He guffawed, startling her and drawing eyes from around the room. “I’ll have to tell that to Fitz; he’ll love that!”
“Oh God!” Elizabeth covered her face with her hands. “Don’t tell him I said it.”
“Are you giving me an order?” His tone was light. “You know, I’m commander in chief of the military.”
Who was she to tell the president what to do—even in jest? “Oh shit,” she muttered. “I mean, oh crap, I mean—okay, I’m shutting up now.”
His face was solemn, but a corner of his mouth quirked upward. “It’s okay to fucking curse in front of the president. We already established that I won’t have you audited or drafted.”
His delivery was so deadpan that Elizabeth couldn’t help laughing. They were drawing curious looks from around the room; maybe the president wasn’t usually this amusing. She’d never read anything that suggested he had a good sense of humor. “But arresting me is still on the table?” With her hands on her hips, she gave him a mock frown. “Does Bing know you talk to constituents this way?”
President Darcy stepped back and glanced away self-consciously. “It doesn’t happen very often. You must have caught me on a good day.”
This abrupt shift in mood took Elizabeth off guard. Was he always so mercurial? It doesn’t matter. In the ensuing silence, she allowed her smile to melt away. She had no business enjoying this man’s company. He might be occasionally charming. He might be a good president, but he was a horrible man. And his best friend had broken her sister’s heart. Perhaps she did find him a little attractive, but Rodney the jerk who captained her high school football team had been attractive, too, and Elizabeth had no trouble resisting him.
Jane and George would be appalled at Elizabeth’s behavior. The thought was like a bucket of cold water. Whatever else Elizabeth was, she wasn’t a hypocrite.
“Thank you for investigating the grant.” She infused her voice with a note of finality. “I don’t want to take up any more of your valuable time. I’m sure you have a hundred things requiring your attention.”
His head jerked back. “Um…yes…”
She held up her empty wine glass. “And I’ll get some more of this sauvignon blanc.”
A smooth, professional mask settled over his features. Of course: the real Darcy. Funny and charismatic when he wants, but he’s still a politician. An extremely successful politician. His smile was stiff and practiced.
“I hope we have a chance to talk again before the end of the summit,” he said.
I hope we don’t. Just before she turned toward the bar, Fitz slipped up to the president, having finally escaped his aunt’s clutches. “Elizabeth, could you hold up a minute, please?”
“Okay.” She watched, baffled, as Fitz pulled the president away and murmured something in his ear. No doubt the subject was of national importance, but why should Elizabeth linger?
When President Darcy turned back to her, his eyes were stormy and his face determined. Another lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead, but Elizabeth pointedly ignored it. I refuse to be attracted to this man. “I hear you need a lift?” he asked.
Elizabeth regarded him blankly for a moment before recalling her conversation with Fitz. “T-There’s n-no need to bother you. I have a flight on Thursday,” she stammered. Maybe Fitz thought he was doing Elizabeth a favor by bringing her dilemma to the president’s attention, but she would have preferred to avoid his scrutiny.
“You shouldn’t miss your mother’s birthday,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. When did his eyes start to twinkle?
She brushed damp hair from her forehead. Why was the room so hot and stuffy? “It’s okay. I mean, this isn’t a president-level crisis. It’s not even a cabinet-level crisis.” The president chuckled. “This is the kind of thing you would fob off on a minor aide—an intern even…if it were your problem, which it isn’t.”
“I see what you mean,” the president muttered over his shoulder at Fitz. To Elizabeth he said, “Fitz told me you’re a hard person to help.”
Elizabeth’s eyes shot daggers at Fitz. “I don’t need help.”
President Darcy stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. “Well, the thing is, I have this airplane called Air Force One—you might have heard of it—and it’s got lots of room. I don’t have many guests on this trip.”
Air Force One. Suddenly Elizabeth couldn’t breathe. He wanted to give her a ride on Air Force One… She could practically hear Lydia’s squeals of excitement. But I’m not Lydia. “I don’t need special help, sir.” Accepting the favor would definitely not help her avoid the man.
