Seen together?
What does that even mean?
Reading the question written all over my face, he says, "I won't come with you. I don't want to steal your spotlight. After all, you're getting an award for your hard work, something that has nothing to do with me. But I'm thinking of coming to pick you up. Outside the event."
"The reporters will swarm you for sure. The president showing up at an entertainment awards ceremony?" I chuckle.
That has literally never happened before. Gossipmongers would have an all-you-can-eat buffet.
"What are you going to say?" I ask.
"We won't tell the media anything yet. Leave them guessing, until I decide it's the perfect time to announce the marriage. It will be soon after the wedding."
He's really good at planning things.
Even though the whole situation is risky for my career, I can't help but trust him. He just looks so capable—and too shiny, if I may add—that it's hard not to believe he can do anything.
"What if the public speculates that my case got dismissed because of you? Things could go south fast, don't you think?"
It's not far-fetched. After five years in the entertainment industry, I know exactly how wild speculations can get.
"After the wedding, we'll announce the marriage, and people will hear our made-up story. Since we're supposedly in a relationship this year, before Logan's death, speculations like that are inevitable, especially given your social standing. You're not just a young politician who recently assumed the presidency, but someone from a wealthy family. They will say you used your connections and money."
He stops eating and takes a slow sip of champagne.
"You think too much," he says, the corner of his lips almost lifting. "Though it's good to know you're not stupid."
"Did you think I was stupid before?"
He doesn't answer. But the look on his face does.
Hah. Just because I'm younger and look a bit naïve, he assumes I'm stupid?
I gulp down some water to wash away my annoyance before speaking.
"Sir, I may be younger than you and maybe didn't collect academic awards in school, but I'm not…" I say the word firmly, "dumb."
"Sure, you're not," he replies with a small smirk.
His smirk is infuriating. Not because it doesn't suit his usually stone-cold face, or because it's too smug, but because it suits him too well.
"Let's go back to our topic," I say, forcing myself to stay focused. "So what will you do if the things I mentioned happen?"
"People's opinions can't be helped." He doesn't look even remotely concerned.
"But that means you won't get the kind of publicity you want. We'll both be ruined."
"You shouldn't worry about that."
"How can I not?" I blurt, a little too sharp. I swallow hard when his gaze sends chills prickling down my spine. "I mean, if you go down, I'm going down too. My life is at stake here, Mr. President."
"I'm not going down, Miss Merrit," he says, like failure is something that only happens to other people.
That confidence again.
Fine.
He's got a plan? Sure. Let's do whatever you want, Your Majesty.
* * *
After dinner, Mr. Brandt leads me to the study. According to him, we need to refine and add more details to our story, just enough to make sure we agree on what we'll tell the public.
We decide not to get too particular. Vague details, easy excuses about "wanting privacy"—that should do.
"The information Stannis gave me doesn't include your past relationships. Shouldn't I know about that?" I ask, folding myself into a squat-like position on the sofa.
Across from me, the president is leaning back in his chair, one leg casually draped over the other.
The question had passed through my mind at random, and I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask. Besides, there's never been any news about him dating anyone. Maybe he's just extremely private… or maybe he's secretly married to his work.
"If someone asks, just say it's not something you want to talk about," Mr. Brandt replies.
Well, he has a point. It's the easiest answer, and frankly, which wife wants to discuss her husband's past relationships anyway?
"How about you?" he asks. His eyes lift from the papers to me.
"What?"
"Did you have any relationships with anyone recently?"
"What kind of question is that?" I laugh, a little incredulous.
"Who knows?" he says. "You might have thought you were married, but that marriage was an utter failure, so you might have had relationships."
I scoff and nearly throw the stack of papers in his face.
"I didn't know you were so presumptuous. Even if Logan and I weren't a typical married couple, I never thought of cheating."
My cheeks heat up, because even imagining that feels humiliating.
"I'm asking in case you had relationships at work," he says, "which could complicate our situation."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
"I didn't have any relationships at work, alright."
He gives me a look that says he has doubts. I smile tightly, hiding my teeth, because if I don't, I might consider biting him, which is definitely a terrible idea.
Mr. Brandt may look calm, but he's like the ocean. That kind of calm is dangerous.
One wrong move and I might end up in this mansion's hidden dungeon.