Nothing belongs to me.
The White House was eerily quiet during the early hours of the morning.
Besides the sound of the birds chirping outside of her balcony window, the place was deadly silent.
Mercedes was also surprised that she hadn't had much trouble sleeping last night; she probably should have known that the house would have some of the most comfortable furniture to exist. The bed had felt like heaven after the hours it had taken her to unpack her things during the night. Mercedes was so happy to have had finally unpacked that she hadn't taken a notice to the bedroom that had been provided for her. But now as she lay in bed covered in the silk sheets, she was able to see the beauty that the room held. The bed being a wood post was a beauty in itself with white curtains pushed to the sides.
Mercedes was in love with the combination of soft brown colors of the room. The place gave her a feeling of content—something Mercedes found herself only having when not in the domain of other people, and she felt that she only missed her own room a little less. This would surely be the place she'd come to whenever having had enough of the fuckery that came with the job—and she was sure there would be some.
The bathroom was even more breathtaking once Mercedes had seen both the shower and tub. She would defiantly be using them both in the future, and speaking of showers—Mercedes looked to the digital clock on the nightstand beside the bed to see that it read 5:00am. With a sigh, she pushed herself to get up knowing she would be officially starting her job today. Puck had promised he'd get her a schedule of things she was to do along with events that were to take place. He had also promised her he would show her around to the many rooms that The White House provided.
Before Mercedes could start her job as an assistant, she had to make sure her passion as a fashion designer wasn't left behind. With a white fluffy towel wrapped around her from the relaxing shower she'd had, Mercedes walked to her closet door—which happened to be huge, it could have been a whole other room if wanted. Mercedes bit her lip when she found the item of clothing she had been working on for months; the material of the dress was very rare and felt remarkable on her hands. She was so fond of the dress because it had been the last thing she'd been working on before she found out how the prices of the materials she needed to make her clothes had skyrocketed. With determination, she vowed that the dress would be the greatest thing she'd ever make. The dress was a beautiful strapless cream color that came down to your feet but would flow with your every move, Mercedes wasn't quite finished but she planned to added a layer of crystal rhinestones that would blend into the top half of the dress.
Maybe it could get her noticed when after she'd leave here—something to fall back on. That was, after all what her fashion design major had been.
Now as stated before, Mercedes had determined that she didn't agree with more than half the ways America handled things, she had plenty of reasons, plenty of personal experiences and so on, but that didn't mean she couldn't change anything, right? That was the reason she decided on a double major of both fashion and a Politics major. But after a harsh wakeup call, Mercedes had soon realized that barely anyone would even listen to a plus sized black woman's voice dealing with as most people would call it—a man's world or even better—a white man's world.
As Mercedes decided on simple black slacks and a one shoulder ruffled lavender blouse to wear for the day, she also pulled out her book of quotes, Mercedes Jones, was engraved across the cover, she turned to a quote—one she had tried to keep in mind, it was very much true to her.
"Part of me has always been interested in politics-that's the part of me that wants to save the world. I believe that some of the most daunting challenges in the world today-poverty, disease, war-can be solved if people can put aside their petty differences and preconceived notions and do what they know to be right. I'm not saying that a B.A. in politics from college will immediately lead to the end of world hunger, but for me to do my part in improving the lives of my brothers and sisters, I have to understand the causes of our problems and the institutions involved in developing any possible solutions. I think of my education as a framework for changing the planet-in ways both big and small." - Alexander Justice Moore
But she hadn't given up completely, now that she had this opportunity. And maybe that was part of the reason she had wanted to do this—because she would secretly be able to speak with a white person's voice. It was wrong of course, it probably didn't make her any better than other people, but it was something she was willing to do and she wouldn't even have to show her face unless it was absolutely necessary. Everything would fall into place soon, she hoped.
Before Mercedes started her job, she walked to her bedroom's balcony, which gave her the perfect view of one of the many gardens; it was simply beautiful as the morning sun began to rise, with a deep breath Mercedes smiled,
"Good morning white America."
