Read Online DUTCH AND GINA: A SCANDAL IS BORN by Mallory Monroe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mallory Monroe
Ads: Link
he thought ruefully as he tightened his grip around her, before he allowed anyone to come close to bringing this wonderful, spirited, dignified woman down, or anywhere near some sordid ground.
And what about Max? What about his best friend, a man he loves? Did that insane move he made on Dutch mean that he saw Gina as his competition? Did he have Gina in his crosshairs too? It would half kill Dutch, but would he have to fire his own best friend?
That was why, when he entered the Oval office a few minutes later, after reassuring Gina that everything would be all right, after kissing his son good morning, he had made up his mind.
“Get in touch with Liz Sinclair,” he said to Allison as she followed him into his office. Max was usually with her, as they both always sat in on his daily intelligence briefings. But not this morning.
“Liz Sinclair, sir?” Allison asked. “Are you sure, sir?”
Dutch looked at her as he rounded the historic Resolute Desk and stood there. “Yes, I’m sure. Why would you ask me something like that? Why would I bring it up if I wasn’t sure?” Dutch then caught himself, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Set up a meeting,” he said to his press secretary.
“Yes, sir,” Allison said, as she moved toward the small desk against the side wall. Liz Sinclair was the last person on earth she felt was needed in this White House during their seemingly unending state of turmoil and crisis. But what could she do? The president liked strong, independent, mouthy women apparently, if that wife of his and now his decision to bring back Liz was any indication, and all she could do was salute and do his bidding.
But that didn’t mean she liked the bid.
“And Ally,” Dutch said, and Allison turned around.
“Yes, sir?”
“Where’s Max?”
“He hasn’t made it in yet. Which threw me when I found out since he’s always the first staffer here. I mean he’s always the first, sir, you know how protective of you and your image he is. Obsessively protective if you ask me.”
Dutch wanted to cringe when she said that, but gave away nothing.
“I called his house,” Allison continued. “He said he overslept, if you can believe that? Max oversleeping? I found myself asking if he was ill. But he said he wasn’t. Said he just overslept. He’s on his way.”
Dutch nodded. Another headache he had to eventually deal with, he thought, one he knew couldn’t possibly end well, not after that out-of-nowhere move Max had made on him Saturday.
But he couldn’t deal with that right now. He had too much already to deal with right now. He therefore removed his suit coat, pressed the intercom button on his desk, and notified his secretary that he was ready; that she could send in his director of national intelligence and the rest of his intelligence briefing team.
SEVEN
Liz Sinclair sat behind her desk at Sinclair Consultants, the majestic L.A. skyline serving as backdrop in the floor-to-ceiling window behind her, and tried to get yet another client to listen to reason. Yes, he was a pro football player. Yes, he didn’t deserve all of the negative press his divorce was generating. But it was his future he had to think about.
“If you want to keep those sneaker deals and all of those other endorsements,” she said, “you had better rehabilitate your image as this wonderful role model, and you had better do it like yesterday. Forget that divorce and concentrate on yourself. Because when they pull the plug, Barney, and deem you no longer endorsement worthy, no longer a role model to those little inner city kids that somehow manage to plop down the big bucks for those shoes, there will be no second chance. Not in the endorsement game.”
But Barney still balked. He sat in front of the desk,
And what about Max? What about his best friend, a man he loves? Did that insane move he made on Dutch mean that he saw Gina as his competition? Did he have Gina in his crosshairs too? It would half kill Dutch, but would he have to fire his own best friend?
That was why, when he entered the Oval office a few minutes later, after reassuring Gina that everything would be all right, after kissing his son good morning, he had made up his mind.
“Get in touch with Liz Sinclair,” he said to Allison as she followed him into his office. Max was usually with her, as they both always sat in on his daily intelligence briefings. But not this morning.
“Liz Sinclair, sir?” Allison asked. “Are you sure, sir?”
Dutch looked at her as he rounded the historic Resolute Desk and stood there. “Yes, I’m sure. Why would you ask me something like that? Why would I bring it up if I wasn’t sure?” Dutch then caught himself, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Set up a meeting,” he said to his press secretary.
“Yes, sir,” Allison said, as she moved toward the small desk against the side wall. Liz Sinclair was the last person on earth she felt was needed in this White House during their seemingly unending state of turmoil and crisis. But what could she do? The president liked strong, independent, mouthy women apparently, if that wife of his and now his decision to bring back Liz was any indication, and all she could do was salute and do his bidding.
But that didn’t mean she liked the bid.
“And Ally,” Dutch said, and Allison turned around.
“Yes, sir?”
“Where’s Max?”
“He hasn’t made it in yet. Which threw me when I found out since he’s always the first staffer here. I mean he’s always the first, sir, you know how protective of you and your image he is. Obsessively protective if you ask me.”
Dutch wanted to cringe when she said that, but gave away nothing.
“I called his house,” Allison continued. “He said he overslept, if you can believe that? Max oversleeping? I found myself asking if he was ill. But he said he wasn’t. Said he just overslept. He’s on his way.”
Dutch nodded. Another headache he had to eventually deal with, he thought, one he knew couldn’t possibly end well, not after that out-of-nowhere move Max had made on him Saturday.
But he couldn’t deal with that right now. He had too much already to deal with right now. He therefore removed his suit coat, pressed the intercom button on his desk, and notified his secretary that he was ready; that she could send in his director of national intelligence and the rest of his intelligence briefing team.
SEVEN
Liz Sinclair sat behind her desk at Sinclair Consultants, the majestic L.A. skyline serving as backdrop in the floor-to-ceiling window behind her, and tried to get yet another client to listen to reason. Yes, he was a pro football player. Yes, he didn’t deserve all of the negative press his divorce was generating. But it was his future he had to think about.
“If you want to keep those sneaker deals and all of those other endorsements,” she said, “you had better rehabilitate your image as this wonderful role model, and you had better do it like yesterday. Forget that divorce and concentrate on yourself. Because when they pull the plug, Barney, and deem you no longer endorsement worthy, no longer a role model to those little inner city kids that somehow manage to plop down the big bucks for those shoes, there will be no second chance. Not in the endorsement game.”
But Barney still balked. He sat in front of the desk,
Similar Books
