“Yup. Part of the job description.” I wag a finger at her. “But so is telling you the truth. You are exactly where you belong and where you can do the most good right now. You have everything to be grateful for.” I tip my head toward the closed door. “Other than Robocop out there acting like a bloodhound, sniffing for bombs under my Queen Anne desk. What’s up with Mr. High Alert?”

“Like I said…” She smiles and shakes her head. “He’s new. I do get tired of the constant Secret Service presence, but I get it. And they are so over the top now that the word is out I’m pregnant.”

“We haven’t had a baby in the White House since…” I frown, thinking back. “Wow. Since the Kennedys.”

“Yeah, we’re hoping for a better ending,” she says dryly. “Thus all the hyper protection. There’s like four more where Hal came from out in the lobby.”

“Oh, I bet Carla is salivating. You know she loves a big man.”

Right on cue, a knock comes and my assistant pokes her head around the door. There’s a flush on her pale cheeks and her purple hair is slightly disheveled like she’s run her fingers through it.

“Should I feed those men out there?” she whispers. “I could order lunch for everyone.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Lennix says. “I’m not staying long, but thank you, Carla.”

“Don’t rush off,” Carla says, her cheeks going pinker. “Really. It’s no trouble.”

“Don’t get distracted by all those muscles,” I warn playfully, “and miss my delivery.”

“It just came.” Carla’s grin is abashed. “Should I bring it in?”

“Sure. Thanks, lady.” I rub my hands together. “This is the dress I’m wearing to the awards ceremony in Atlanta. My family’s foundation is honoring community leaders.”

I always make sure our foundation has plenty of donations, but my limited hands-on involvement has been a sore point. My mother insisted I attend this event, and I’m actually looking forward to it.

Carla walks back through the door carrying a huge brown box. I gesture toward the work table on the other side of my office, thanking her as she leaves. Once the box is laid out, I tear through the packaging to find another box inside, this one white, emblazoned with the word gLo, and tied with a wide purple ribbon.

“I didn’t know it was one of Lotus Ross’ designs,” Lennix breathes, touching the silk bow. “You guys know each other?”

“We met at the Image Awards not too long ago. She’s a riot. You’d love her.”

“I adore her stuff. That last line was fire.”

“Are you kidding? She’ll send you anything you want. A chance to dress the First Lady? What designer wouldn’t jump at that opportunity?”