Aubrey waves a dismissive hand. “It’s fine, Cordelia.”
The smile he aims in my direction before returning his attention to his colleague is relaxed yet condescending. It’s a true reflection of the air of arrogance that floats around him every day. One I’m constantly subjected to because he insists on having me do dumb shit like stand inside the Oval and watch him and Cordelia pat themselves on the back for doing everything but keep the promises he made to earn his place behind the desk.
During the campaign, I never had much reason to interact with the woman. She was, like so many other people, a background actor in a play starring Selene. Nothing more than a figure moving around in the blurred edges of a scene with the only woman I’ve ever loved in the foreground. SometimesI regret not paying more attention to her then because I might have been better prepared to deal with her constant presence.
She and Aubrey are joined at the hip, closer now than they were during the campaign. It’s clear to anyone paying attention that she has Aubrey’s ear. What’s evident to me, especially in private meetings like this or the multiple weekends at Camp David, is that she isn’t above gripping that appendage and using it to turn his head in whatever direction she wants it to go.
Remnants of frustration from my insubordination color her tone as she crosses her legs and glares at Aubrey. “What exactly are your concerns here?”
He doesn’t look at her. His focus is back on the papers in front of him detailing a military operation in Sudan that went sideways last night. “You know what my concerns are, Cordelia. Your bill has passed. An Executive Order demanding the Department of Education to require the implementation of security cameras enhanced with facial recognition software would be overkill.”
“Or it would be exactly the push needed to actually make schools safer. Feelings wheels and therapy sessions aren’t going to cut it, Aubrey,” she says, tacking on a dig at Selene’s First Lady Initiative before continuing. “Our children need real solutions for the threats they face in schooltoday.Not tomorrow, next week or next year.”
“I’ve heard you make this same pitch a hundred times, Cordelia. There’s no need to do it again,” Aubrey gripes, a flare of authority in his tone that rarely comes out when he speaks to her. He closes the folder in front of him and sighs. “The answer is no.”
Her head rears back. “No?”
I don’t think she’s ever heard him say the word before, or rather, never been on the receiving end of it. Her posture sharpens, shoulders rising to meet her ears, spine straight asa needle, head tilted to the side. I can’t see her face, but I imagine she’s shooting daggers out of her eyes. Everything in her protesting the rejection he’s emphasizing with a nod of his head.
“You heard me correctly.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair, withering under the weight of her gaze even as he attempts to appear unmoved. “I understand how important this is to you, Madame Secretary. The bill was the last one you introduced in the Senate before you rose to this post.”
“Yes, it?—”
“However,”he continues. “As the Secretary of State, this bill and its implementation no longer fall under your purview. You have sworn an oath to protect the interests of the American people by turning a keen eye to the rest of the world, which means you cannot allow yourself to be distracted by domestic issues that are already being resolved.”
Cordelia pulls in a breath through her nostrils and forces the air out between her clenched teeth. “Iimploreyou to reconsider, Mr. President.”
Word choice aside, the command is clear, and it catapults the two of them into a silent standoff where I am the sole spectator. Since this is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me all day, I watch closely, trying to make sense of the battle of wills that shouldn’t be happening. Cordelia has always operated outside of the carefully drawn lines around her position, taking more liberties than what have been afforded to any other member of the Cabinet, but push back in the face of Aubrey’s meager and infrequent attempt to pull rank is egregious even for her.
It’s almost like she believes herself to be entitled to his agreement.
The silence only lasts for about twenty seconds before Jordan St. James—Aubrey’s campaign manager turned press secretary—interrupts by barging into the room. All eyes fall to her. Aubreyand Cordelia both frown in her direction, and the bubble of tension around them pops, allowing their displeasure with each other to morph into the joint annoyance with her that always seems to be present lately.
I’m not sure what Jordan has done to earn their disdain, and when the three of them are in a room together, I’m never allowed to stick around long enough to find out.
“Agent Drake, give us the room.”
The order comes from Aubrey, and despite my curiosity about the working dynamics of the trio who conspired to ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I’m happy to take my leave, exiting the office and immediately seeking out to Beck to hear how his visit with Selene went. Not being able to see her, to hold her precious face in my hands and kiss her long and slow before pulling her into one of those bone-crushing hugs she loves so much had killed me. The only solace I found in being denied that luxury is knowing that Beck got to have it, and when I find him in the small office we share as lead agents, I find new relief in her scent on his skin when we embrace.
Clinging to him is a risk since any one of the agents under our charge could walk in at any moment, but I do it anyway. My palm pressing into the nape of his neck. My fingers applying gentle but firm pressure to keep him in place. He exhales roughly as I pull in lungfuls of them, imagining what they might have packed into the five minutes they shared. Beck holds still, indulging this act of desperation the way I do for him when I’m the one lucky enough to steal a few moments with our love.
“How is she?” I ask, finally releasing him.
“Tired. Frustrated. Sad.” He runs a hand over his freshly shaven head and gives me a half smile. “Beautiful.”
“As always.”
Daily sweeps of this room to ensure there are no listening devices make this one of the few places we are safe to discussSelene. Still, we never use her name. Never speak about her for too long. Never go into full details until we’re outside of these walls, which means I won’t know the full story behind Beck’s observations until our shift is over.
“Who sprung you from the penalty box early?” he asks, referring to the Oval as the punishment device it is for both of us. Agents don’t typically stand guard inside the office, but Aubrey insists on having one, or both, of us do exactly that, sacrificing what little privacy he has to make sure we see him being a Master of Universe.
I’m sure he believes it’s a power play, but true power doesn’t require total control or constant monitoring. It’s quiet confidence. It’s skill and certainty. It’s indulging your enemy as they strategize against you, allowing them to imagine defeating you, and knowing that no matter how well prepared they are, you’ll crush them anyway.
Aubrey doesn’t know power. He doesn’t have it, but he’s familiar with the illusion of it.
I lower myself onto the corner of the desk. “Jordan. She interrupted a spat between Aubrey and Cordelia.”
Beck follows suit, returning to the office chair he was occupying when I arrived. He leans back, resting linked fingers over his stomach. “Aubrey and Cordelia, arguing? That’s odd.”
