oh, mr president | H.S.

TWENTY ONE: Political Reign

"I may be president of the United States, but my private life is nobody's damned business." - Chester A. Arthur

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T W E N T Y O N E : Political Reign

        The rain disguised the noise of the knocks to her door, but there was no hiding the cold sweat that covered her forehead. Her damp curls stuck to the wet skin, and her palms were no different. The black figure did not help in her search for whoever it could be. She figured it could not be Harry; he would have to summon Louis, and that is never great without planning ahead of time. Charlotte was possibly still angry at her because of their argument they had before. Who could it be?

"Idiot, open the door!" Liam's voice rocked her limbs with goosebumps, body jerking back with a bump to the wall. "I'm freezing out here!"

"Liam?" Ophelia's sneaker clad feet sauntered, her hand wrapped around the knob. Her eyes glanced back at the peep hole to see Liam shivering. The door swung open, and without a second to spare, he rushed inside to the slightly warm motel room.

"Why did you let me stand out there?" Liam peeled off his drenched suit jacket and tossed it to the sofa. Drops from his soaked hair slid down his forehead, cheeks, then off his chin.

Ophelia couldn't believe that the Chief of Staff was standing in the middle of her motel room. She was astonished that he, out of all people, was complaining about his clothing being wet. Liam did not like her. It was obvious more than anything, and she couldn't figure out why he was here. How did he even find her?

"Liam, not to be rude, but you are because..." She trailed off with her head tilted forward.

"The president is going berserk. You weren't answering your phone calls, and no one knew where you were," He sat on the bed, dampening the comforter she was supposed to sleep on. "He refused to do work without finding out if you are still in Washington or not."

"Well, how did you find me?" That was the most absurd thing she could not understand.

"Honey, you are associating yourself with the president of the United States of America who has the CIA at his fingertips." He struggled to dig his cellphone out of his pockets, seeing the water seep from the sides of the leather case. "Look what you did. My phone is now wet."

"I didn't do anything. I didn't ask for you to come here, or the president to be concerned with my whereabouts," She pointed out to him as she sat on the small chair across from Liam. "I told him I'm doing this alone."

"You know that he doesn't listen to your denials. He is concerned. Can you just call him or text him that you are okay?" Liam politely lowered his voice to a minimum level with sincerity. "You know he wouldn't be able to handle it if you were hurt in any way."

Liam did have . . . some sort of point. If it was vice versa, Ophelia would have lost her mind. The least she could do was text him back and tell him that she was safe. She scoffed at how Liam was right, and stomped her path to her duffle bag. Her hand dug into the contents, then pulled out her iPhone. Once it was turned on, the notifications lit up with alerts from Harry and Charlotte (which surprised her the most).