At 6:15am, Mercedes found that it was still too quiet for her liking. It wasn't like she was much of a morning person herself, anyone with a happy-go-lucky complex in the mornings would surely find themselves getting a slap to the face, but this was the White House, where exactly was everyone? When she closed her bedroom door, she had walked across the hall to Mr. Evan's room, placing her ear gently against the door, she couldn't hear anything, and she thought maybe even he was still asleep.
As she walked downstairs to the kitchen, she was slightly relieved to find someone besides herself up. Mercedes folded her arms while leaning onto the counter top, watching as Santana prepared breakfast,
"Hi Santana,"
"Hey, girl. I'll have some more food ready in a minute. How was your first night?"
"It was fine, but I'm wondering why no one else is up and you're already cooking. Doesn't everyone eat together?"
As Santana stirred the pancake mix, she turned to Mercedes, "No," she said shaking her head, "We haven't eaten together in a long time."
"Why? If you don't mind me asking."
"This place—this—business has a terrible way of tearing people apart."
When Santana didn't continue, Mercedes chose not to ask any further. In a way, the words she'd spoke were enough for Mercedes to get the message.
"Hey, how about I take Mr. Evan's his breakfast? Save you some trouble."
"Oh, well I usually just lay everything out in one of the dining halls upstairs, that way they can come and go as they please, but I'd appreciate you doing that."
She smiled before grabbing the tray Santana handed to her, looking at some of the food she had already cooked, Mercedes decided to place pancakes and bacon onto his plate, along with pouring him some orange juice and coffee.
"I guess I'll come back later for myself." She smiled while trying to balance the tray.
"Just come straight here, I'll have some food saved for you only…I think I may start to like you better than anyone else here in due time."
Mercedes slightly cocked her head, "That could be either a terribly good idea or a terribly bad one."
"Either way it'd still be terrible?"
"Exactly." She smiled
She stood at his door trying to catch her breath; she would make sure to learn the short cuts of this place while she was here because trying to balance a stack of pancakes, orange juice and steaming hot coffee was not easy. Mercedes couldn't even knock on door, afraid she'd drop everything in her hands, so she did the only thing she could think of—she lifted her foot into the air and kicked the door twice. It wasn't all that hard, but it was enough for Sam to swing the door open with a death glare awaiting Mercedes.
She would have smiled if not only did he open the door with a glare but also opened the door shirtless. And wet—water dripping down his very muscular, his very toned and very very wet chest. Mercedes slowly let her eyes connect back to his own eyes—his facial expression hadn't changed. Mr. Evans didn't even blink as water droplets from his hair fell down into his eyes and lips—which he decided at that moment—he would lick.
"Breakfast," she said while holding up the tray, a smile now plastered on her face.
Sam only stood there for a moment, not saying anything, his green eyes looking into her own intently. When he finally moved out of the way, he still didn't say anything. Mercedes shrugged before stepping inside. His room was just as beautiful as her own, which shouldn't have been a surprise but she didn't even have much time to look around when she heard the door close. She spun around on her heal, narrowing her eyes at him but only caught the sight of his back as he walked into another room—she guessed it to be his closet because when he walked back out, he had on a white long sleeved shirt with a tank top underneath, which had water soaking through from his body, starting to button it close. Mercedes poked her tongue out to the corner of her mouth as she counted. One, two, three, four, five, six—hot fucking damn.
Seeing him half naked on her first day of the job was not supposed to happen.
"So," she said looking away, "You're not a morning person I take it?"
"I am actually," Sam said while fixing his shirt collar, "I go either swimming or jogging in the mornings. And although that may be, you've already failed to wake me this morning. I shall hope you aren't as useless when things really get hectic."
So her president was basically sex on legs, but he was such a damn asshole.
"Sorry, sir. I'm still learning the ropes around here."
Sam walked towards her noticing that she still held his tray of food, letting his hands graze her own in an innocent move before taking the tray. He placed it onto the nightstand beside his bed before going to his dresser drawer, pulling out two ties.
"I do hope you're a fast learner Miss Jones. Excuses like that simply won't do."
