Their hands met, and as before, the touch triggered a strange reaction. Her entire body loosened, with knees so weak that they threatened to collapse. A lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead, and her fingers tingled with the desire to touch it. His eyes darkened as he regarded her searchingly as if she represented some mystery to him. He was near enough that she caught a whiff of something spicy, perhaps an aftershave.
The president seemed to have an adverse effect on the speech centers of her brain. Her lips couldn’t even manage to form words such as “pleased to meet you.” But if she’d been capable of speech, she might have blurted out something about the color of his eyes. And that would have required her to flee the country in shame.
He was still squeezing her hand—it felt so right—but there was no actual handshaking. I really should say something. And maybe smile. Or am I already smiling?
His lips parted as if he needed to catch his breath. “Ms. Bennet—”
Chapter Three
Before he uttered another word, Elizabeth was pushed to the side as her father, tired of waiting, waved his hand in the president’s face. “Mr. President? John Bennet.”
President Darcy dropped Elizabeth’s hand so he could take her father’s. Freed from the power of his gaze, Elizabeth stumbled backward and a few feet away from the knot of people surrounding the president—which now included a couple Secret Service agents and Press Secretary Bob Hilliard.
Yet the rest of the world seemed to continue apace, unaware that a man had set her senses reeling. And not just any man—the president! Jane conversed animatedly with Mr. Bingley while Kitty and Lydia fidgeted impatiently as they waited to greet the president. Beside them, Fanny absently patted her shellacked hair, no doubt scanning the room for famous faces.
Hadn’t they noticed the difference in Elizabeth? A simple touch of his hand had reordered her world. Well, of course I had a powerful reaction to meeting him. He’s the president. Duh. The leader of the free world and all that. Naturally, he’s charismatic and holds people’s attention. That’s what politicians do.
Still, Elizabeth had the niggling sensation that he had been the one to prolong the contact—that he had been unwilling to release her hand. No. That was absurd. A trick of her imagination. In fact, he was probably desperately wishing for some hand sanitizer right now.
Her father’s voice—always the loudest in any room— intruded on Elizabeth’s thoughts. “I’m the founder and owner of On-a-Stick, Inc.,” he said proudly.
President Darcy didn’t seem like the kind of person who had eaten anything off a stick in his entire life. “On-a-Stick?” the president repeated blankly.
Elizabeth winced. There was no stopping her father now.
“Surely you know about Meatballs On-a-Stick?” her father said eagerly.
The president managed a polite smile. “Your company makes those?”
“That was our first product,” Mr. Bennet explained. Elizabeth could have recited his next words along with him. “We now sell 106 separate On-a-Stick products.” The president nodded, but his eyes scanned the room as if hoping for a rescuer. “We have Ravioli On-a-Stick, Cookies On-a-Stick, Granola Bars On-a-Stick, Eggs On-a-Stick —the eggs are hard boiled, of course.” Her father paused for the same little chuckle he always gave at this point in his spiel.
“Of course,” the president responded dryly. Maybe politicians took classes in how to feign interest in boring topics.
“You have a younger sister, don’t you?” her father persisted. “We could send her a case of Doughnuts On-a-Stick that she could share with her little friends.”
President Darcy gazed down at John Bennet. “Georgiana is a sophomore at Harvard and rows crew. She has to watch her carbs.”
Elizabeth’s father continued, undaunted. There was something almost impressive about his ability to remain oblivious to scorn. “Soup On-a-Stick!” he announced. The president’s eyebrows shot up. “We put it in a little cup and put the cup on a stick. It’s frozen until you’re ready to eat it.”
“I see…” the president said slowly. “Does this enhance the soup-eating experience?”
His tone was so dry that her father missed the hint of disdain, but Elizabeth was offended on his behalf.
Mr. Bennet continued, “Lasagna On-a-Stick was a real misstep; I don’t mind admitting that to you…”
Did he plan to describe the marketability of each of the 106 items? Elizabeth’s stomach twisted, and her cheeks burned. Why did he have to do that here? She hardly needed additional reasons for embarrassment.
