Page 9 of Campaign Season (By Design #18)

“I know. His presence could be problematic. But it could also present opportunities. Do you think appointing him will raise suspicion?”

“No more than any appointment.” Alex leaned back. “How much time do I have to dig into him?”

“I spoke with the CIA Director yesterday. His wife is struggling with early dementia.”

“You knew he wanted to resign.”

“I did. It presented an opportunity to make some moves. He’d like to step down by the first of the year. But I need to make your appointment public sooner.”

“And Greg Scott?”

“I’d like to say take as much time as you need.”

“But you need me to take as little time as possible,” Alex finished for her.

Candace nodded.

“I’ll get on it.”

“Thank you.” Candace sighed. “We need to talk about Lawson Klein.”

“Something new?”

“No. Nothing specific. Grant will be here next week.”

Alex nodded.

“I need him, Alex.”

“I don’t have anything against Grant.”

“But?”

“Can I be candid?”

“I hope so.”

“I think it might benefit us to keep Grant out of the West Wing.”

“Alex, he has?—”

“He has connections that are more likely to feed him information if he has a little distance from you.”

“He was an asset when he was here,” Candace said. She looked at Alex. “What?”

“I think it’s time we utilized the operations center John built.”

Candace scratched her brow and let out a long breath. She could hardly believe the story Alex had told her. The warehouse. The hidden rooms. The replica Oval Office and press room. The sprawling operations center and living quarters that no one outside their circle even knew existed.

Alex’s voice was steady. “He didn’t build it for show, Candace. He built it because he knew he was compromised, and he knew one day he might need to go to ground. He couldn’t fight them in the open. We can’t either—not all of it.”

“You’re asking me to sanction a shadow operation,” Candace said evenly.

“We've already done that," Alex said.

Candace groaned.

"I'm asking you to protect yourself. To protect all of us. We'll put a small team there."

"How does this affect Grant?"

"Isn't he working as a consultant?"

"He is."

"Let him continue that."

Candace considered her reply. "I need Klein defeated in the primaries—if not pushed out before they begin. Grant is an expert on FVI."

"And FVI is a front, Candace. People will underestimate him if he’s not seen in the West Wing every day.

That’s our advantage. Work this a little.

Let me work with Jane and Claire. It would benefit you if someone suggested to Grant that he should step back into the West Wing.

Someone who thinks he can make Grant an ally. ”

Candace exhaled. She had sworn she would never run a presidency in the shadows. But Klein’s rise, Waters’ influence, the attacks on world leaders—not everything could happen in the light of day.

Her eyes met Alex’s. “Get me a plan."

Alex nodded. "Let me talk to Claire."

"I hate this."

"I know. In the end, it's your job to protect the country."

"By hiding—concealing the truth?"

"You can't show your hand on this. This isn't politics, Candace.

It's espionage. Klein is tied to something much older and more dangerous than partisan politics.

It puts more than your presidency at risk.

He poses a threat to national security that will only deepen if he gets elected.

That's why someone wants him in your seat. " Alex took a breath.

"What?"

"There are some things you shouldn't know, Candace."

"We agreed?—"

"You need to trust me on this."

"I do trust you."

"Then let me do my job, Madam President, so you can do yours."

Candace nodded. "I'll speak with Grant."

"And I'll dig into Mr. Scott's background."

"Alex?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think John was worried about an attack? On our soil?"

"I think most of our leaders have a failure of imagination," Alex replied. "A false sense of security. John didn't suffer from that affliction. He prepared for anything."

"I'm not sure we know what to prepare for," Candace remarked.

"Everything."

The morning conversation with Alex had left Candace with a dull headache—one of those that pressed from behind her eyes and settled at the base of her neck.

She needed to set it aside before the parade of costumed children came streaming through the Oval Office.

Normally, she loved these kinds of events—a chance to connect with people in a way that felt genuine and lighthearted.

But today, the weight of it all pressed harder than usual: the election looming on Tuesday, polls swinging wildly, the possibility of painful losses that could cripple her agenda.

She tried to hold onto perspective, but her soul felt heavy.

She slipped off her glasses and rubbed her temples.

“Hey.”

Candace looked up to see Jameson leaning in the doorway.

“Uh-oh,” Jameson said lightly. “Bad day?”

“Just a day.”

“Headache?”

Candace gave a faint smile.

“How about a walk before the Halloween parade?” Jameson suggested.

“A walk?”

“Sure. It’s nice outside. A little fresh air?”

Candace narrowed her eyes. “What are you up to?”

“Me?” Jameson put a hand to her chest in mock offense. “I just wanted to take a walk with my wife.”