Mercedes cursed under her breath when she actually felt her face heat up. She quickly composed herself, reminding herself that she wasn't some ninth grader dealing with their first high school crush. Especially sense she was dealing more with something along the lines of the high school ass.
"Mr. Puckerman is going to give me a schedule; I'll be the best assistant you've ever seen."
Mercedes made sure to call him Mr. Puckerman and not Puck in front of him.
"Yes, yes. Black or red?" he asked holding up the ties,
"Red,"
"Black it is."
Sam threw the red tie onto the bed before handing the black one to her; Mercedes arched her eyebrow wondering why the hell he was handing the tie to her,
"Sorry sir, but are your hands broken?"
"No," he said shaking his head, "But it's a start at being useful," he smirked
She mumbled something that he was sure he wouldn't have cared to heard, but took the tie anyways. Sam watched as she placed her full attention onto the tie, making sure to loop and pull during the right moments, he found it fascinating—how she concentrated on something so small, and still made sure it came out perfect. Mercedes rolled her eyes before patting his chest—a little too roughly-and then walking to the door, "Well, as lovely as it's been, I have to go now but I probably won't be too far from your own presence so—just let me know if you need anything."
Kurt's word rang through her ears, "Get into his good graces."
Sam gave her a wave of his hand, sending her a signal to leave, which she gladly accepted. It probably wouldn't have been a good thing to have the president's murder on your hands, even if he was a wanker.
"Mercedes?"
She spun around to see Puck, Quinn, and another guy standing outside of Mr. Evan's door. She didn't recognize the guy but had to crane her neck in order to look into his face—he was freakishly tall but there was something adorable about his facial features, he looked awkward but sweet and gullible.
"Yes?" she asked innocently
"What-" Puck began to ask, but shook his head, "I know that I promised to show you around today and give you your schedule and everything but I have other matters that need to be taken care of."
"Oh, nothing serious is it?"
"No, no. I just need to train Finn here; he's just recently been hired to work under me in security. I hope you don't mind but I've arranged for Quinn to show you the things you need to know."
Mercedes eyed Quinn, "Absolutely perfect."
"So are you excited to officially start today?" Quinn asked as they walked down the hall.
Mercedes tucked her hair behind her ear, looking straight ahead, "Excitement isn't really the word—more like-determined, yes."
"I know that feeling," she said smiling, "Anyways, how about I tell and show you some of the rooms here? That way you'll be able to make your way around."
She nearly rolled her eyes but managed to control herself, with a small smile playing on her lips, she answered back, "I actually know many of the rooms that The White House holds,"
"Oh really? Do enlighten me because many of his recent assistants didn't know shit—excuse my language."
"Alright," Mercedes challenged, "There are one hundred and thirty two rooms here, eight staircases—including The Grand Staircase. And then there are also the entertainment facilities such as the swimming pool, workout room, a movie theater and various other things."
At the look of Quinn's surprised face, she continued on with a smiled, "There are only two wings of The White House. The West Wing which is where we're heading towards now—is for the business that takes place, also where the Oval Office is. The East Wing is for guests—such as events, balls, and also where everyone sleeps."
"Wow," Quinn said shaking her head, "I don't know how many people would have actually taken the time to look up information on their own, you're something."
Just as Mercedes was about to reply, she noticed Quinn slightly lose her balance, quickly, she grabbed onto her elbow,
"Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm just a little stressed out—speaking of which, we should be getting to the meeting."
Mercedes didn't really believe her but didn't know her well enough to suggest she'd go rest. Biting onto her bottom lip, she walked hurriedly beside her,
"So what is the meeting about?
"It's something that we have daily to discuss possible ideas and solutions."
Quinn then stopped at her own office before telling Mercedes to wait outside while she ran in; she wasn't gone long but did come back with a notebook and pen,
"You should probably take important notes."
"As you all know, we need to find new ways to gain money for the United States. We need ideas—we need just about anything that will help us out of this shithole."
Mercedes had already came to the solution that it was inevitable for her not to learn something new almost every day while working here. And during this moment, she learned that whenever anyone entered this room—everything seemed to change about them. No one smiled, they barely looked into one another's eyes, much less the presidents'—his eyes were like death—dark, commanding—intimidating.