The monologue continued: “Cheese On-a-Stick makes a great appetizer. You should consider serving it here at the White House. We have cheddar, American, mozzarella, and brie…”
President Darcy’s lips curved into a cold imitation of a smile. Elizabeth noticed his gold cufflinks and Patek Philippe watch; his tuxedo was bespoke and must have cost thousands. As a child, he had probably eaten his lollipops with a knife and fork.
Her father was in full-on marketing mode now. “Sticks are a big improvement over toothpicks when serving cheese…More sanitary and…”
If Elizabeth had to endure one more minute of this humiliation, she might scream. She sidled up to her father and tried to catch his eye.
“I’m sure children enjoy your products,” the president murmured. It was not a compliment. Oh no. Now he’s done it.
“Not just children,” her father corrected sternly. “Our research shows that 65 percent of our products are consumed by adults—”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, and—”
That diatribe could go on for five minutes, and President Darcy’s eyes already had a glazed and distant look. Elizabeth grabbed her father’s elbow. “Dad, we should let the president greet other guests.”
Her father eyed the rest of his family awaiting their turns. “Oh. Yes. We can continue this conversation later,” he reassured the president.
The other man’s lips twitched. “Of course.” Elizabeth had barely drawn her father away before President Darcy reached for Jane’s hand with a rather fixed smile on his face.
At least Jane could be relied on to be gracious and appropriate. However, Lydia was now talking to Bingley, making grand, sweeping gestures that suggested raucous storytelling. I don’t want to know.
Her father wandered off in search of food. After a brief conversation with the president, Jane stepped away and joined Elizabeth as she observed the Bennet family from a safe distance.
Jane clutched Elizabeth’s arm in horror. “Lizzy, look!” Lydia drew a selfie stick from her purse and proceeded to buddy up next to President Darcy. His smile could best be described as zombie-like. Elizabeth groaned. By the end of the evening, the president would be commissioning a Bennet family dart board for the Oval Office. Ten points for Lydia, fifteen for Mr. Bennet, and 200 for Elizabeth right in the bullseye. Of course, why should he be any different from anyone else who had met the Bennets?
Elizabeth covered her eyes with her hand. “At least we won’t be compelled to attend another of these events.”
“At least not during this administration,” Jane agreed with a sigh.
Awed by the president, Kitty navigated her introduction rather sedately. Hallelujah. However, as their mother prattled to President Darcy, she pointed to her various daughters in different parts of the room.
“Do you think she’s explaining how our eggs are getting old?” Jane asked in a low, horrified voice.
“It’s like we’re prime breeding stock she wants to sell,” Elizabeth moaned.
Jane snorted. “I don’t think he’s in the market.”
Indeed, the president’s face had gone quite still, and he responded to their mother with fewer and fewer words. He said something to her, abruptly turned in the opposite direction, and hurried toward the dining room, Secret Service agents trailing in his wake. Their mother watched him leave with a bemused expression.
Glancing up from her conversation with Bi
ngley, Mary appeared crestfallen that she had missed her opportunity to meet the president.
“Okay, I do support his policies,” Elizabeth growled. “But the man is slime.”
“Maybe it was an emergency,” Jane said faintly.
“Right,” Elizabeth scoffed. She turned her back on the scene. “I’m not sure how much longer I can stand this.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “We haven’t even had dinner yet.” She motioned toward the spectacle of Lydia taking a selfie with an unamused Secret Service agent. “And don’t you think we need to provide adult supervision?”
Elizabeth allowed her shoulders to sag. “We’re fooling ourselves if we think we’re having an effect,” she said tonelessly. “It’s probably better if we don’t know what’s happening.” She stared at the fiasco with Lydia for a moment. “Let’s go.”
Jane bit her lip. “Maybe in a little while? Bing was going to tell me about the administration’s plans to combat child hunger.” As the director of On-a-Stick’s marketing, Jane was always reaching out to children’s charities, and she served on the board for the D.C. chapter of Help Our Children Eat.