Candace chuckled. “That’s rarely all you’re up to.”

Jameson grinned. “You’re right. Come on. Humor me.”

She held out her hand, and after a beat, Candace took it, letting Jameson tug her gently from the desk and toward the Rose Garden.

They walked in comfortable silence across the colonnade, the autumn air brisk but pleasant. The Rose Garden still carried the faint perfume of late blooms, the leaves scattered like confetti at their feet. Jameson guided Candace toward a small bench tucked into the curve of a hedge.

“Sit,” Jameson said.

Candace arched a brow but obeyed. “Feeling a little bossy?”

“Oh, no. I know who’s in charge,” Jameson replied, settling beside her. She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and pulled out a fortune cookie.

Candace giggled. “Jameson, did you buy a fortune cookie factory?”

Jameson shrugged and handed it over. “I have connections.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Well? Are you going to open it?”

Candace sighed and cracked the cookie. She snorted, the laugh slipping out before she could stop it.

“Well? What does it say?” Jameson asked.

Candace cleared her throat. “Fortune favors the donkey—especially when elephants trip over their own trunks.”

Jameson gave a satisfied shrug.

“Am I supposed to add ‘in bed’ to this one?” Candace teased.

“That’s a little kinky, even for you.”

Candace swatted her and laughed. “Lunatic.”

“I know you have a lot on your mind,” Jameson said gently.

Candace’s smile softened. “Thank you for knowing what I needed.”

Jameson leaned closer. “Since we’re having an early holiday this week, I was thinking… maybe we should take a vacation over Thanksgiving. Just me, you, and Coop.”

Candace blinked. “A vacation?”

“Sure. Don’t presidents do that?”

“They do.”

“We don’t need to go far. Camp David. Just the three of us. A glass of wine by the fire, board games with Coop, pancakes in themorning?—”

Candace tilted her head, considering. “Everything feels so…”

“Up in the air?” Jameson supplied.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Candace, you can’t wait for answers to make plans. You’ll never have them all. It’s a few weeks away. Everyone else will need time with their families too. Pearl with her boys, the kids with their kids. This is our chance. When was the last time it was just us and Coop for more than a night?”

Candace reached for Jameson’s hand, squeezed it, and smiled. “All right. Camp David. Thanksgiving weekend.”

Jameson grinned. “Best fortune yet.”

Candace laughed and slipped the paper into her pocket. “Come on. Let’s go hand out candy before you talk me into something else.”

“Oh? Maybe you'll let me trim the trees—over the?—”

Candace stood and held out her hand. "Don't push it, Jameson."

The Oval Office had been transformed into a Halloween festival—pumpkins on side tables, cobwebs draped over a lamp, and bowls of candy stationed near the Resolute Desk.

Candace and Jameson stood side by side, greeting a steady parade of children in costumes ranging from tiny astronauts to fairy princesses, superheroes, and skeletons.

“Do you want to guess what I am?” a boy asked, tugging at his oversized lab coat and goggles.

“A mad scientist?” Candace guessed.

“Not mad,” the boy corrected, grinning. “Brilliant.”

Jameson bent down to drop an extra handful of candy into his bag. “Brilliance deserves a bonus,” she said, earning a triumphant grin.

Next came a group of siblings dressed as characters from The Wizard of Oz . Jameson raised her brows dramatically. “Did you come to see the Wizard?”

Candace chuckled softly.

The little girl, dressed as Dorothy, shook her head. “No, silly. The president!”

“Oh.” Jameson widened her eyes theatrically and gestured to Candace. “Here she is—the great and powerful Oz.”

Candace laughed. Jameson was in her element. She crouched to the girl’s level. “The First Lady can be a little silly sometimes.”

Dorothy tilted her head at Jameson. “You fell in the mud.”

Jameson sighed dramatically. “I slipped.”

The girl giggled. Her brother, dressed as the Tin Man, studied Jameson shyly.

“Hello, Tin Man,” Jameson said.

He grinned and blushed.

“Look, Jameson,” Candace said. “A lion.”

“A brave one, I’ll bet.”

The youngest, dressed as the Cowardly Lion, held his pumpkin bucket in one hand and waved timidly with the other.

“All that walking down the Yellow Brick Road must’ve made you hungry,” Jameson said, tossing a generous handful of candy into each bag.

Then she pointed toward Michelle, who stood by the doorway, handing out coloring books.

“Make sure you see the flying monkey over there—she has something for you, too.”

“She’s not a monkey!” the little boy insisted.

Jameson shot Shell a sidelong glance. “She’s in disguise.”