I stare at her. Anger rolls through me again, anger and disbelief.
I don’t understand why this woman would attack Adam. I mean, I can see why she might believe I’m in trouble, but she’s so far from the truth. She won’t even listen when I tell her that I don’t need her help.
“I have proof of the two of you,” she says, reaching into her bag. She takes out a stack of pictures.
I stare at them. It’s Adam, standing outside of my apartment. I open the door, he comes inside, I shut it behind him.
I lean back in my chair, devastated.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I really am.”
“You’re going to publish those?”
“I’m thinking about it,” she says. “I don’t want to include these pictures. I don’t want to include your name, even. That is, if you’ll agree to work with me.”
I laugh angrily. “So you’re blackmailing me now?”
“No,” she says. “I’m trying to help you.”
“You’re not,” I say. “If you wanted to help me, you wouldn’t be here, trying to force me to talk. You wouldn’t use these pictures against me.” I lean over the table. “This isn’t about me. This is about you.”
She stares at me. “Maggie, you don’t understand.”
“You don’t understand,” I snap back. “I’m not in trouble. I don’t need your help. This witch hunt you’re on has to stop. Leave Adam alone.”
Her expression softens into pity and I want to rip her teeth out.
“Adam?” she says softly.
I lean toward her. “Leave the President alone.”
“You know I can’t do that. Honestly, you have to know.”
I shake my head and stand. My untouched coffee rattles. “If you had any decency, you wouldn’t print those pictures. You wouldn’t print anything about any of this.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she says, and I believe she means it. “This isn’t how I wanted any of this to go down.”
I stare for a second longer before shaking my head and walking away.
I hurry back to my apartment. The whole time, I picture someone following me, taking my picture. I’m practically freaking out by the time I get inside. I lock my door and sit down on the couch before bursting into tears.
I cry like a baby. I feel like a baby. I hate that this is happening. I hate myself for being so pathetic.
But what Linda said…
He’s abandoning me.
The thought hits me so hard I can barely breathe.
He knows about Linda’s article. He knows she plans on publishing.
And he didn’t tell me.
Instead, he started firing his whole staff, looking for the leak. He’s panicking, or he’s angry, but either way he’s not talking to me. I’m cast aside.
I’m honestly surprised he didn’t fire me, too.
I feel broken. I feel like a silly little girl.
I thought we had something real. Maybe we couldn’t be public yet, maybe not until after he’s out of office. But I thought what we had was real enough to last until then, and much longer.
I still feel that way about him. That’s the part I hate the most.
I still love him.
The thought drives me crazy. I’m so sad and pathetic.
I’m in love with the President, and I was stupid enough to think he’d love me back.
Maybe Linda’s right.
Maybe I am just another victim.
I wish he’d call. I wish he’d talk to me.
Instead, all I get is silence, and I can feel myself breaking apart.18AdamMore than half my staff gone. The whole world fucking talking about it.
And I still don’t feel good. I don’t feel safe.
I don’t feel anything.
I stare out the window of my bedroom, looking out at the city. I shut my eyes, try to banish all thoughts from my mind, but I can’t help it.
I keep thinking about her.
Maggie. Her voice, her lips, her tongue, her skin. Everything about her.
Her vision for the future, her work ethic. Her brilliant mind.
I’m supposed to be staying away from her. When the Linda story drops, things are going to be bad for both of us. I can protect her, but only if I have the discipline to stay away from her from now on.
I hate it. I despise it.
I miss her like hell.
Fixing my tie, I head out into the main hallway. Ramirez falls in behind me, the only man left from my original security detail.
Every day, I wonder when Linda is going to publish that story. Every day I expect it, but nothing happens.
Charles meets me at the foot of the stairs. “Good morning, sir,” he says.
“Good morning,” I say.
He follows along as we head to the Oval Office. He gives me a rundown of meetings, of people I’ll be seeing, decisions that need to be made.
I’m the leader of the free world, or at least that’s what people say. Really, I’m a prisoner.
I can’t live the life I want to live. I’m trapped in this job.
The worst part is, I know she’s so close. I could walk to her office right now, talk to her, touch her, smell her hair, hear her laugh. I could be there in just a few minutes.