Chapter Seven
There’s a tradition that the outgoing president leaves a handwritten note in the desk for the incoming president. The contents are supposed to be a secret, unless the recipient wants to reveal them.
I am genuinely curious to read President Fullmer’s note. Based on the death glares his wife sent me during Inauguration, I’m likely not his favorite person.
I’m thewoman who punted Fullmer into the One-Term Club, which is adding insult to injury after the bipartisan veto override vote I led three years ago to ram a revamped single-payer health care bill down his throat.
Suck it, asshole. It was wildly popular with the public.Theyare our bosses—notcorporations,notlobbyists.
That’s in addition to the slam-dunk Kev dropped on the jerkface earlier today.
Kev and Chris are following me as I walk up to the door of the Oval Office that evening before we head to Blair House to change clothes and attend the first of three balls we’ll be visiting tonight. We’ll sleep at Blair House again tonight so the movers have time to finish upstairs.
But there’s something I want to do first.
Two somethings, actually. The second something includes a certain twosomeones.
Even though I’ve crossed this portal literally dozens of times during my eighteen-year Senate career, this is the first time I’ve been here as the official occupant.
I hesitate, pausing, savoring it.
Neither of them speak, knowing I need a moment. When I finally take a deep breath and open the door, it truly hits me and starts to sink in that this ismyoffice now.
I walk inside,Chris and Kev stopping just inside the door as I continue for a few steps. I stand there, deeply inhaling the scent of success and savoring it before I motion for Kev to close the door behind us. They still hold back as I walk over to the desk and round it. I know it’smychair, because I specifically asked them to bring over the one I’d used in my Senate office. Dammit, I paid for the thing outof my own pocket. It’smine.
Better, I know Fullmer hasn’t parked his smarmy ass in it. The swap of furnishings happened while we were all at the official transfer of power, my swearing in, the luncheon, the parade. I’d picked out the new office treatments a couple of weeks ago from the provided catalog and went back to the dark blue drapes that were hung in here for previous presidents.
No,the taxpayers didn’t have to buy “new” stuff, although I do have a $100k budget to buy things or pay for renovations, and that’s the standard budget all incoming presidents receive. The furnishings I’ve selected for my office were already owned by the government, and they usually sit in storage. By “catalog” I mean the official inventory of everything that can be selected from to use in here, andin the rest of the White House, including the residence. The only new thing we’ve purchased so far is a brand-new king-sized four poster bed for our bedroom, and I did that with my own money.
It’ll comfortably sleep three, and wouldn’t you just know it, the sturdy metal frame isperfectfor restraints.
Yeah, none of us felt right about getting jiggy in a bed one of the founding fathers mighthave slept in, or possibly marring a priceless national antique with our play.
For outfitting the rest of the White House, including the residence, and the East Wing, Chris took over that job. He hired a talented young interior design student from FSU, Jordan Walsh, to come in and help make those decisions. Using a designer is a standard practice, although our choice of an unknown student issomewhat different.
Chris reached out to the school in Tallahassee, since it’s our home turf, so to speak. He knew that not only would we pay less to hire a student versus a pricey professional, the boost Jordan’s future career receives as a result of adding this experience to his resume will be incalculable. Chris and Jordan coordinate with the Chief Usher to handle the moving day logistics.Kev handled overseeing the West Wing, also with Jordan’s help.
I only oversaw the selections for the Oval Office and my private study just off it, where I’ll be doing the bulk of my work. I kept it simple, swapping out some art on the walls, the couches, and a bust of JFK that I wanted in here, a different rug. No painting or anything else required. They came in, stripped the rooms bare, cleanedthe Oval Office, the private study, and my new private bathroom from top to bottom, and then installed the furnishings and treatments I’d picked. In fact, this was the first room completed in the move. We couldn’t start the moving-in process until noon.
I’d asked for the drapes to be left pulled closed after the completion, and you know what’s nice about that?
Because I’m the damn president,and it’s my damn office, I didn’thaveto explain myself.
I settle into my chair, smiling, remembering just a fraction of the accomplishments I achieved with my ass planted in it.
And some of the blowjobs I’ve given Chris and Kev while they sat in it.
I requested theResoluteDesk, even though Fullmer used it, too. He wasn’t the first, and I won’t be the last. Kennedy, Carter, Bush 43, Obama,and others of both parties have used it. It has a proud heritage I’m blessed enough to now be a part of. I also know the staff has thoroughly cleaned and dusted it. It’s pristine, inside and out, and should only contain memories and one other thing, if tradition holds.
When I open the top drawer, sure enough, I find a sealed envelope with my name printed on it in a shaky script I recognize asFullmer’s. I look at Cris and Kev as I hold it up.
Chris smiles. “Well?”
I sit back in my chair. “Do we want to take bets?”
Kev shrugs. “He adhered to protocol pretty strictly, despite what an asshole he could be. It’s probably a good-luck and godspeed kind of note.”
I look at Chris. “What do you think?”
