Page 5 of Campaign Season (By Design #18)

"Maybe I just identify with it—being caught on the line.

I don't regret anything about my life with Candace, Aubrey.

Not one thing. But it comes with a cost. I had the ability to give something its freedom.

That's what Candace is doing. She's holding the line so other people can be free—so someone like you can follow in her footsteps. "

"Thanks. I have to say, this day turned out differently than I expected."

"Oh? How so?" Jameson asked.

"I don't know. The last couple of hours felt more like being with a friend than the First Lady."

"The First Lady is just JD, Aubrey. And I hope I am your friend."

The two of them settled into a relaxed rhythm, casting and reeling at their own pace. The press pool lingered, their cameras clicking like distant woodpeckers, but Jameson barely noticed anymore.

This didn’t feel like political theater; it felt like two women enjoying a stretch of river, a new friendship blossoming in the quiet moments between laughter and the tug of the line.

As Jameson watched Aubrey’s face light up at the tug on her line, she felt a weight lift from her chest. Candace was right—politics was fundamentally about people.

It was about these genuine, unguarded moments of connection.

Her gaze drifted with the current. The fish was gone, but it had left its mark.

She had little doubt that Aubrey Peters would leave a mark, too.

"Aw!" Aubrey groaned. "Lost that one."

Jameson winked. "Just means there's a bigger one waiting."

The White House

Alex Toles and Gil Rogers walked into the Oval Office to find Candace hunched over her laptop, giggling.

“Please tell me Lawson Klein finally got caught in a sex tape,” Alex cracked.

Candace wiped at her eyes, still laughing. “That might be the only thing that would amuse me more. Come look.”

She turned the screen. On it, Jameson was wrestling with a steelhead trout like it was a WWE opponent. Aubrey Peters had the net, but the fish slipped free, smacking Jameson squarely in the forehead.

Gil winced. “Ouch.”

Alex slapped a hand over her mouth but couldn’t hold back a snort. “Oh, God—please tell me someone in the press got that on camera.”

“Every major outlet,” Candace said, her voice rich with amusement.

In the video, Jameson hurriedly tried to push the fish back into the water but slipped in the mud and fell flat on her backside.

Aubrey rushed to help, only to trip on Jameson's boot and tumble down beside her.

The two women flailed on the bank as the trout thrashed at their feet.

It was a perfect mess of tangled limbs and laughter.

By the time Jameson finally succeeded in nudging the fish back into the river, Alex was doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down her face. “This is Lucy and Ethel— Fishing Gone Wrong. I swear, if you added a laugh track, it would be sitcom gold.”

Candace chuckled, shaking her head. “She’s going to kill me for laughing at this.”

Gil arched a brow. “You’re not planning to stop, though, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

“Not your ordinary campaign event,” Alex commented.

“Well, you know, a lot of people say politics is fishy,” Candace deadpanned.

Alex rolled her eyes but laughed. “That sounds like something Claire would say.”

Candace shrugged, turning the laptop back, and shook her head affectionately at the video once more before closing it. The laughter in the room settled into a quieter hum, the kind that always preceded heavier business.

She looked up at Gil and Alex. “All right. Let’s get to it. What’s happening in Kaliningrad?”

Gil straightened, his tone sharpening as if someone had flicked a switch. “We’ve confirmed additional troop movements along the corridor. Nothing overtly aggressive yet, but the scale is larger than we’ve seen in the last eighteen months.”

Alex leaned forward, a slim folder in her hands. “Satellite imagery shows armor being repositioned closer to the Polish border. Popov isn’t being subtle. The question is whether he’s posturing—or preparing for something more.”

Candace’s expression hardened, the warmth from a moment ago tucked neatly behind the practiced calm of the president.

That was her life now—moving from wife to mother to president in the span of a breath.

Sometimes it felt seamless, as natural as shifting gears in a car.

Other times, like today, the whiplash of it left her wondering how long she could keep it up.

She forced her focus back to the table. “I want every angle. Intent, capability, timing. If Popov is building a bluff, I want to know what hand he thinks he’s holding. And if it isn’t a bluff, I need to understand what he’s willing to sacrifice.”

Gil nodded. “We’re coordinating with NATO allies for intelligence, but he’s good at misdirection.”

Candace tapped a finger against her desk, her mind already moving three steps ahead.

No time for doubt. Not here. “Then we’ll get closer.

I want full assessments from Defense and State by tomorrow morning.

And Alex—loop in our partners in Berlin and London.

