Trump aide's 'lovesick' letters reveal inappropriate workplace dynamic

In the summer of 2023, while Donald Trump was out of office, a young aide named Natalie Harp sat down and wrote him two letters that would, years later, become the subject of intense scrutiny about the nature of power and attachment in the White House. The letters, written during or just after a trip to the United Kingdom, paint a portrait of a woman consumed by anxiety about having disappointed her boss, and yearning for a closeness that went far beyond the ordinary bounds of professional life.

In one letter, Harp apologized for a mishap during a golfing holiday in Scotland. She had been separated from her passport at customs, panicked, and called Trump instead of Secret Service. The apology spiraled outward from this single incident into something larger and more searching. She worried she had embarrassed him on the golf course. She asked his forgiveness for anything else she might have done to cause him trouble. The language grew intimate: "I want things to always be right between us," she wrote. "You are all that matters to me. I don't want to ever let you down. Thank you for being my Guardian and Protector in this Life." She signed it: "With all my heart, Natalie."

In a second letter, Harp reflected on what the trip had taught her about herself. She described the relief of stepping away from her job—printing news articles and flattering pieces for Trump to read, work she referred to as being a "Human Printer." With time to think, she confessed to burnout. She found herself envying other aides whose only apparent duty was to spend time with Trump and look presentable. She missed the old days, she wrote, when he used to call her during her time as a talk show host, when they would talk about "everything and nothing." She wanted that back. She wanted to reunite her past self with her present one, to become the best version of herself and make him proud. And she offered him permission to rebuke her harshly whenever she failed, because "no one knows or cares about me more."

When author Michael Wolff published these letters in full through The Daily Beast in August 2026, he described them as "lovesick," "submissive," and "weird." He said he released them because they documented a relationship that had no place in a professional workplace. "This ain't normal," he said on a podcast. Wolff did not believe Harp was Trump's girlfriend, but he saw the letters as evidence of something inappropriate—an emotional dynamic between a president and a subordinate that crossed lines that ought to remain firm.

Harp, now 35, had joined Trump's staff while he was out of office and worked on his 2024 campaign. After his return to the presidency, she became his executive assistant, drafting and posting his statements on Truth Social. When asked to comment, White House spokesman Davis Ingle defended her as one of the most loyal and hardworking aides on the team, and dismissed the letters as part of a pattern of media attacks on the administration.

The letters had already drawn attention the previous weekend when Democratic senator Jon Ossoff, a potential presidential candidate, referenced Harp at a rally, suggesting Trump would rather travel with her than attend to his duties. This was an allusion to a secret flight out of a NATO summit in Turkey the month before, when Trump and a small group of aides, including Harp, had taken a separate aircraft while other senior officials and the press traveled on Air Force One—which had been deemed a security risk due to threats from Iran. The press was not informed of the security threat or that Trump was not on board.

Another detail emerged in the same week: Harp had worked in the White House and Trump's inner circle for more than a year without a security clearance. According to reporting, Trump had intervened to push through her clearance after concerns from security officials and White House lawyers mounted. The convergence of these revelations—the intimate letters, the special travel arrangements, the delayed security vetting—raised questions about how decisions were being made at the highest levels of government, and whether personal loyalty had begun to override institutional safeguards.