course, you must understand that I feel the stress, too.”
I nodded. I gazed at his solid expression. His eyes locked with mine. He felt like home; he felt like the only person I had ever trusted.
“I had a great time with you the other night, regardless of the stress,” he began again. He looked at me with such passion. “I know that it’s awkward for you; I know that it might be too much to ask. But I’d love to get together with you again. It’s only with you—with you, Amanda—that I feel good about myself.”
My head was spinning. Was the President of the United States really saying this to me, right then? I didn’t know what to do.
He began again. “Know that I think about you all the time—that you are an essential part of my being. I want you to be with me, Amanda. Please.” He tipped his head forward once more. “Just one more date.” His smile skirted across his face, like he was playing a game with me. I wanted to laugh.