But I keep my thoughts to myself.
Carlisle exits and Matt steeples his fingers, nodding in the direction of the now empty doorway. “What do you think?”
“I . . . about what Carlisle says?”
He nods, that infuriatingly adorable dancing sparkle appearing in his eyes.
I smile privately. “I do think you’re stubborn,” I admit, scrunching my nose playfully at him.
“Is that all?”
I shrug mysteriously.
But no, that’s not all at all!
He has good judgment, drive, and discipline.
When the character debates come up later in the game, Gordon has had four wives, President Jacobs lets his wife rule the country for him, and Matt, on the other hand, is a very balanced man. He listens to opinions of people he respects and whose intelligence matches his own, but ultimately he makes his own choice.
We’ve raised hundreds of millions of dollars for his campaign, most of the funds coming from small donations from average Americans ready for a change. The technological infrastructure we’ve set up at headquarters in order to reach the three-hundred-plus million Americans through the net is unprecedented until this election. But people’s interests have never been harder to pique than in the days that we live in now.
“I think going heavy on the internet can get you a lot of traction with the young voters,” I finally say, “and if you can figure out a way to get them interested in your most exciting plans with each alphabet letter, it could really stick.”
He rubs his chin with the tips of his two index fingers, makes a hmm sound, and frowns thoughtfully. “C is for Charlotte.”
“J is for junk food in cafeterias, which must be stopped at once.”
He laughs.
I signal at his schedule. “Here’s the schedule for the months of April, and May. Since things get very heavy in late April, I thought I might include a free weekend for you to recharge.”
“That’s thoughtful of you.” He slips on his glasses and scans it.
“Yeah, well, I’m a thoughtful gal,” I say.
I turn away and glance out the window, because something about the times he slips on his glasses always gets to me.
“A thoughtful gal who somehow manages to make me think of her a lot.” I turn my attention back to him in surprise as he looks up at me over the rims.
My heart thuds.
He sets the schedule down and pries the glasses off, folding them and setting them over the schedule, his eyes fixed on me.
A silence settles in the room, making me aware of how disquieted I am on the inside.
“Why did you want me to be your new scheduler?” I ask quietly.
He leans back with a sardonic smile that quickly turns admiring. “Because I believe you have a good head on your shoulders, you’re dedicated and smart, and anyway”—he grins even wider—“I thought you were a tad too soft to keep answering those phone calls and letters.”
“I am so not soft!”
“P is for pudding.”
“So not pudding, Matt!” I narrow my eyes and lean one hand on his desk. “You wanted me to keep an eye out for letters like that one little Matt sent.”
“And I know you still are.”
I scowl. “How do you know me so well? Hmm?”
He spreads out his arms and crosses them behind his head. “Some say I’m a perceptive man.”
“I disagree. You failed to see how stone-hearted I am, able to read your letters, day after day. How hard I can be. H is for heart of stone.”
He laughs. It’s so nice to hear him laugh. “No, Charlotte, it’s optimally just one word per letter, so that’d make you just all heart.”
I shake my head, frowning. “I can show you my hard-heartedness in your next schedule I draft.”
“Be my guest—I thrive under pressure.”
“Good for you, ’cause I’m bringing it.”
“You always do.”
His gaze slides past my shoulder at the sound of a soft knock. Alison is at the door, watching us, narrowed-eyed. “Matt, the pictures you asked for.”
She walks in as I excuse myself and leave, but soon Alison catches up with me. “Were you just flirting with Matt?”
“What? No! We were having a discussion.”
“You were discussing with Matt?”
“I . . . no!” I flush and head to my desk, sit down, and lift my head to glance past his office window, where he’s wearing those sexy glasses of his, reading, a hand over his mouth as if to cover his smile.
14
EYES
Charlotte
I called Children’s National and told Carlisle about Matt’s visit so he could alert the press coordinator and everyone who needed to be involved.
“You’re coming with me,” Matt says before he leaves.
“Me?”
“It was your idea.”
I groan inwardly. Spending more time with Matt is the last thing I need right now. But I do love seeing him in action, so I hurry to slip into my sweater and follow him outside. When we reach the hospital, there’s a small crowd, waving placards and chanting.
“Matt!” one of the younger female crowd members breathlessly gasps out his name.
“Matt Hamilton!” her friend calls, louder, cupping her hands around her mouth so that her voice carries over.
He thanks them, then waits for me to go in along with Wilson. Little Matt is wearing a Redskins T-shirt, a matching cap, and an IV.
The way his eyes light up when his hero enters the room makes my chest tighten. I turn away and try to regroup when I hear Matt’s voice.
“Heard there was a tiger in the building. I had to come see.”
“Where?!” the boy asks excitedly.
“I’m looking right at him.”
When I turn back around, Matt is chucking the boy’s cap, smiling down at him.
The boy grins. “Wow. You came.”
Matt pulls up a chair to sit next to him in bed. “Charlotte—the lady you see by the door—seems to be as big a fan of yours as you are of me.”
“Wow,” he says.
Soon they get a crowd. Little Matt tells Matt he wants to be a football player when he grows up. The parents approach me and begin telling me how grateful they are as Matt and little Matt chat.