With his hands tucked inside his pockets, Sam looked to Quinn, she seemed to squirm in her seat under his gaze and Mercedes couldn't even blame her,
"Well, sir" she started, "I've looked into everything I could possibly think of in my department—reducing here, adding there—but nothing seems that it would help enough."
"Rachel?" Sam asked, eyeing her just as hard,
"Mr. President, I've looked thoroughly at all of my paperwork, facts, details and everything else—I've come to the conclusion that we need to simply raise things at least five percent more in order to make some type of progress."
"So that's it then? The people want their money back Rachel!"
Mercedes bit onto her tongue, trying to hold in what she wanted to say—what she needed to say. She looked to Quinn, who held her head now—they all did.
"Well—"Mercedes decided to say, watching as all of their heads snapped towards her, "If I may suggest something-"
"You certainly may not Miss Jones."
"Sam, how about we see what she has to say, I think everyone here agrees that any idea has the right to at least be heard." Mike chimed in, gesturing with his hand for her to speak.
She looked towards Sam again, watching as his eyes focused on her. She could tell that he was biting on the inside of his cheeks, probably to keep him from jumping across the table at any of them. Mercedes could have given him the finger if she hadn't realized that she might actually be getting a chance to tell them about her idea. And of course—if he weren't the president.
"Spend money to make money." She said before taking a deep breath and rising to her feet.
Mercedes walked towards the front of the room, making sure she had all of their attention; this was what she was good at,
"I say we put money towards education. As you stated Mr. President, the people want their money back, so then what better way to put their money into something as important as education? As Marian Wright Edelman once said, "Education is for improving the lives of others and for leaving your community and world better than you found it." College students, young children—they are the future, and I think we need to do everything possible to make sure each and every child has the full benefit of an education in every way."
"Miss Jones," Rachel spoke, raising her hand signaling for her to stop speaking, Mercedes slowly turned her head towards her, "I see no reason to fund education anymore than what we already are, it may not be the best—but it is enough, and while we are always looking for ways to improve—that is not our top priority. "
"So when does it become your top priority? When a child can barely afford to pay for it? But wait Miss Berry, that's already the case!"
"Miss Jones," another voice said, Mercedes looked and saw that it was the president himself. He was now seated at the head of the table, his hands folded, but his eyes looked straight ahead, not at her, "Everyone in this room can admit that education is one of the most important things that needs to be tackled, but if we want progress, then we need time—and that is something we will be running out of before we know it. So please, the idea of spending money to make money is just absurd. However, I must ask that from now on you stay in your place—as my assistant and nothing more. Thank you for your input."
"My place? With all due respect sir, you may be the President of the United States, but that don't mean I won't shove my foot up your ass."
Mercedes thought she heard Rachel gasp, and maybe thought she heard a few snickers—but her ears were heated and ringing, she wouldn't have really heard shit at the moment.
Sam's head snapped towards Mercedes, his left eye slightly twitching, he would have been damn right amused if she hadn't said that in front of the people that worked for him. But she was good entertainment, one of the only few people in the damned place that could even make him slightly smile or laugh, and it was barely her first day on the job. Damn woman.
"That's enough Miss Jones; I think you should go have a walk around the garden to calm your nerves. Please leave."
He was taking her as a joke—must have been, because Mercedes was deadly serious and she wanted to whip the fucking small smirk off his face. She took a deep breath before calmly—or as close as she could get, left out of the room, the door slamming behind her.
"He wanted him as the president anyways?" she mumbled
She was so busy trying to get her head straight again that she hadn't heard the door she'd previously vacated open and shut,
"Merce—Miss Jones,"
Mercedes quickly turned around—not really knowing who to expect, maybe Mr. Evans was going to fire her now—she probably would have fired herself. "Get into his good graces." Kurt had said. But she didn't know if she should have been shocked or relieved to see that it was Quinn,
"I want to hear more about your idea."
Nothing to say, really. Hope you enjoyed!
