Page 113 of Power
“How’s your mother now?”
“She’s dead. Her liver couldn’t cope with the amount of alcohol she put through it.”
“I’m sorry, Jamie. That must’ve been difficult for you to go through.”
“Not as much as my younger sister. She didn’t cope well.”
I gesture toward the chair opposite. Jamie’s hands are shaking, the coffee spilling over the side. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve never really talked about this before, sir.”
“You haven’t had professional help for it?”
He slowly shakes his head and averts his eyes, looking down at his lap. “My sister has been getting help. She needs it more than I do.”
I think this is an issue about money and health care. “Do you want to talk about it with anyone?”
“I thought that’s what we’re doing here, sir,” he innocently replies.
“I’m not a professional, Jamie.”
He reaches for the cup and clears his throat. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Jamie, do you want to speak with someone?”
He stills his hands and stares at the coffee. “Eventually, once my sister is sorted, but for now, it’s all about her.”
“I’d like to get you help.”
“Sir, you don’t need to do that. You’re way too busy running this country.”
“Let me help you. We can make it discreet, and no one needs to know.”
Jamie’s eyes redden as he continues to stare at the cup. “Sir, I passed the psychological testing for my job.”
He’s misinterpreting my worry for him. “Jamie, I have no doubt you passed everything, but my concern is for you, for your mental health. Tell me about your father.”
“He passed away years ago. It’s just me and my sister, sir. But I disclosed all of this.”
How did I never know this about my staff, especially someone who’s as close to me as my personal assistant? “If you allow me to, I’d like to help.”
It’s clear by his rapid breathing and gulping that Jamie has never had anyone offer him help. “I’d appreciate that so much. Thank you.”
I don’t drag this out any longer. It’s clear he’s feeling uncomfortable and doesn’t want to talk about it. “I’ll arrange it.”
“If it’s too much, sir—”
“It’s not,” I cut him off. I pick my glasses up and look at the screen, essentially ending this.
“Thank you.” He stands and with shaky hands, takes the first cup and leaves my office.
I chose to run for president so I can make a difference. Instead, I’ve been oblivious to the hurt those who work directly with me are going through. “I’m an asshole,” I whisper to myself.
Completely unrelated, a thought pops into my mind. I take my cell out of my pocket, the feather I picked up gets caught with it. A sense of relief cascades over me. I lay the feather on my desk next to my laptop and stare at it. Unbelievable.
I stare at my phone and shake my head. Yeah, I have to do this, or I’ll never forgive myself for not trying. If I don’t succeed, then it’s not going to be because of my pride. I’m not too proud to beg Reece for forgiveness.
Picking up my phone, I scroll and find Brice’s number. “Hello?”
