Page 14 of Campaign Season (By Design #18)

Chapter

Five

Allentown, Pennsylvania

“I really appreciate you coming out today,” Brett O’Donnell said.

Candace smiled. “I’m happy to help—if I can.”

“Can I speak candidly?”

“Of course.”

“It’s a little intimidating—campaigning with you.”

“I remember that feeling,” Candace replied.

“Really?”

“I admit, some days it feels like ancient history—my time in the House.”

Brett chuckled.

“I suppose it was a little less intimidating for me because I spent so much time with my grandfather during his campaigns.”

“Is that what made you want to go into politics?” Brett asked.

“I caught the bug. That’s what my grandfather would say,” Candace smiled.

“Ever regret it?”

“Which one?” Candace replied lightly.

“Running for office. Any office. It gets…”

“Ugly?”

Brett nodded.

This was the first time Candace had met Brett O’Donnell.

He was a thirty-eight-year-old father of two who owned a popular chain of coffee shops, coached baseball, and had served for eight years in the Navy.

He had entered the race as an underdog and closed the gap in polling to less than two points.

Speaking with him, Candace could see why.

He possessed an authenticity that felt more genuine than that of most career politicians.

“There are ugly days, yes. But I’ve never regretted serving. Not once,” Candace said.

Brett exhaled with a half-smile, adjusting his tie as though it had suddenly become too tight. “That’s reassuring. Because right now, with the ads, the mailers, the debates—it feels like I’ve dragged my whole family into a storm they didn’t ask for.”

Candace’s expression softened. “You didn’t drag them, Brett. They walked with you. There’s a difference.”

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “My daughter asked me last night why anyone would call her dad a liar on television.”

Candace winced in recognition. “Cooper once asked Jameson why people shouted at us when we got out of the car. He couldn’t understand why strangers would be so angry.

We told him the truth—that people often fear what they don’t know, and that fear makes them lash out.

It doesn’t make it right, but it helps to understand. ”

“Did that satisfy him?”

“Not entirely,” Candace admitted. “But he trusts that we’ll keep him safe. That’s what matters to kids—safety and honesty. It’s the same for voters, if you think about it.”

Brett chuckled softly. “You make it sound simple.”

“It isn’t. But people respond to authenticity. You don’t need to have every answer. You just have to tell the truth and listen.”

Brett’s campaign manager, a wiry young woman with a clipboard tucked under her arm, gestured toward the cluster of reporters gathering near the stage.

Candace touched Brett’s sleeve. “You’ve got this. Just remember—every campaign stop is a conversation, not a performance. Talk to them like you’re still on the baseball field with your players.”

Brett’s shoulders relaxed. “You know, I might actually try that.”

“Good,” Candace said with a faint smile. “Now let’s go win you a few more votes.”

The White House

“Have you talked to Mom?” Michelle asked.

“Not since last night. She was up before me.”

Michelle groaned.

“Something wrong?” Jameson asked.

“Not wrong.” Michelle hesitated.

“I know you’re worried about your dad.”

“Sure,” Michelle said. “That’s not it. Mom didn’t say much on Halloween.”

“I think she needed to take a breath, Shell. She’s juggling a lot at once.”

“She usually loves campaign season.”

Jameson nodded. “She enjoys meeting people. But campaigning as the president isn’t the same as campaigning for a president—or for the presidency.”

Michelle smirked. “That was a mouthful.”

Jameson chuckled. “You know how it is. Feels like twenty people need her all at once.”

“I guess.”

Jameson tipped her head. “So, what brings you into my neck of the woods? Slumming in the East Wing?”

“It’s not slumming,” Michelle said, rolling her eyes. “Besides, you have better coffee.”

Jameson grinned. “Fair.”

“I promised Mom I’d check in on a tour group from one of the local schools.”

“That’ll be a surprise for them.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not all that exciting.”

Jameson stepped away from her desk, folding her arms.

“What?” Michelle asked.

“Shell…”

Michelle sighed. “Okay. I thought maybe you could make an appearance.”

“Did you talk to Larry about this?”

“No.”

“Shell.”

“I didn’t want to ask Agent Potter before I asked you.”

Jameson nodded slowly. “Ask Larry. If he clears it, I’ll make it happen.”

“Thank you.”

“Mm-hm. Why does this matter so much?”

Michelle grinned.

“Shell?”

“Okay. They’re from a Catholic school.”

“And?”

“You’re Catholic.”

Jameson blinked. “My mom is Catholic.”

“Good enough.”

Jameson laughed. “Clear it with Larry.”

Michelle gave a playful salute and headed out.

Jameson rolled her eyes just as Lee poked her head in. “JD? Dana asked if you could meet her in the Press Office.”

“Oh, this can’t be good.”

