Powerful Men 3: Four Hot Alphas who Take Whatever They Want (8 page)

‘Uh sure,’ she said, ‘I mean,
oui
.’

‘Good,’ Trina said, ‘get to it.’

With a flurry of papers, the Deputy Chief of Staff turned and strode off across the sprawling wasteland of cubicles to bark orders at the next worker bee
who
was unfortunate enough to cross her path. Sandra made her way to her own booth and prepared herself to get to work.

For the rest of the day, Sandra sat at her cramped desk trading formalities with a variety of French officials and dignitaries. The Toulon Treaty was a European Union initiative with economic repercussions for the entire globe and particularly the United States. It was due to be ratified in three days but there were stories cropping up in several of the big name foreign newspapers saying that the French might be secretly preparing to veto. And that was something the President could really do with knowing before the fact.

Unfortunately for Sandra the people she spoke to were not particularly forthcoming and definitely in no way understanding that the one White House lackey they were obliged to speak to had only a
highschooler’s
grasp of their language. As if they weren’t perfectly capable of speaking to her in English anyway.

At twelve thirty, as Sandra sat in purgatorial boredom, still on hold listening to some wacky French song toot away, she heard a shout from behind her. It was Trina.

‘Sandy baby, what have you got for me? God dammit it better be something.’

Sandra held the phone away from her ear and turned to face her boss. ‘Nothing yet, Trina,’ she said, ‘I can’t get a single straight answer off these people.’

Trina narrowed her waxed eyebrows. ‘Well what the hell did you infer then?’ she barked, ‘you must have got some clue, right?’

‘I think they’re going to go through with it,’ Sandra said.

‘They’re going to ratify?’

‘That’s the impression I’m getting, but they haven’t given me a straight answer either way.’

‘Good enough,’ Trina barked, ‘put the phone down and come with me. The President’s called a meeting.’

The Deputy spun on her heels and marched towards the hallways and the phone went limp in Sandra’s hands. A faint voice from the receiver called “
Allo
?
Allo
?
” and then Sandra slammed it down and hurried after her boss.

Even though Sandra had been working at the White House for over a month now she’d only seen the President up close a handful of times.
The guy was always surrounded by aides and advisors and rarely had time to address the lesser staff members himself. That’s what crones like Trina Scholl were for.

Rick Collins had been elected on his first term three years ago, one of the youngest presidents ever and certainly in Sandra’s estimation the most handsome. The man was like some kind of God’s own recipe of all the things a man should be. He was a cowboy; he was slick; he looked to the future with passion but valued family and friendship with the sentimental eyes of a true traditionalist. He was a brilliant orator (and Sandra knew that one only two well, she’d spent years at university studying the intricacies of political speech after all) and a coolheaded strategist. He always knew the right thing to say at just the right time. It was no wonder he’d gotten to where he was in the world.

Ok, so Sandra may have a little bit of a crush, but who could blame her? If you couldn’t nurture a mild attraction to the man in charge when you worked at the fucking White House then when the hell could you? And if there was in actual fact nothing mild about it at all then so be it.

As Sandra hurried out of the cramped offices and into the proud regal hallways of that great office, she marveled at the speed of Trina Scholl.
It appeared that she’d already made it to the meeting room way down at the other end of the hallway. Perhaps she really was a witch.

Sandra opened the big oak door and for a second her breath caught in her mouth as she looked at the well-dressed crowd within. Some of the most powerful men and women in the United States were in that room. She caught Trina’s eye, glancing daggers at her, and hurried over to her side.

‘What took you so long?’ the Deputy Chief of Staff hissed.

‘Sorry,’ Trina whispered.

At that moment the doors burst open and President Rick Collins stepped inside, proud and regal as a fairytale king. The man’s whole body seemed to gleam and Sandra couldn’t help but bite her lip and smile as he began to speak.

‘Good morning ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, ‘I trust you’re all well today. Let’s get moving shall we?’

Sandra felt a sharp dig in her side as her boss elbowed her and shot her a disapproving frown. Sandra rubbed her side and shrugged. So what: a girl wasn’t allowed to admire the President?

‘Now,’ President Collins spoke, ‘what do we have on Toulon? Do we have anymore
intel
on how the French plan to vote?’

Trina cleared her throat nervously and stepped forward. ‘Ah, yes mister President, we do,’ she said, ‘I believe the French are not going to veto the treaty after all.’

Sandra glanced up, surprised. That wasn’t exactly how she’d put it herself.

‘They’re
not
going to veto?’ the president asked, ‘well excellent. Good job Miss Scholl. What next?’

Trina beamed with the praise and stepped back as the President moved on. Sandra felt something well up inside her. Nobody she’d spoken to that day in Paris had ever said anything remotely like
that,
in fact she’d only mentioned it because Trina had asked for her gut feeling on the matter.
And now?
Well sure, Trina would take the praise for it while it was all positive news, but who would get blamed if it didn’t come true? It was one of those things, doomed if you, doomed if you don’t, and before Sandra was fully aware of what she was doing
she
was stepping out of the crowd around the President and moving towards him.

‘Um Excuse me Mister President?’ she said.

All eyes were on her, she could feel Trina’s glare on her back, burning hardest of all.

‘Yes?’ Rick Collins asked turning his attention towards the young aide.

‘I’ve been on the phone to Paris all day RE the Toulon Treaty,’ Sandra began, (it was now or never) ‘and while I told miss Scholl that my gut told me that they would ratify, nobody in the
Élysée
Palace actually gave full confirmation of that. Perhaps the Deputy Chief of Staff misunderstood me.’

Sandra blinked. Nobody said anything. Here she was, right in front of the most powerful man in the world, probably about to kiss her dream career goodbye. She wanted the world to open up and eat her whole.

