Madam President Read Online Free PDF Page A

negotiations. She finally dropped into bed shortly after midnight.
     
    Monday, November 9 th
     
    "No? What do you mean 'no'?" Dev scrawled her name at the bottom of a piece of paper and handed it to one aide while another was briefing her about her next three appointments.
     
    Michael Oaks shook his head, wishing he could say to President-elect Marlowe what Lauren had told her publisher the day before. "She doesn't want the job, Dev." He shrugged. "It's as simple as that."
     
    Dev shot him a look. "Nothing is ever 'as simple as that'. And you know it." She nodded absently to her secretary, who was going around the room and taking coffee orders from her staff. " Why doesn't she want it? No..." she told her secretary. "That day is bad. Can we push it up to the twenty-first?"
     
    Michael took a seat next to the tall woman. "Strayer gave me a few lame reasons, but I think it comes down to the fact that she just wasn't interested in writing your biography."
     
    "Then we need to get her interested."
     
    "Dev, what does it matter? We can get someone else. Someone better. I know you love her work, but the woman didn't even vote for you, for God's sake!"
     
    Now that got Dev's attention, and she looked up from her electronic organizer.
     
    Her customary smile slid from her face. "What do you mean she didn't vote for me? Why not?"
     
    Michael nodded his thanks when a pot of coffee was set down in front of him and Dev, then moved his elbows to make room for a mammoth stack of papers. "Didn't you read the report on her?" He poured Dev a cup, then one for himself, drawing in a deep, appreciative sniff of the strong aroma.
     
    "I looked at it," Dev said, her brow furrowing. Okay, I looked at her picture. Shit.. "Jane?" Blue eyes scanned the crowded room.
     
    "Here it is, Dev." Jane, Dev's personal secretary, thrust a manila folder into Dev's hand.
     
    Twin eyebrows rose. "You frighten me sometimes, Jane. You do realize this, don't you?"
     
    The plump woman smiled and winked. "After fifteen years, I know you better than you know yourself, Devlyn Marlowe." Her grin broadened. "And I can't wait to be President of the United States!"
     
    The room exploded in laughter, with Dev joining in. "And a wonderful President you'll make, too. Just give a me a little bump if I ever get in your way."
     
    Dev took a sip of hot coffee and plucked a blueberry bagel from a loaded tray that was now circling the room. She opened the file. Who are you, Lauren Strayer? And why did you turn me down? The room faded away as she began to concentrate on the words before her. She speed read the coversheet bio before tackling the report in toto.
     
    Subject: Lauren Anna Strayer
D.O.B.: 7/4/1990
Ht.: 5'6" Wt.: 124 Eyes: Gray Hair: Blonde
     
    Dev's eyes scanned beyond the address, non-remarkable medical history, lack of criminal history and employment information.
     
    Marital Status: Divorced (dates of marriage 1/24/14 – 10/16/17)
Family: No children, no siblings, no significant other, parents: still living
     
    Her thoughts stopped there for a moment. Sounds lonely.
     
    Education: BA in History, minor in English Literature, University of Tennessee, Magna Cum Laude, graduation date: 5/5/11
     
    Devlyn laughed as she read about the eleven outstanding parking tickets the City of Nashville had against the woman. Her gaze drifted back to the photo that had caught her attention the night before, and she smiled again. I wonder what the ugly little dog's name is?
     
    She flipped to the back of the file for the supplemental information she knew would be there, quickly examining a photograph of Lauren's ex-husband, Judd Radison, an architect living in Chicago who had remarried two months after his divorce from Lauren. He now had a two-and-a-half-year-old-son. Dev did the math and stifled a curse. Cheating rat bastard. She decided to shred his picture later, too.
     
    She frowned when there were no photographs of Lauren's parents, but the brief report