Page 46 of Campaign Season
“Okay?” Dana asked warily.
“Shell asked me to make an appearance for a school tour. Larry already cleared it. Why don’t we lift the livestream ban? Let the kids record. It’ll hit the media faster than any press release you can draft—and it’ll be authentic. No denials, no spin. Just me, talking about living with the president.”
Cassidy’s eyes lit up. “Perfect.”
“Are you sure you don’t want one of our jobs?” Dana teased.
“If there’s a percentage higher than infinity—that’s how sure I am,” Jameson deadpanned. She pushed off the doorframe. “Now, I’m going to change.”
“Why?” Cassidy asked suspiciously.
Jameson grinned. “Just trust me.” And with that, she disappeared down the hall.
Cassidy turned to Dana.
“I’m not asking,” Dana said quickly.
“What if it’s?—”
Dana shook her head and raised a hand. “Nope. Not asking.”
Candace stepped down from the stage after finishing her remarks for Brett O’Donnell’s rally, letting the team lead her by the press pool. The familiar swell of shouted questions rose from the line, and she paused, offering a polite nod.
“Madam President, reports are circulating about a possible family crisis. Some are speculating about divorce. Care to comment?”
Candace arched a brow, her expression calm and steady. "About divorce?" she asked. "It's anyone's right."
Another voice pushed forward. “Madam President—are you aware the First Lady is live right now on social media, speaking with schoolchildren in the East Room?”
Candace blinked, then shifted her weight as Special Agent McCarthy took a step closer, protective yet discreet. Before she could answer, one of the younger reporters waved his phone toward her. “It’s everywhere already. Would you like to see?”
Before Candace could respond, Ellen darted forward, phone in hand. “Madam President, I’ve got it right here.” She unlocked the screen.
The video dominated the display: Jameson, dressed in blue jeans and a navy polo, sat casually on a bench at the far end of the East Room. A group of children in matching Catholic school uniforms gathered around her, holding their phones and tablets like miniature press credentials.
“…this room has hosted state dinners, concerts, and even weddings,” Jameson said, gesturing toward the chandeliers. “Every time I walk in here, I still feel like I should check my shoes for mud. But this room has hosted some of the most important conversations in our nation’s history. It’s pretty humbling when you think about it.”
A boy with a freckled nose raised his hand. “What’s the president like? At home, I mean.”
Jameson tilted her head, considering, and the children leaned in.
“Well,” she said, “she’s a mom. And a Nana. She worries about our son, Cooper, finishing his homework, she sneaks cookies when she thinks no one notices, and she’ll laugh at the worst knock-knock jokes you’ve ever heard.” Jameson lowered her voice to a whisper. "And she feeds the cat under the table."
The kids erupted in laughter.
Jameson smiled. “She’s my favorite person. Always has been. She’s the most determined, thoughtful person I’ve ever met. She worries about everyone, every day. Not just our family or her friends. She worries about people she's never met—like you."
"Do you like living here?" a girl asked.
"Sure. It's a neat place. We even have a bowling alley," Jameson said. "But I'd live anywhere to be with Candace. She's my best friend."
"Aren't you married?"
Jameson nodded. "Sure are. I got lucky. I got to marry my best friend."
Ellen glanced up, her voice hushed. “Ma’am… I think she just ended the rumor.”
Candace felt her chest tighten. Ryan McCarthy leaned just close enough to murmur, “Motorcade’s ready, Madam President.”