Lee shrugged. “Didn’t sound dire. She just asked if you could come.”

“Do me a favor?” Jameson said.

“Sure.”

“Tell Shell I got pulled away if she comes back. Just tell her to call me.”

“Got it.”

A sharp meow drew Jameson’s eyes downward. Jinx sprawled on the rug, rolling onto his back like a king awaiting tribute.

“Some guard cat you are,” Jameson muttered, grabbing her jacket. She glanced at the coffee maker, then shook her head with a sigh. “Maybe I should’ve gone with Candace’s scotch instead.”

The Press Office

“I think we need to say something,” Dana said.

Cassidy groaned.

Jameson peeked around the corner. “Just tell me I didn’t do it—whatever it is.”

Dana chuckled. “Come in, JD.”

“What’s going on?” Jameson asked.

“We need your input,” Cassidy said.

“Okay…”

“There’s chatter about Candace’s trip home,” Dana explained.

“And?”

“I can’t reach Candace about this right now,” Cassidy added.

“What kind of chatter?”

“A family crisis. Apparently, there’s a rumor about divorce,” Dana said.

“Whose divorce?”

Cassidy and Dana answered together, “Yours.”

Jameson stared at them for a long beat—then burst into laughter.

“JD, I know it’s petty, but it’s picking up steam online,” Dana said.

Jameson kept laughing. “It’s ridiculous. Does this have anything to do with Shell asking me to greet a bunch of Catholic school kids?”

Dana frowned. “What?”

“Never mind,” Jameson said. She sobered slightly. “If you want my advice—ignore the chatter. That’s exactly what Candace would tell you.”

“Normally, I’d agree. But this close to an election…” Dana said carefully.

Jameson sighed. “So what’s your plan?”

“Possibly have you agree to appear on one of the four o’clock cable shows?” Dana suggested.

“Are you asking me, or floating the idea so I can shoot it down?” Jameson asked—just as her phone buzzed. She held up a finger. “Shell? What? Okay. Sure. What time? All right. I’ll see you in forty minutes in the East Room.”

Cassidy and Dana exchanged a look.

“I have a better idea,” Jameson said.

“Okay?” Dana asked warily.

“Shell asked me to make an appearance for a school tour. Larry already cleared it. Why don’t we lift the livestream ban?

Let the kids record. It’ll hit the media faster than any press release you can draft—and it’ll be authentic.

No denials, no spin. Just me, talking about living with the president. ”

Cassidy’s eyes lit up. “Perfect.”

“Are you sure you don’t want one of our jobs?” Dana teased.

“If there’s a percentage higher than infinity—that’s how sure I am,” Jameson deadpanned. She pushed off the doorframe. “Now, I’m going to change.”

“Why?” Cassidy asked suspiciously.

Jameson grinned. “Just trust me.” And with that, she disappeared down the hall.

Cassidy turned to Dana.

“I’m not asking,” Dana said quickly.

“What if it’s?—”

Dana shook her head and raised a hand. “Nope. Not asking.”

Candace stepped down from the stage after finishing her remarks for Brett O’Donnell’s rally, letting the team lead her by the press pool. The familiar swell of shouted questions rose from the line, and she paused, offering a polite nod.

“Madam President, reports are circulating about a possible family crisis. Some are speculating about divorce. Care to comment?”

Candace arched a brow, her expression calm and steady. "About divorce?" she asked. "It's anyone's right."

Another voice pushed forward. “Madam President—are you aware the First Lady is live right now on social media, speaking with schoolchildren in the East Room?”

Candace blinked, then shifted her weight as Special Agent McCarthy took a step closer, protective yet discreet. Before she could answer, one of the younger reporters waved his phone toward her. “It’s everywhere already. Would you like to see?”

Before Candace could respond, Ellen darted forward, phone in hand. “Madam President, I’ve got it right here.” She unlocked the screen.

The video dominated the display: Jameson, dressed in blue jeans and a navy polo, sat casually on a bench at the far end of the East Room. A group of children in matching Catholic school uniforms gathered around her, holding their phones and tablets like miniature press credentials.

“…this room has hosted state dinners, concerts, and even weddings,” Jameson said, gesturing toward the chandeliers.

“Every time I walk in here, I still feel like I should check my shoes for mud. But this room has hosted some of the most important conversations in our nation’s history.

It’s pretty humbling when you think about it. ”

A boy with a freckled nose raised his hand. “What’s the president like? At home, I mean.”

Jameson tilted her head, considering, and the children leaned in.

“Well,” she said, “she’s a mom. And a Nana.

She worries about our son, Cooper, finishing his homework, she sneaks cookies when she thinks no one notices, and she’ll laugh at the worst knock-knock jokes you’ve ever heard.

” Jameson lowered her voice to a whisper.

"And she feeds the cat under the table."