“Yes Nina,” I nod across the multitude of voices, microphones and cameras thrust in my direction.
The final question section at the end of any Oval Office briefing were always a law unto themselves. Imagine a wild pack of animals clambering for the merest scrap of food and you will have a pretty good picture as every journalist and broadcaster fought to get their question aired.
“Doesn’t this latest scandal point to an Administration embroiled in turmoil and disarray?” Came the question from the floor.
Again, the throng of press packed into the briefing room bayed for a response. Foreign policy, international trade disputes and home turf politics put aside for the grainy images that the adorned the front pages of the Post in the days earlier.
“Not for the first time today, this Administration denies any such allegations. Those images are speculative to say the least and I echo the earlier statements from the President where we hope journalism gets its head out of the gutter and focuses on the real matter to hand,” I respond swiftly and firmly.
Not willing to get drawn into this further I cut short the questions, thanking them for their time before leaving the stage to a flash of camera lights and a wave of unanswered noise.
I hurriedly stomp back to my office. My new intern barely keeping pace as I thrust her my papers before closing the door on her.
It had been a hell of a last 48 hours and my feet had barely touched the floor. My office a brief sanctuary to gather my thoughts and take stock of situations, that these days seem to come rather relentlessly.
Thankfully, my calendar was much clearer baring another catastrophe, yet, in this role you never knew what car crash was waiting around the next corner.
Unsurprisingly, and if on que, my thoughts were soon broken by the cackle of the intercom.
"I know you don’t want to be disturbed Sir,” came the slightly nervous interns voice, her first month a true baptism of fire. “But I have Nina Rothman, from the Washington Post and she is very insistent,” she continues.
I smirk. Oh, I bet she is very I insistent, knowing the tenacity of the young Miss Rothman.
"Send her in," I respond.
Leaning back in my leather-bound chair, the office door opens and the sound of heels echo against the marble floor, accompanying the aforementioned Miss Rothman into my office.
Head held high with a purposefully stride, her dark tresses bounce softly upon her shoulders. In a crisp white shirt and pencil skirt, accentuating a perfect hourglass figure, she could easily be mistaken for one of the young, power hungry seekers, who lurked within this Administration. Only her green press card hung around her neck gave her away.
Smiling, she waits for the door to click shut behind her before saying a word. Time, she knew full well for my eyes to enjoy her sultry silhouette. Time for me to also see not a hint of remorse for the scandal her article had caused despite the whirlwind that had ensued.
"I thought you’d have rescinded my access," she smirks with a smile of her glossed lips.
"Oh, trust me, it was! I had to do a lot of persuading not to have you, and the Post, barred altogether," I answer.
My fingers play with my pen, flicking it in a repetitive circle. Nightmares of fraught discussions over the preceding hours still etched firmly in my mind. "If it wasn't for the fact such actions would only be seen to add fuel to the fire," I continue.
“No smoke without fire,” she hints suggestively.
“Well, your article definitely did that,” I retort.
And that was putting it lightly. The explosive accusations had caused a raucous the likes I has not seen for several years. The Administration and Office had been on edge ever since the grainy still images that adorned the front page and commandeered every news-stand in the city.
No one could deny there was a resemblance of her. The look of pleasure as in the throes of passion with an unknown lover, a million miles away from that of her husband. The suggestion of a member of the security team mildly plausible yet equally ludicrous at the same time.
Rebuffed externally, internally the walls to the Oval Office had shook with anger. Meetings with Security Chiefs ensued with many a coincidence that could allow dots to be joined if you wanted to believe. But it was not long before the Press Office took the brunt of the anger.
"An Administration fuelled by lust and illicit sex?" I question with a raise of an eyebrow. Reference to one of the many claims written within the features that followed the headline story.
"Cute intern,” she smiles with a hint of playfulness. A hand resting on the dip of her waist, her eyes holding my gaze knowingly.
Deciding not to take her bait, I simply smile.
Sassy and forthright she eluded a confidence that was both alluring and intoxicating. Fresh to scene, despite her youthful persona, she had not been afraid to ruffle the feathers of the old brigade. The signs had been there for a while, a series of edgy column inches to test boundaries, yet this article was another level. She had gone for the jugular. Ambitious or fool-hardy it was too early to tell.
“So, what can I do for you Miss Rothman?” I question.
“Well it seems I owe you a thank you, seeing as the Post and I aren’t barred altogether,” she begins glancing her eyes from mine. “And, well,” she continues as they return to mine.
Stepping forward she begins to walk around the desk, tracing a manicured finger against the dark oak desk, her heels echoing with every forthright step.
“So, my source tells me it was a member of the security staff?” She questions.
“Your source?” I answer with a wry smile as I wheel my office chair back allowing her room in between. “The one who slipped those images into your inbox and caused me this world of pain?” I question ironically.
“Yeah, him,” she answers as she idles her way around the desk with a sway of her hips. Watching her intently, she slowly comes to a halt in front of me, leaning back against the imposing desk.
“Makes sense really,” she continues, as her eyes continue to hold my gaze. Her white blouse tight enough to tease sight of the lace beneath that encases her pert, sculpted breasts. Tucked into her pencil skirt, only emphasising the dip of her waist and shapely rise of her hips. Dark nylon legs combined with matching dark heels to accentuate toned calves.
