CHAPTER 31
“Vultures! Worse than goddamn paparazzi.”
He stared out the helicopter’s window at the lawn, his perfect Aquiline profile silhouetted like the movie star he’d wanted to be. Still the handsomest man Lindsey Grant had ever seen.
Two in the morning. Pouring rain. A freakish, early cold snap down to the thirties.
Yet dozens of reporters and photographers, the lowest of the low on the White House Press Corps pecking order, huddled under their umbrellas. Anyone with any pull was home sleeping in their warm beds, leaving the grunts to the slight chance of even a single moment of news.
“Remember. Your image.”
“Screw my image,” the President of the United States shrugged off her placating hand. “f*****g vultures. I’d stage a coup if I could get rid of them.”
“Don’t let anyone hea