So he was “Bing” to her already? Interesting. “The president’s chief of staff wants to chat you up?”
“You know that’s an issue I care about.” Jane had a sudden, intense interest in her shoes.
“Charles Bingley seems nice, but he’s from an old-money family just like President Darcy.” The Bennets had found that old-money families tended to form a united front against the “upstart” newly wealthy like themselves. With a bad track record when it came to dating, Jane could be so easily hurt.
“I’m just talking to him about childhood hunger. Not hopping into bed with him.” Jane’s voice was sharp.
Elizabeth held up her hands. “Of course.”
In the next instant, Jane’s face lit up with a soft smile; Bing approached with an iPad at the ready. His hand landed on Jane’s elbow as he aimed a blinding smile in her direction. The man wasn’t quite as handsome as the president, but his blond surfer look was quite attractive.
Jane glanced sidelong at Elizabeth. “Go ahead. I need to visit the restroom anyway,” Elizabeth whispered in her sister’s ear.
After giving Jane a little push in Bing’s direction, Elizabeth wended her way slowly through the crowd, wishing she knew more people at the event. Although the success of her family’s company had catapulted the Bennets into the upper echelons, the old-money families often snubbed them, and Elizabeth usually preferred the company of people like her coworkers. Unfortunately that often left her isolated at events like this.
Perhaps I should just be thankful I’m not hiding in the broom closet or on the receiving end of the president’s glare.
At least she could escape to the restroom. Getting to the “ladies’ lounge” required crossing to the opposite side of the entrance hall and traversing a short hallway. Decorated in shades of peach and cream, the room boasted frilly curtains, little baskets of toiletries on the sink, and cloth towels. This early in the event it was blissfully deserted, allowing Elizabeth to sink gratefully onto a small padded bench near the door. Taking deep breaths, she tried to relax muscles that were tied into one big knot after two encounters with the president.
Alas, the quiet was short-lived. As Elizabeth washed her hands, Lydia entered, accompanied by her “bestie” Maria Lucas, Walter’s daughter. The minute Lydia glimpsed Elizabeth, her voice dissolved into high-pitched squeals. “Ohmygod, Lizzy. Did you come to the ladies’ room alone?” She shuffled a little closer and sniffed. “Why do you smell like cleaning supplies? You are so weird.”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth, reminding herself that she loved Lydia and did not want to drop her sister’s phone in the toilet.
Lydia had already moved on to a new topic. “Did you see me with the president? I took a selfie with him!” She waved her phone in Elizabeth’s face. “Although I didn’t get the best angle. I think it makes my nose look big. Don’t you think it makes my nose look big? And my dress really is a brighter shade than it looks in the picture. But still…it’s the president!”
Her voice was so shrill that Elizabeth winced. “I posted it on Twitter and Instagram. It’s been retweeted 243 times already!” She tossed her head. “No one at school can top that!”
During this monologue, Elizabeth dutifully viewed all the pictures she had witnessed being taken only five minutes ago. When Lydia started hyperventilating from lack of oxygen, Maria had a brief opportunity to speak. “You are soooo lucky!” she enthused to Lydia. “I haven’t even met President Darcy yet, and he and my dad are, like, best buds. It’s so unfair!”
“You know what’s unfair?” Lydia cried, regarding herself in the mirror. “Have you seen my hair?” She alternately fluffed and scrunched a curl on the side of her face. “I’m like, hello? I’m meeting the president and everything—and now I have to have a bad hair day?”
“That sucks!” Maria chimed in.
Lydia adjusted the hot pink monstrosity on her head. “And after everything I spent on this hat! People won’t even see it.” Elizabeth thought that would be an improvement. “All they’ll notice is disaster hair!” Maria knew her lines in this play and rushed to reassure Lydia that her hair was the best in the whole ballroom. After what seemed like an eternity of watching Lydia preen in the mirror, they were finally ready to leave.