He rolled his eyes. “This is silly. You need a ride, and I have eleven empty seats on the most luxurious aircraft the U.S. government possesses. Why are we even debating it?”
Put that way, her resistance did seem rather…unnecessary. And potentially offensive to the man whose government may be giving her employer a grant. “Won’t the Secret Service object to a random civilian riding along?” she asked.
He waved away that objection. “They’ll do a quick background check on you. It’ll be fine.” His eyes were imploring her earnestly as if her acceptance were absolutely essential to him, although she couldn’t fathom why. By now, other people at the party were edging closer with the hopes of eavesdropping. The last thing Elizabeth wanted was for this to become a topic of gossip or the subject of speculation on some website. She just wanted the business concluded.
And refusing a plea from your own country’s chief executive seemed…unpatriotic or something. She sighed. “Of course, I’d be thrilled to accept a seat on Air Force One. Thank you, Mr. President.”
Chapter Ten
Elizabeth texted her parents and sisters the news right before she departed for the airport on Wednesday. Phoning with the news would have provoked a level of squealing that she wasn’t prepared to handle.
Lydia sent dozens of emojis—each more excited than the last—and demands for pictures. Her mother reminded her to keep her eyes open for rich men. Jane only asked if Bing was on the plane, and Elizabeth was happy to text back a negative answer, although she did arrange for Jane to pick her up when they landed.
The sun was setting when Fitz called her hotel room with an invitation to join him for a limo ride to the airport. Elizabeth expected they’d be sharing the limo with other White House staffers, but somehow they ended up alone in the back of the cavernous vehicle.
Fitz was good company, with easy manners and no shortage of lively discussions about the summit and their stay in Paris. Elizabeth’s ears pricked up when he mentioned her conversation with Mrs. de Bourgh.
“Do you think the president was upset that I was so sarcastic toward her?” Elizabeth finally asked the question that had been bothering her for days. “I said the first things that came into my head. I wouldn’t want him to think I enjoy being offensive to his relatives.”
“Trust me, Darcy thought it was hilarious,” Fitz drawled.
“He was barely smiling.”
“That’s the equivalent of a hearty laugh for Darce. He loved seeing Aunt Catherine at a loss for words. She’s a bit of a thorn in his side, constantly expecting special treatment as the president’s aunt.”
Fitz shifted in his seat, which had the effect of bringing him slightly closer to her, setting her nerves on edge. Was he interested in her? Was that the reason for the empty limo? Maybe he used his proximity to the president to facilitate his social life. Elizabeth’s stomach lurched. Despite Fitz’s easy demeanor and good looks, she felt no spark of attraction. Accepting the ride had been a mistake.
She leaned away from him, wondering when the spacious vehicle had grown so hot and stuffy.
“Elizabeth?” Fitz reached out to touch her knee.
She flinched. Well, this is awkward.
He chuckled softly. “Don’t worry. You’re a very attractive woman, but you’re not remotely my type.”
“What’s ‘your type’?” Elizabeth asked waspishly.
&
nbsp; “Tall, dark, and with XY chromosomes,” Fitz answered instantly.
“Oh. Oh.” Now Elizabeth had to laugh, too. “I definitely don’t meet that criteria.”
Fitz waved his hand negligently. “Plus, you’re practically taken. I’d never do that.”
What the hell did that mean?
Before she had a chance to ask, Fitz launched into a childhood anecdote about the president and his sister Georgiana at the Darcy family estate in the Hamptons. “—So we ran off and left Darce to take the blame!” Fitz laughed.
“Did he tell on you?”
“No. He took the blame and the punishment and never ratted us out,” Fitz said. “He was—and is—a great guy.”
Why is he so intent on making that point? I already voted for him.
