The Reluctant First Lady Read Free Page B

talking to the reporter is already all over the airwaves. Station managers and newspaper editors are going to be having wet dreams. We need to devise a strategy for damage control now.”
    Michael nodded. “Let’s meet in my suite in about thirty minutes. I want to react swiftly and with confidence. Ed, you and Jack get the campaign advisory team together and meet me upstairs.”
    “Will do,” Ed responded.
    Ashley was well aware that Michael was furious. She wondered how long she’d have to wait before the explosion came. She’d always been truthful. She’d never misled him or offered false promises. Still she felt guilty and hated that she did. Why did life and relationships have to be so complicated? She’d never wanted her husband to define who she was, and she’d be damned if she was going to allow that to happen now.

4
    As they rode the elevator up to their penthouse suite surrounded by the secret service, Ashley felt cramped. It was probably more mental than physical discomfort. This was yet another thing she’d have to get used to. The secret service had been assigned to them during the campaign, but she supposed she thought of them as temporary. Now that Michael had been elected president, the Secret Service would become a permanent fixture in their lives. Michael would always be surrounded by an entourage of Secret Service and staff except when they were in their private rooms. God, how she hated that thought and wished for the bazillionth time that Michael had a normal job like everyone else.
    Michael was in disbelief. He couldn’t believe Ashley had responded to the reporter. He tilted his head back, resting it on the wall of the elevator, and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. He’d spent the last eighteen months crisscrossing the country multiple times delivering his message of hope to the American people. He wondered if her recent revelation was going to change his ability to carry out his goals.
    Once they were safely ensconced in their suite and it was just the two of them, Michael released the explosive breath he’d been holding since Ashley had made her declaration to the reporter. He reminded himself to breathe: inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. He walked over to the mini-bar and took out a cold beer and with great and deliberate care opened and poured the amber liquid into a glass. He was trying to focus on this simple task while his brain was attempting to put some sort of order to the cumulus clouds of thoughts forming in his mind.
    His emotions were raging, an experience with which he was fairly unfamiliar. He was a man who prided himself on maintaining control during times of crisis and dealing with problems that arose in a reasonable and thoughtful manner. He was successful in this endeavor, except when it came to dealing with his wife. His public image was that of a very even-tempered, thoughtful politician, but no one could push his buttons like Ashley. She was the only person who saw the other side of his nature—Ashley and, occasionally, the twins. Tonight he felt as though he were navigating his way through a minefield.
    He’d reluctantly succumbed to her refusal to be part of his political life from the beginning. After all, he couldn’t hog-tie her and throw her over his shoulder and make her do what he wanted although the thought was tempting. However, in all of their conversations, in all of the years of her refusing to be part of his political life, they’d never factored into the equation just how far he might go in politics—or how far she would go in her profession.
    He looked over at Ashley, who appeared to have found a safe haven at the end of an overstuffed sofa. Her eyes were closed, and her head was resting on the back of the sofa. She looked relaxed, but he would bet good money her brain was running like a high-speed Internet connection.
    He was gradually calming down and regaining control over his emotions. He thought he could have a reasonable conversation with