The bathroom door had just closed behind them when Elizabeth threw out her arm to stop the other women—as if they were heading into heavy traffic. She pointed emphatically down the hall. President Darcy, his back to them, was consulting with Bob Hilliard. They were surrounded by a small knot of Secret Service agents. Nobody had noticed the three women yet, so Elizabeth crowded them back into the alcove created for the restroom door where they wouldn’t be visible.
They couldn’t go anywhere without pushing past the president and his agents. Awkward, to say the least, and Elizabeth had no desire to remind President Darcy of her existence. If only they could return to the restroom! But the men in the hallway—who obviously believed they were alone—might hear the door open. They were trapped.
From her hiding place, Elizabeth could glimpse only a slice of the president’s back, but his words were quite clear. “No, I won’t!” he said to Hilliard.
“Okay, then someone else.” The press secretary’s tone was half pleading and half I’m-trying-to-be-reasonable. “This is the perfect opportunity.”
She would have paid good money to be anywhere else. How had she managed to eavesdrop on the president twice in one evening?
“Damn it!” President Darcy shifted from one leg to the other and then back as if preparing to sprint out of the hallway. “Bob, I have important things to do. The transportation plan—”
“Your public image is important long-term,” Hilliard said in a low, soothing tone. “The presidency is a marathon, not a sprint—”
“Yes, I know,” the president interrupted. “But how will any of your ideas advance my agenda—?”
Lydia and Maria stifled giggles behind their hands, amused to be eavesdropping on the president. I should feel guiltier about it than I do, Elizabeth thought. But his arrogance hadn’t made her charitably inclined toward him. Hopefully he wouldn’t reveal any classified information. Elizabeth wasn’t at all confident she could prevent Lydia from tweeting it.
Lips pressed tightly together, Hilliard consulted his iPad. “Mr. President, you saw your latest poll results. People see you as unapproachable and proud.” Elizabeth smothered a snort; that was putting it mildly. Hilliard continued, “We discussed finding opportunities to soften your image. Dancing with a woman at an event like this will show you can loosen up and have fun. If the press picks up on it, the optics are good. Particularly if she appears to be an ordinary American.”
Lydia listened with her hand over her mouth as though she might burst with excitement at any moment. This certainly was more interesting than hearing about the transportation bill.
&
nbsp; The president’s hand rubbed the back of his neck. “Bob…”
“Just a dance or two. Nothing more.”
“No.”
“The rumors are getting bad again,” Hilliard said in a warning tone.
The president exhaled forcefully. “Who did you have in mind?”
Hilliard scanned his iPad. “How about one of the Bennet girls you just met? Elizabeth Bennet? Her father donated to your campaign. She’s pretty, and you seemed taken with her when you shook her hand.”
Elizabeth froze in horror while Lydia and Maria shot her amazed looks. Would he tell Hilliard about the broom closet?
President Darcy snorted. “Ha! I don’t think so. You didn’t have to speak with her. I don’t think there’s anything going on upstairs.” He tapped the side of his head. “Intellectual lightweight. And she’s not that pretty.”
Elizabeth stumbled further into the alcove until she couldn’t see the men anymore. Lydia convulsed in silent laughter, her hand stuffed in her mouth to muffle the sounds, while Maria gaped at Elizabeth, wide-eyed. Elizabeth reviewed the words in her head, but they remained the same. Yes, the president—the president!—thought she was ugly and stupid and had voiced the sentiment out loud.
She heard President Darcy blow out an exasperated breath. “Bob, I know you have my best interests at heart, but would a few dances with some wallflower from a nouveau riche family make much of a difference to your average voter?”
Elizabeth peeked around the corner again in time to see Hilliard sigh and tuck the iPad under his arm. “Will you at least dance with someone? Pretend you’re having a good time for a few minutes?”
“Fine,” the other man muttered. “I’ll dance with Caroline again, okay?”
“Caroline is not an ordinary Amer—”
President Darcy Page 3