If Popov is trying to fracture our alliance, I want him to see just how unbreakable it really is. ”

“Yes, Madam President,” Alex said.

The room had shifted entirely—no trace of the laughter from minutes ago. Jameson’s muddy, fish-flopping antics might dominate the news cycle for a day, but Candace knew the world’s eyes would soon be fixed on something far more dangerous.

Gil closed his folder with a decisive snap. “We’ll keep the assessments moving. I’ll update you as soon as we have firmer intel.” He gave a brisk nod and started for the door. Then he paused, studying her a beat longer than usual.

“Ma’am,” he said, his voice quieter, almost reluctant, “you look tired.”

Candace forced a small smile. “That’s because I am.”

Gil’s brow creased, but he didn’t press. He gave her a curt nod and left, the door closing softly behind him.

Alex lingered. She watched Candace for a moment, noting the slight slump in her shoulders, the way her fingers rested against the closed laptop like she wasn’t ready to let go of the levity it had held.

“The last thing this country needs right now is someone made of steel,” Alex said gently.

Candace’s eyes lifted, curious.

“They don’t need a machine, Candace. They need you. Someone with steely resolve, yes—but someone who feels the weight of what it costs. That’s what makes people trust you. What makes them believe in you. And that extends beyond the public. It’s true of everyone here.”

Candace exhaled slowly, her gaze softening. For a moment, she let the words sink in.

“Thank you, Alex,” she said quietly.

Alex gave her a small smile. “Anytime. And for what it’s worth? I think Jameson’s fish story might just be the best campaign ad you never planned.”

Candace chuckled, the heaviness easing for just a moment. “She is my not-so-secret weapon,” she said, winking.

“Listen, I don’t think Popov is brazen enough to make a move against a NATO ally.”

“Probably not. The unease his posturing causes could prompt an escalation. After the attack on the Polish power grid, President Ostrowski isn’t likely to give Popov much runway.”

“Do you want me to call Jen? Have her reach out to the Polish ambassador? Maybe State has the best chance of quelling nerves.”

“No. I’ll call Teresa,” Candace said. “She has a close relationship with Ostrowski. If anyone can settle his nerves, it will be the German Chancellor. For now. But, Alex, if Popov makes any bolder moves…”

“I know. My gut tells me this is a distraction. Russia wants us looking at Kaliningrad.”

Candace sighed. “That isn’t necessarily a better scenario.”

“No. I agree. I’ll see what threads I can pull,” Alex promised.

“Just be careful.”

“Maybe you should consider reaching out to Barbu again?”

Candace’s brow furrowed. She didn’t trust the Romanian president.

“I don’t trust him either,” Alex said. “But if Costin Barbu believes in anything, it’s self-preservation. He might have his roots in Russian interest, but he’s not willing to trade his position—or Romania’s—for Yuri Popov, or anyone.”

Candace sighed. “That may be. I want something more concrete before I speak with him. It’s a privilege, Alex—a personal call from the American president. It signals my respect. He doesn’t enjoy that.”

“Understood. I’ll make some calls.”

Candace nodded. “Alex?”

“Yes?”

“Keep the circle tight around Barbu.”

“Understood,” Alex said. She pointed to the laptop. “Watch Lucy and Ethel a few more times,” she suggested.

Candace smiled genuinely. “I plan to.”

For a moment, silence lingered, the kind that came when business and friendship overlapped. Alex had seen Candace at her weakest and still believed in her strength. Candace drew comfort from that—more than she’d ever admit aloud.

“Go on,” Candace said softly. “You’ve got threads to pull.”

Alex gave her a nod, the kind born of years of loyalty and friendship. “Don't I always?"

Candace smiled. When the door closed, Candace leaned back in her chair and exhaled slowly. She was already thinking about Popov, Ostrowski, and Barbu. But it would hold—for now. She opened her laptop and pressed play on the video.

"Shit!" Jameson yelled.

"I got him!" Aubrey called out before landing in the mud.

Candace laughed, the video serving as a vivid reminder that life continued even under the heaviest burdens.

As she watched, a warmth spread in her chest, proving she wasn’t made of steel.

It reinforced her belief in the importance of this office and her choice to sit in this chair.

Everyone deserved the chance to enjoy life's simple moments without fear or threat.

She sighed. "Just what are you planning, Yuri?"

Alex stepped out of the Oval Office, adjusting her blazer as her mind raced through her contacts. A familiar voice echoed through the hallway.

“Hey, Deputy,” Cassidy called, falling into step beside her. “You look like you just came from a funeral.”