‘I just thought you should know,’ she said.

A faint smiled touched the president’s lips and his gray eyes seemed to momentarily sparkle. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘Trina would you like to discuss these matters properly with your aide here and then get back to me? It’s very important we have the straight facts of the thing on this one.’

The Deputy Chief of Staff stepped forward. Her face was pale and even though she was smiling, Sandra knew her pallor was from stone cold fury. ‘Yes mister President,’ Trina smiled, ‘my apologies. Sandra, let’s take a walk.’

As her boss strode out into the hallway and the President moved on to the next matter, Sandra walked after her, fully certain now that she was about to be out of a job.

Trina wouldn’t speak to her in the hall, just continued to smile icily until they were back in the Deputy’s office. After that she unleashed an unbelievable torrent of abuse. ‘You’ll never work in this town again!’ she denounced and then told Sandra to go clean out her desk. It was all over.

She wasn’t going to cry. Hell no, screw that bitch. Trina could have caused serious problems just by trying to make the President happy with her and Rick Collins didn’t need that crap, he needed the facts. It was only a shame that bitch was going to be the one who got the chance to explain her version of what had happened to the President. Who could Sandra explain to?
Sal the cabdriver?’

She was halfway through cleaning her desk (after a quick sojourn out to one of the designated smoking areas where she bummed a cigarette off a secret service guy, even though she’d been nicotine free for a year now), when the telephone on her desk rang. She almost didn’t pick it up. I mean, technically it wasn’t her job anymore, right?

‘Hello?’ she asked.

‘Yes, is this Sandra Blake?’

‘Yes?’

‘Sandra this is the President, will you please come up to the Oval Office immediately? I told Sam to let you on through.’

Sandra staggered slightly. She felt like her brain had turned into a block of ice and then dropped out her ass. Was this some kind of joke? How the hell was she supposed to find out if it really was him on the other end of the line?

‘Right now?’ she asked, listening closely to his voice this time to make sure.

‘Yes, he said, ‘if you could. Thanks Sandra.’

The phone hung limp in her hand. It was him. It was the fucking President of the United States, asking for her by name.

She ran to the bathroom to fix her hair and touch up her makeup and then headed out to the main hallways of the west wing. As she approached the doors to the Oval Office a giant of a security guard stood up and blocked her way.

‘Name please?’ he asked.

‘Sandra Blake,’ Sandra said.

The man stood back. ‘Go on through. The President is expecting you.’

She stood outside the ancient doors wondering just what the etiquette was here. Did she knock? After a moment or two, the security guard came over and opened the door for her. ‘Go on through,’ he said, a small smile lurking behind his professional visage.

Sandra stepped into the office and almost died. There he was, rising from his desk, smiling that delicious smile,
uncontainably
handsome as usual. He walked towards her and put out his hands.

‘Sandra,’ he said, ‘hi. Thanks for stopping by.’

‘Of course Mister President,’ Sandra blurted.

‘Now I hear Miss Scholl told you to pack your desk, is that correct?’

‘It is,’ Sandra answered.

‘Well forget that,’ President Collins smiled, ‘don’t worry about it. Trina’s had a stressful day. I had a talk with her.’

Sandra couldn’t believe
it,
she began to blush furiously as a wave of joy and excitement rose up from the pit of her stomach. ‘Thank you!’

The President waved his hand. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘You did good, speaking up there. Christ only knows what might have happened if we moved forward based on the wrong information on this. We need people like you around here, less of these damn yes-men. You’re working with Scholl now, is that correct?’

‘Yes sir,’ Sandra nodded.

‘Well I think it’s time to move you somewhere else. I think you and Trina need a break from each other and there are far better uses we could find for a young lady with your attitude. How would you like to work for me? As my personal aide, I mean?’

Sandra couldn’t believe her ears. Just like that, in the blink of an eye she’d gone from almost no job at all to skipping several promotions all at once. It was pretty clear how she felt about that.

‘I’d be honored,’ she gasped.

‘Excellent,’ the President smiled. ‘Now why don’t you start by going over this speech I’m supposed to give tomorrow at the Senate, the papers are on my desk. Your background is in speech writing, correct?’

‘Yes sir,’ Sandra replied, ‘partly.’

‘Good,’ the President nodded, a look coming over his face like he was already elsewhere, ‘well get to it. I have to head down to the press room for a release. I’ll see you this evening.’

As the President walked to the door, Sandra called after him. ‘You mean I should do it in here?’ she asked, ‘or down at my cubicle?’

The President stopped and smiled. ‘Honey,’ he said, ‘you don’t have a cubicle anymore. Sit down on the couch, if you need anything Sam’s just outside the door.
But Sandra?’

‘Yes?’

‘If I find out you sat at my desk while I was away, I’ll skin you alive, you hear? That’s just for presidents.’

‘Yes sir,’ Sandra nodded and the President left the office chuckling to
himself
.

Well Sandra had plenty of time to make amendments to the speech (and in fact she made many of them) before the President arrived back that evening. When he did, he looked kind of tired – a slightly more human Rick Collins than the Super Man who appeared nightly on the national and international news.

‘Boy I’ll tell
ya
Sandra,’ he said sitting down at his desk and putting his feet up before him, ‘we all must have been mad to ever want to get into this business.’

Sandra smiled. ‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘or just blessed with rightful conviction.’

President Collins glanced at her suddenly. ‘Rightful Conviction,’ he repeated, ‘I like that. That’s good. So tell me, how’d you get on with my speech?’

She stood in front of his desk and handed him the papers. He took his feet down and began to look through them.

‘Uh-huh,’ he said, ‘some good points in here. I can tell I made the right choice with you.’