“He’s also an incredibly loyal friend,” Fitz volunteered. “You’ve met Bing, right?” Elizabeth nodded, not trusting herself to venture an opinion of his character. “Bing and Caroline’s mother died when they were still young, and Darcy’s mother and father were like a second set of parents to them. Darcy has always felt a little protective of Bing, even though he’s only a few years younger.”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth. “Does Bing need that much protecting?”
Fitz shrugged. “He’s a bit of an idealist—a real romantic at heart. He’s always in search of ‘The One’ and always in danger of having his heart broken.” Elizabeth bit her tongue before she forcefully contradicted her host. “Recently, in fact, Bing thought he’d found her—the love of his life—but it turned out she was only interested in his father’s money.”
Elizabeth’s chest tightened. Could he possibly be talking about Jane? No. Nobody would perceive Jane as a gold digger. But surely Bing hadn’t met and broken up with someone else since dating Jane.
Fitz rattled on, oblivious to Elizabeth’s consternation. “Supposedly she acted as if her family had money, but they were just keeping up appearances.” Oh. Elizabeth felt queasy. Her family’s financial problems had torpedoed Jane’s chances with Bing.
Fortunately, Fitz’s eyes were focused on the passing scenery. “Even after they found out, Bing still wasn’t sure he could break up with her, but Darcy stiffened his backbone. He wouldn’t let his friend fall for a gold digger.”
The nausea hardened into a pit of anger as Elizabeth’s nails bit into her clenched fists. Swallowing, she strove to keep her voice level. “And how did they know this woman didn’t actually love Bing?”
Fitz shrugged. “I don’t know. There are women like that who have a string of rich boyfriends until one of them coughs up a ring.”
Elizabeth clasped her hands together to disguise their violent shaking. It was true that Jane’s past two boyfriends had been from wealthy families, but those were the people with whom the Bennets had socialized.
There was no doubt that Fitz was talking about Jane. And the president had encouraged Bing to break her heart! That high-handed, arrogant bastard! Making such appalling assumptions about Jane, whose heart was so bruised that she still refused to date. Maybe Elizabeth should order Fitz to stop the limo so she could disembark and find another way home. The alternative was eight hours in an airplane with that vile man.
Adrenaline buzzed uselessly through her veins; neither fight nor flight were particularly useful in this situation. Although if William Darcy appeared in front of her at that moment, she might be tempted to punch him.
“Are you all right?” Fitz watched her closely.
This was her chance. Elizabeth could claim a sudden illness and take a cab back to the hotel. But she would miss her mother’s birthday, and she had canceled her other flight.
Air Force One was a big plane, with a lot of people. Chances were that the president would be busy working with his staff, and she wouldn’t even see him. If she did see him…
It would be tempting to tell him what she thought of his character. She took a deep breath, willing her heartbeat to slow. He was a jerk, but he was also the president. She couldn’t let her anger rule her behavior no matter how satisfying it would be to berate him in front of his staff one thousand feet up in the air. Elizabeth leaned back against the soft limousine seat, envisioning herself being calm and polite as she shook President Darcy’s hand; however, the image was instantly shattered by a fiery fantasy of hurling accusatory words at him.
Fitz peered out the window. “Oh, we’re at the airport.” As soon as the limo came to a stop he opened the door.
She fixed a smile on her face as they climbed up the gangway and received the crew’s effusive welcomes while they entered the aircraft. Elizabeth had expected to be given a seat at the back of the press section, somewhere she would be forgotten as she slept away the trip to D.C.
However, the president hurried up to her only a minute after she arrived, taking her hand with a wide grin and welcoming words. Elizabeth merely offered a tight smile.
“We need to put on seat belts for takeoff,” he said, “but after that, I hope you’ll let me show you around the plane.”
Unable to gracefully decline before a host of witnesses, Elizabeth was as neatly entrapped as she had been when he asked her to dance. “Um, sure,” she murmured, inwardly seething. Just being in his presence felt like a betrayal of her sister.
Giving her a brisk nod, he strode toward the front of the plane. Maybe this is normal. Maybe he offers a tour to every visitor.
