The Candidate ✓ (Book Two)

Chapter Seven

                        Lauren's Senate Hearing

  Regardless of how today's vote goes, it'll change our lives forever- again, because I'll always be known as the former First Lady appointed to a ten year position by the current president. I stand in front of the mirror now- no emotion showing on my face.

  Most of the scars have completely faded by now- with the exception of one of the larger ones on my forehead that's been stubborn. The healing process for that one was the worst.

  Reggie understood the political risk he was taking when he took the previous director's recommendation to nominate me for this role. He knew that it could go really well- or really bad, depending on how the majority party in the senate reacts. Quite a few of them have publicly disapproved of my nomination- saying that it has nothing to do with me as a person, but that they don't trust my mental state.

  I understand their reasoning. Just a few years ago I went through one of the most traumatic events a human possibly could- and it became public knowledge too. I can admit that it took a while- but I truly am fine now- even according to my therapist and psychiatrist. I can think about it and say the words without having a breakdown- which I'm sure some representative will ask me to do today.

  There's a knock on the door, and Kendra lets herself in. "Oh, I can't let you take an oath of office looking like that." She frowns, and she's right.

  My hair is currently frizzy and tangled. I don't have a stitch of makeup on my face- but in my defense I just woke up. By now I know the drill, so I sit down at the bathroom vanity without saying a word. She pulls open the drawer she's claimed for events like this, and goes to work. She doesn't bother with the full glam today, but she makes me look presentable in about twenty minutes.

  I grab some random dress out of my closet and she approves- making me step into it instead of pulling it over my head. The dress is red on one side and black on the other- a built is waist belt that might as well be a corset cinching my waist the second it's zipped up. I slide my feet into the flats I wear every day, but she gives me a disapproving look like she's my mother- and grabs a pair of black heels out of my closet. "Put.them.on." I imagine her saying, and almost laugh.

She's six years younger than I am but has always been like that- and she's never let me leave the house looking like I did just a few minutes ago. She's come over every time I asked her to- even now, with her not working for us full time anymore. Being the First Lady's personal stylist and the president's assistant  did wonders for her professional career. The sales on her designs have gone up by an insane amount these past few years- giving her enough money to buy the house next door that she's been eyeing for almost a year.

I don't blame her. That house is fucking gorgeous- at almost a hundred and ten years old. The style is exactly that of the time period it was built in- gorgeous vines covering the house now that the maintenance team offered to remove, but she of course- refused. I would too.

The paint's color is confusing- being somewhere in between green,white, and blue- but it's sort of nice, so she's decided to keep that too. She'll be moving in officially next week. The most drawn out part of moving- for her, is moving her studio. She says it's organized chaos, and moving everything would just turn it into- well, chaos. With the 10+ projects she's working on at any given point, I'm not surprised.

Now- she'll be less that a two minute walk away. She's already been cleared by secret service to come in whenever she wants- but getting out is just slightly more difficult than getting in, with all of the security precautions.

Since I've abdicated secret service protection and live here though- I can come in and out without issue.

"Okay.. annnd done." She says, spritzing a setting spray over my entire face. "You've got an hour."