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President Grisham sat behind the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office. Sam never expected to become President of the United States. Folding his hands before him, he sat straighter. He had a lot to accomplish in very little time.
Abraham Q. Morton left the country in a mess. Unexpectedly, the plague turned everything upside down. However, most of the unfinished business preceded the outbreak. President Grisham realized the daunting problems of his position. As he considered the situation, his press secretary entered.
“Come in.” Pres. Grisham beckoned from the Resolute Desk.
Hastily, Monique Abreo entered. Her high heels clicked as she strode across the office. Arrogantly, she stared down at Grisham. She would much rather work for President Morton. Her new boss would not ask her to sit in his lap, nor would he whisper into her ear. The new Commander-in-Chief was a no-nonsense type of man.
“You’re on in twenty minutes,” Monique remarked, turning on her heels. She longed to get away quickly.
“I want to go over the speech’s text,” Grisham announced, stalling Abreo’s retreat.
Monique Abreo’s shoulders sagged. Disappointed, she pivoted to reface Samuel Grisham. He noticed the look of disdain crossing her features. Immediately, he decided to replace her at the first opportunity. Sam knew of her relationship with Ginger Hartley. However, he decided to ease the friction between them.
Monique stood before the desk. She refused the chair Sam Grisham offered. With a snap of the wrist, the Press Secretary opened the folder containing the speech. Holding it before her, she glanced over the text. The wording was firm and precise. It covered all the bases.
All in all, she disagreed with the President's politics. She considered tossing it on the desk and marching out. Nevertheless, she remained.
Word-for-word, Grisham read the speech out loud. At several points, he stopped and reiterated them. Then, he made a few changes. Out of the twenty minutes preceding his address, he used up fifteen.
Monique Abreo's sore feet screamed in pain. Determinedly, she remained standing. Her father used to chide her for her stubbornness. She did not care. Sitting before the President, whom she already hated, showed signs of acceptance. She refused to accept him. In her opinion, Ginger Hartley should have stepped into Morton's shoes.
“That’s all for now.” Grisham finally excused her.
Sitting back in his chair, he watched Monique stride from the office. Yes, he would definitely replace her as soon as possible.
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President Samuel Grisham began his speech with a moment of silence for President Morton and his other lost colleagues. Then, he included the hundreds of thousand plague victims.
"My team and I are working toward solutions concerning the plague pandemic. Once we get past all the red tape, a vaccine will become available. I'm counting on you, the American People, to do your part. Get inoculated.
"In the meantime, please remain sheltered in place and follow social distancing guidelines. We want to get America back open for business as soon as possible.
"Although I cannot give specific details, I can say we have isolated the source of the plague. The State Department and the Military are coordinating a plan to proceed with annihilating it. I am sorry to say we could have confronted this situation much sooner. However, we aim to move forward rather quickly. Please bear with us.
“I thank you for your patience and forbearance,” Grisham ended. Then, added, “Are there any questions from the press?”
Hovering on the sidelines, Monique Abreo moved to escort the President away from the podium. Eyeing Grisham suspiciously, she stepped forward. She had not expected an invitation to the press. Morton never answered questions.
Pres. Grisham abruptly waved her back. He wanted to speak to the waiting journalists. Utilizing the news and social media, he longed to connect with the citizens he wished to serve. Sam Grisham did not view himself as a ruler. He sought popularity. Unlike his predecessor, he wanted the people to view him as one of them.
"How long before the vaccine becomes available," a newswoman shouted. Her red hair stood out in the crowd. Sam immediately recognized her.
"Sorry to say, there has been a tie-up with red tape, Avril," Sam answered, using the reporter's first name. "We're pushing it through as quickly as possible. I cannot say exactly when, but soon."
“Thank you,” Avril McMurphy responded, stepping back into the mass of reporters.
Avril McMurphy took her job seriously. One of the few women who remembered breaking boundaries in the newsroom, she respected Sam Grisham.
“Where does the source of the plague stem?” Marshall Tasker questioned, pushing his way to the front. The rash reporter knew better than to ask such a question.
“Cannot say,” Pres. Grisham immediately responded.
“Thank you, members of the press.” Monique Abreo finally stepped up to the podium. Shoving herself in front of the President, she used her butt to move him away. “That ends the question period.” Briskly taking his arm, she retreated alongside Sam Grisham.
“Thank you, Ms. Abreo.” Sam dismissed his press secretary at the Oval Office.
Deflated, Montique glared at the closed door. Usually, she shared a moment with Abraham Morton following an address. They poked fun at journalists and exchanged kisses on the couch. No hanky-panky on this run, Montique thought as she turned away. Concerned, she wondered when her replacement might arrive. Instinctively, she knew it would not take long. Awkwardly, she felt glad. Working for Samuel Grisham would prove a bore.
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President Grisham stood behind the Resolute Desk. Then, he sat. For a moment, he envisioned Monique Abreo. The slim, blonde Press Secretary was too pushy. The way she cut him off from the journalists annoyed him. He made a note to replace her. Perhaps Avril McMurphy might step in.
Grisham and McMurphy knew each other for a long time. He recalled his first encounter with her years ago. When Sam first arrived in Washington, D.C., she appeared as a cub reporter. He invited her for a drink at a nearby hotel bar after an interview. She gladly accepted. Over cocktails, they connected.
Sam dated Avril on and off throughout the early years. He liked her style and her spunk. She stood out among only a handful of women working as journalists. On occasions, she appeared abrasive. Her forthwith style irked many but propelled her up in the ranks. At one point, Sam considered proposing.
Samuel Grisham never married. He wavered about Avril but never asked her. As the years passed, he became immersed in his work. A private life took a backseat for him. Before long, he realized he had frittered away his life. Looking forward, he set his mind on the Presidency.
If Avril accepted, she would become his new Press Secretary. Within the next few day, he would decide.
Pres. Grisham pushed thoughts of Avril McMurphy to the back of his mind. Grasping a stack of briefs, he pulled them to him. Most were mundane. However, the one concerning the Delta Force Squadron G mission caught his attention. The fact that Morton neglected to sign it stunned him. Grasping a pen, he scrawled his name across the bottom.
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