Back The Americana Playbook
Chapters (63)
  1. THE AMERICANA PLAYBOOK
  2. Dear Reader
  3. The Troubled Teen Industry
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. New England Rebels
  7. Day 44
  8. Chapter 1
  9. Chapter 2
  10. Chapter 3
  11. Chapter 4
  12. Day 55
  13. Chapter 5
  14. TWO MONTHS LATER
  15. Chapter 6
  16. Chapter 7
  17. Chapter 8
  18. Day 68
  19. Chapter 9
  20. Chapter 10
  21. Chapter 11
  22. Chapter 12
  23. Day 78
  24. Chapter 13
  25. Chapter 14
  26. Chapter 15
  27. Chapter 16
  28. Chapter 17
  29. Day 84
  30. Chapter 18
  31. Chapter 19
  32. Chapter 20
  33. Day 91
  34. Chapter 21
  35. Chapter 22
  36. Day 100
  37. Chapter 23
  38. Chapter 24
  39. Chapter 25
  40. Chapter 26
  41. Day 113
  42. Chapter 27
  43. Chapter 28
  44. Chapter 29
  45. Chapter 30
  46. Day 128
  47. Chapter 31
  48. Chapter 32
  49. Chapter 33
  50. Day 147
  51. Chapter 34
  52. Chapter 35
  53. Chapter 36
  54. Chapter 37
  55. Chapter 38
  56. Chapter 39
  57. Chapter 40
  58. Epilogue
  59. ONE MONTH LATER
  60. FIVE YEARS LATER
  61. Acknowledgments
  62. Also by Cathryn Carter
  63. About the Author

After realizing I didn’t bring my duffle into the bedroom when I took Madeline’s call, I slip into a robe I pull off the hook. All I heard was do this, do that, go here, wear this when she told me the details of the email she was planning to send regarding campaign events. I wanted to hang up every three seconds.

But I reminded myself I was calling the shots in this game and that arguing over kitten heels wasn’t the battle to choose. Instead, I calmed myself by dragging my finger along the light oak furniture before plopping down on the bed with the plush white duvet and navy piping, taking in deep breaths of hints of leather and bourbon cut with fresh laundry. The cloud around me is both masculine but still light and familiar and new all at the same time, and I know I’ll be at as much peace in this room as I possibly can be. It’s a stark difference from where I slept—or hardly slept—in the Executive Residence this past week.

“Come in,” I sit back on the bed when there’s a knock.

The door opens, and Fitz stands there with confusion written into the gentle creases between his eyebrows.

“Sorry. I hope you don’t mind. I needed to wash the day away.” It’s more like days even though I showered this morning. The White House is toxic.

Still wearing his charcoal suit pants and light blue button-down, Fitz leans against the doorway.

“If you really want me to sleep upstairs⁠—”

Fitz shakes his head. “You can sleep here. Just give me until tomorrow to switch out closets. There’s a bunch of stuff upstairs.”

“I thought this was your room.”

Fitz rubs his chin. “I know I’ve got great legs for a guy, but something tells me you’ll pull off the skirts better.” He’s joking, of course, but there’s a serious gleam to his stare as it lingers on my bare knee poking through the opening of the robe. “I had some stuff sent over for you.”

I lean forward. “You bought me clothes? Fitz, you already gave me money⁠—”

“You came with a weekend bag, and we haven’t even discussed getting your stuff out of your apartment even if you have the lease through June.”