Carlisle exits and Matt steeples his fingers, nodding in the direction of the now empty doorway. “What do you think?”
“I . . . about what Carlisle says?”
He nods, that infuriatingly adorable dancing sparkle appearing in his eyes.
I smile privately. “I do think you’re stubborn,” I admit, scrunching my nose playfully at him.
“Is that all?”
I shrug mysteriously.
But no, that’s not all at all!
He has good judgment, drive, and discipline.
When the character debates come up later in the game, Gordon has had four wives, President Jacobs lets his wife rule the country for him, and Matt, on the other hand, is a very balanced man. He listens to opinions of people he respects and whose intelligence matches his own, but ultimately he makes his own choice.
We’ve raised hundreds of millions of dollars for his campaign, most of the funds coming from small donations from average Americans ready for a change. The technological infrastructure we’ve set up at headquarters in order to reach the three-hundred-plus million Americans through the net is unprecedented until this election. But people’s interests have never been harder to pique than in the days that we live in now.
“I think going heavy on the internet can get you a lot of traction with the young voters,” I finally say, “and if you can figure out a way to get them interested in your most exciting plans with each alphabet letter, it could really stick.”
He rubs his chin with the tips of his two index fingers, makes a hmm sound, and frowns thoughtfully. “C is for Charlotte.”
“J is for junk food in cafeterias, which must be stopped at once.”
He laughs.
I signal at his schedule. “Here’s the schedule for the months of April, and May. Since things get very heavy in late April, I thought I might include a free weekend for you to recharge.”
“That’s thoughtful of you.” He slips on his glasses and scans it.
“Yeah, well, I’m a thoughtful gal,” I say.
I turn away and glance out the window, because something about the times he slips on his glasses always gets to me.
“A thoughtful gal who somehow manages to make me think of her a lot.” I turn my attention back to him in surprise as he looks up at me over the rims.
My heart thuds.
He sets the schedule down and pries the glasses off, folding them and setting them over the schedule, his eyes fixed on me.
A silence settles in the room, making me aware of how disquieted I am on the inside.
“Why did you want me to be your new scheduler?” I ask quietly.
He leans back with a sardonic smile that quickly turns admiring. “Because I believe you have a good head on your shoulders, you’re dedicated and smart, and anyway”—he grins even wider—“I thought you were a tad too soft to keep answering those phone calls and letters.”
“I am so not soft!”
“P is for pudding.”
“So not pudding, Matt!” I narrow my eyes and lean one hand on his desk. “You wanted me to keep an eye out for letters like that one little Matt sent.”
“And I know you still are.”
I scowl. “How do you know me so well? Hmm?”
He spreads out his arms and crosses them behind his head. “Some say I’m a perceptive man.”
“I disagree. You failed to see how stone-hearted I am, able to read your letters, day after day. How hard I can be. H is for heart of stone.”
He laughs. It’s so nice to hear him laugh. “No, Charlotte, it’s optimally just one word per letter, so that’d make you just all heart.”
I shake my head, frowning. “I can show you my hard-heartedness in your next schedule I draft.”
“Be my guest—I thrive under pressure.”
“Good for you, ’cause I’m bringing it.”
“You always do.”
His gaze slides past my shoulder at the sound of a soft knock. Alison is at the door, watching us, narrowed-eyed. “Matt, the pictures you asked for.”
She walks in as I excuse myself and leave, but soon Alison catches up with me. “Were you just flirting with Matt?”
“What? No! We were having a discussion.”
“You were discussing with Matt?”
“I . . . no!” I flush and head to my desk, sit down, and lift my head to glance past his office window, where he’s wearing those sexy glasses of his, reading, a hand over his mouth as if to cover his smile.
14
EYES
Charlotte
I called Children’s National and told Carlisle about Matt’s visit so he could alert the press coordinator and everyone who needed to be involved.
“You’re coming with me,” Matt says before he leaves.
“Me?”
“It was your idea.”
I groan inwardly. Spending more time with Matt is the last thing I need right now. But I do love seeing him in action, so I hurry to slip into my sweater and follow him outside. When we reach the hospital, there’s a small crowd, waving placards and chanting.
“Matt!” one of the younger female crowd members breathlessly gasps out his name.
“Matt Hamilton!” her friend calls, louder, cupping her hands around her mouth so that her voice carries over.
He thanks them, then waits for me to go in along with Wilson. Little Matt is wearing a Redskins T-shirt, a matching cap, and an IV.
The way his eyes light up when his hero enters the room makes my chest tighten. I turn away and try to regroup when I hear Matt’s voice.
“Heard there was a tiger in the building. I had to come see.”
“Where?!” the boy asks excitedly.
“I’m looking right at him.”
When I turn back around, Matt is chucking the boy’s cap, smiling down at him.
The boy grins. “Wow. You came.”
Matt pulls up a chair to sit next to him in bed. “Charlotte—the lady you see by the door—seems to be as big a fan of yours as you are of me.”
“Wow,” he says.
Soon they get a crowd. Little Matt tells Matt he wants to be a football player when he grows up. The parents approach me and begin telling me how grateful they are as Matt and little Matt chat.