Fitz showed her to one of the “guest seats” in the middle of the plane and left for his own seat. The two rows were mostly occupied by staff, although Mrs. de Bourgh and Bill were behind her, deeply engrossed in a task on the computer—and fortunately too far away for conversation.
Sinking gratefully into the seat—which was wider and softer than any airplane seat she had ever encountered—Elizabeth couldn’t resist glancing around curiously. In some ways, the plane was like any other, with curved white walls, tiny windows, and industrial carpeting. However, the front appeared to be divided into a set of rooms where the president and his staff could work during the flight.
The takeoff was smooth and fast, but Elizabeth’s hopes that the president would forget her were immediately dashed. As soon as the seatbelt sign winked off, the president was at her side. “Ready for the tour?” The occupants of the surrounding seats gave Elizabeth curious glances as she stood to receive the undivided attention of the nation’s commander in chief.
Without waiting for a response, President Darcy walked her toward the back of the plane. Typical. He gestured to a closed door. “That is the press area, which we usually keep closed off so we can conduct our business up here in private. Sometimes I do go back there to chat up the reporters.”
He ushered her toward the front of the plane with a hand on the small of her back. “The front of the plane is the interesting part—lots of features you don’t find on a regular 747. We have six bathrooms and two kitchens, which are capable of producing some pretty good meals.” His eyes focused intently on her face as if her opinion was of great importance to him. Why should he care? The attention was beginning to make her uncomfortable. It’s not like she was a politician he needed to impress.
He opened a door. “This is the meeting room, although we also use it for a dining room.” The large table, office chairs, and white board were standard but incongruous on an airplane.
As they continued along the corridor, he gestured to the doors they passed. “The rooms along here serve as the galley, the senior staff room, and the medical office—I always have to travel with a doctor. Fortunately, she usually doesn’t have much to do.”
A female staffer walking in the other direction did a double take as they passed, which the president ignored. He opened another door. “This is my study.”
The room wouldn’t be considered spacious by most standards, but it was impressively appointed for a space on an airplane. A large wooden desk, completely empty, dominated one side while a few chairs lined the opposite wall.
He gestured to the desk with a rueful smile.
“It’s nice to have a desk, but it’s a bit of a pain, too. If I leave anything on it, the stuff rolls off whenever the plane banks.”
She followed him back into the corridor. At some point, he had changed into a dark blue t-shirt and jeans that hugged his butt…which was definitely worth watching as he walked ahead of her.
What the hell am I doing? I can’t be jonesing after the guy who hurt Jane and George. And, oh yeah, he’s the fucking president! She hastily averted her eyes. The walls were quite interesting. How did they get that exact shade of off-white?
But she had to admit it was difficult to maintain her indignation in the face of such friendliness—the polar opposite of the man who had denigrated her at the state dinner. What’s with the Jekyll/Hyde routine?
An awful suspicion was creeping up on her. When a bachelor president had taken office, there had been plenty of rumors about his love life, but no reputable source had confirmed hanky panky in the White House. Elizabeth believed in his presidency and thought the rumors were just rumors. But what if some of the rumors were true? What if his staff was simply good at covering up his sexual escapades? A new woman every night?
The air temperature was suddenly much cooler. Elizabeth shivered. They crossed over into a new corridor, and he indicated an exterior door. “So that’s the special presidential entrance for the plane.” He looked almost embarrassed. “Just for me and a wife—if I had one.”
How should she respond to that? “Oh.”
Taking her elbow, he navigated her to the final door at the end of the corridor. “This is the presidential suite, such as it is.” He opened the door and gestured for her to enter. “If I had a family traveling with me, this is where they’d hang out. But, of course, it’s just me.”
The triangular space was sparsely furnished with two sofas—one attached to each wall—a coffee table, and a small desk that held nothing but a phone. There was a mural of a mountain scene on the far wall between the sofas. Despite her reservations, it was a fascinating glimpse into the world of presidential privilege. “Are we up at the front of the plane?”
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