“Sepi, how long do we have?” Cleo asked, once the round of pictures had been taken.
“You have about fifteen minutes.”
“Perfect,” Cleo said. “I’m going to show the boys—or rather, the young men—my favorite painting.” She grabbed Blayne by one hand and Ethan by the other and dragged them to a door heading west. “Welcome to the West Wing,” she said as they passed a couple of staffers. “We’re walking through the Western Colonnade. You’ll see the press offices on the right, and here’s the Briefing Room. It’s the one you see on TV all the time. And up ahead is the Cabinet Room. Let’s look inside.” She knocked and poked her head in. “Empty.” She gestured for Blayne and Ethan to follow. She shut the door behind them, perched on the giant executive table in the room, and her facade immediately changed. “What did Phillipa tell you?”
“She’s been trying to reach you through normal channels but hasn’t gotten through to you in about forty-eight hours,” Blayne explained.
“That worries me. That means someone at the White House switchboard has been messing with my calls for almost two days.” Cleo strummed her nails against the wooden table as she looked distant for a second, deep in thought. “Any actionable intel?”
“Only that she’s worried you’re a target,” Ethan said.
“I figured as much,” Cleo admitted. “I’ve also seen the threat reports against you. How are you holding up?”
“As best as can be expected,” Blayne admitted. “It’s all been a whirlwind.”
“I am sorry that civilians, such as yourselves, have gotten dragged into all this cloak-and-dagger shit. You’re neither trained nor prepared for this life. I chose it. Dr. Hennigan sort of chose it.”
“Are you two close?” Ethan asked.
“No one’s reallythatclose with Phillipa. Well, maybe Ms. Wilson, but I’m unsure about that. I don’t know how Phillipa does what she does. She never had a choice. She was born into this life. I…I at least made decisions long ago that set me on this trajectory. I play the dutiful, albeit slightly ditzy wife for the press and keep the ship running behind closed doors.”
“Does the President know about this?”
“Jeffrey? No, he’s clueless. Probably the only one who has any suspicion is his Chief of Staff. She at least sees through the public veneer I’ve created.” She reached over to a pad of paper and grabbed a pen off the table and scratched out something on the paper before handing it to Ethan. “Give this to Phillipa. It’s my personal cell phone number. It’s a secure line and not one controlled by the Secret Service.”
“We’ll pass it along when we see her,” Ethan said, pocketing the slip of paper.
“Okay,” Cleo declared, “let’s start this show.” Immediately, her relaxed posture stiffened, and the fake smile plastered as she pushed herself off the table, opened the Cabinet Room door and led them back down the hall.
Ethan
They walked back into the Palm Room. The Chief of Staff stood huddled in the corner with the President. Ethan wished he could be a fly on that wall. Cleo Barnes had the full hostess-with-the-mostest routine down as she flitted around the room, ensuring everyone was okay.
“The ceremony starts in five minutes,” Sepi Amin said.
Cleo had returned to Blayne and Ethan and clapped her hands twice. “Excuse me. Before this starts, I just want to thank everyone for being here today.” Suddenly, she tilted her head to the side and put on a confused look. “Something’s missing.”
The door to the West Wing opened. Ethan turned his head and almost fell over. In walked both of their best friends. Stephanie wore a navy dress, and Kira was clad in a burgundy business suit. Ethan heard himself squeal. He and Blayne ran to their friends and enveloped them in their arms.
“I thought you said you couldn’t make it?” Blayne asked Kira. “Something about. ‘I can’t get time off work.’”
“And you,” Ethan said, looking at Stephanie. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? I’ve missed you.”
“When did you get here? Where are you staying? How did you do this without us knowing?” The questions flew out of Ethan’s mouth.
“You’ll have plenty of time to talk after the ceremony,” Cleo said.
“Thank you, Madam First Lady, your highness.” The awkward words stumbled out of Stephanie’s mouth like she realized who was standing in the room. She looked to the side and said, “Oh my God, it’s the President!”
Jeffrey Barnes looked around the room and asked conspiratorially, “Where?” garnering a giggle fit from Stephanie.
“Jeffrey,” Cleo said, swatting him on the shoulder, “play nice. He’s been playing that game since he got elected. And please, just call me Cleo.” Cleo extended her hands to the women.
“And I’m Jeffrey or Mr. President.” He shook their hands as well.
There was something genuinely folksy about Jeffrey Barnes. Ethan had to remind himself that he hated the man’s political stances on almost everything.
“Well, now that the entire party is here,” Sepi Amin announced, “the White House press corps is waiting. First, we’ll take your family and friends out and seat them in the first row in front of the attending dignitaries. Once they’re settled, the official ceremony will begin. Mr. President and Madam First Lady will walk out first. They’ll wave. The President will walk to the podium to deliver his remarks. He will announce you to the press. You’ll go out and wave. Don’t forget to smile. Are we ready? Good.” She nodded to the intern, who’d suddenly appeared.
