Prologue
DNC Fundraising Dinner — Washington D.C.
6 months before the Election…
“Thank you so much for taking the time to listen to me ramble on about my experience these past four years. I know I speak for my mother when I say that we hope for four more successful years after this election,” I said, my voice amplified by the microphone on the podium in front of me as the dining hall filled with well-dressed attendees clapped politely.
My neck ached from the straps of the dress that Livvy had shoved me into earlier and my feet were a few seconds from breaking off and running away from my body, but even still I smiled graciously as I walked at the typical sedate pace that the daughter of a president should leave the stage at.
“Flicker is on the move,” Agent Brady, the long-time head of my Secret Service detail, muttered as I passed by him down the steps.
I had been Flicker my whole life.
My grandfather, Farrow Holloway, became the vice president of the United States when I was just eight years old and the entire Holloway family had been given fire-based monikers by the Secret Service who seemed to love a good theme.
He had been Inferno during his eight-year tenure thanks to his quick temper and desire for perfection. Then he had lost his bid for president and had quietly retired, leaving it up to my mother to pick up the mantle.
And pick it up she had.
After becoming a United States senator and eventual governor of Massachusetts, she had become the youngest and second female president to ever take office, and thanks to my grandfather’s perceived failure, she had been given the codename of Phoenix.
Other members of my family had equally fiery names—my older brother Carter was Ember, my grandmother Glimmer—even my late father had been Smolder, a name that we had teased him endlessly over because his appearance had been that of an academic with horn-rimmed glasses and leather elbow patches on his tweed jackets.
It was all very dramatic and I was pretty sure that the Secret Service had a fancy board somewhere in the bowels of their office with as many words for fire as they could come up with—just in case any of us popped out any babies or got married anytime soon.
I just hoped they weren’t holding their breath for that, because neither Carter nor I were planning on getting married anytime soon.
“You did great,” Livvy said as soon as my feet touched the carpeted floor. “I can see you’ve been practicing your candor—the former vice-president will be pleased once he watches the tape back.”
I tried not to roll my eyes at the irony of my assistant’s words.
Livvy had been with me from the moment I graduated college four years ago and started really working for my mother. The political science degree that she had talked me into was put to good use while the minor in omega history that I had really wanted to get had fallen by the wayside.
Before the election really ramped up, I was busy helping her keep things afloat at the White House because, if not for me, there would be no one to do it.
All of the jobs that typically fell on the shoulders of the first lady were mine because my mom’s partner—my dad—passed away just a year into her first term over three years ago.
There was no first lady, or in this case, a first gentleman, to make sure that the optics were running smoothly while my mom was the leader of the free world.
So, like with most things these days. I did it.
And withit, came Livvy who made sure that I didn’t lose my ever-loving mind.
“There will be a food spread waiting for you back at the residence, please make sure you eat all of it,” Livvy was saying as we walked back through the venue, shaking hands and smiling at the bureaucrats who were twice my age. “And don’t stay up late working on your computer like last night, it took Lisa and Landon almost an hour to make you presentable earlier.”
I ignored her buzzing. If it was something she really needed me to hear, she would have stopped me in order to say it. Besides, the reason I had been forced to stay up so late last night in the first place was because my mother’s speech writers kept changing the damned speech I’d just given and I refused to be unprepared in front of a bunch of men in suits.
“Ms. Holloway.” Senator Adams greeted me with a friendly smile as he took my hand in both of his and gave it a warm squeeze.
“Senator, how are you this evening? How is your family?” I asked, the tension in my shoulders melting. I liked Senator Adams. He was a rarity on the Hill, being the kind of man who started from nothing in Washington state and rose up in his community until he made a run at the federal level.
He had also been a favorite of my grandfather for a long time, so I’d grown up with him showing up at all of the famous Holloway Christmas parties every year with his children, most of whom were much older than I was.
“They’re fabulous, my wife will be flying out from the old homestead this weekend to join me here in D.C. and we’re supposed to get dinner with your grandparents at some point.”
“Good, I’m sure they’re looking forward to that,” I said, quickly running out of mental facts about the man, my exhausted mind circling on a distant memory of a gangly teenager at one of my grandfather’s parties. “And your children? They’re all grown now, right?”
“Yes, indeed. My wife and I have been empty nesters for just about ten years now. The youngest is even working abroad for the state department which as you can imagine stresses his poor mother out.”
