by Lori Wilde
“I did. He is.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t sound so surprised. We’ve been divorced for two years.”
“But the President’s daughter? How did that happen?”
“Long story. I gotta let you go. I have to catch all this on camera.”
“Call me back later. I want to hear everything.”
Tish hung up, pocketed her cell phone, and then picked up her camera from the tripod and started moving around the room, filming as she went.
Shane sauntered across the ballroom to where Elysee stood chatting with the Prime Minister of Israel. The human sea of tuxedos, designer labels, and expensive haircuts parted before him.
Tish raised the camera and zoomed in on his face. Something deep inside the most feminine part of her tightened.
Lust.
Pure and raw and wild.
And from the looks in the eyes of half the women in the room as they tracked Shane’s journey toward Elysee, Tish wasn’t the only one having lusty thoughts.
They all wanted him.
This man who had once belonged to her.
Misery winnowed inside her. Her feelings jerked her in two directions at once. Ecstatic one minute, despair the next. She shuttled back and forth so quickly she feared emotional whiplash.
Just do your job. Focus on your work. It’s the only thing that will save you.
She knew the truth of it. Tish took a deep breath, calmed her mind, and became one with the camera.
Elysee smiled at Shane. He took her hand.
Tish moved in closer.
By the time the President entered the room a few minutes later she was nothing more than a camera lens. Seeing without feeling, capturing what was before her. A fly-on-the-wall view. Detached and professional. Using her camera to tell the story, her aim to bewitch the viewers. But she would not fall under the spell. She’d learned the hard way you couldn’t trust happily ever after.
Elysee’s hair was piled atop her head in an elegant, old-fashioned style and she wore a floor-length dress of lemon chiffon. The color made her appear prettier than usual, less washed out. She was a plain girl but a sweet one, and Tish did the best she could to capture Elysee’s better features—her smile, her graceful walk, her straight white teeth.
She changed lenses, looking for the best filter, the right focus for the President’s daughter. How ironic was this, presenting the competition in her best light?
But there was no competition.
Elysee, with her chaste innocence, had won. She’d known how to play a man like Shane. A valiant knight. A staunch defender who proved his worth by slaying the mightiest of all dragons—his independence, sexual hunger, and pride.
Tish had lost because she’d held nothing in reserve. She loved too messily, gave too much of herself too soon only to have it all end wrongly. Her stomach took a nosedive.
Back behind the camera. Close off your mind. Just capture the moment. Don’t think.
She recorded everything—waiters moving through the crowd with champagne on silver serving trays. The press secretary calling for everyone’s attention. Then Shane presenting Elysee with a beautiful marquis-cut three-carat diamond engagement ring.
The camera couldn’t blunt Tish’s jealousy, but she swallowed it back and kept filming.
She captured the President making the announcement to the room of friends and supporters. His beautiful daughter was marrying her stalwart bodyguard. Nathan Benedict welcomed Shane into the family with a warm embrace and a hearty pat on the back.
Everything was committed to the camera.
The crowd lifted their glasses in unison and toasted the happy couple. Everyone loved a good fairytale romance.
Shane and Elysee kissed. Sweetly, romantically. The crowd applauded politely. So civilized.
“When’s the wedding?” someone asked.
“Christmas Eve,” Elysee sang out.
“Who’s designing your gown?” asked someone else.
“Top secret.” Elysee blushed prettily.
“How did you two hook up?”
Elysee slipped her arm around Shane’s waist and gazed up at him. “He was my bodyguard.”
“Shane, is your family here tonight?”
From across the room, his gaze met Tish’s. His dark, familiar eyes were all she could focus on. “Unfortunately my parents couldn’t be here. They’re on a worldwide cruise for their fortieth anniversary.”
That answer drew a collective “ah” from the crowd.
“Where will you honeymoon?”
“Fiji.” Elysee beamed.
Tish filmed without evaluating, without filtering content. Get everything on camera. You can worry about the effects when you edit.
She circled the couple. Shane watched her from his peripheral vision. She was glad her eye was pressed to the lens of the camera. She preferred that view to looking at the monitor. With the monitor, you couldn’t hide behind the equipment. The last thing she wanted was for Shane to catch a glimpse of her eyes and read something in her face that she couldn’t disguise.
Tish filmed him watching her. Zeroing in on his inscrutable brown eyes, his expression revealed nothing.
When he saw what she was doing, he winked boldly for the camera. She recalled that when they were married, she had loved to take his picture, how he would protest and then just finally give in because she wouldn’t stop pestering him until he did.
He was even more attractive now than he’d been when she’d met him three years ago. And he’d been pretty darned cute then. But now, he was heartbreakingly, impossibly handsome as the corner of his lips tipped up in his lopsided smile.
Something low and hot fluttered inside her. Something dangerous and subversive. It felt as if she were climbing a rickety ladder in a hurricane, destined for a fall. Enough pictures of the happy couple for now, she decided. It was time to scope out the crowd for interesting reactions to the engagement announcement.
Tish honed in on the dignitaries. Capturing VIPs from various countries all over the world—fraternizing together at the bar. Whispering gossip in corners. Kowtowing to the President with compliments and flattery. It was the photo-op of a lifetime.
The string quartet was playing a waltz and people started dancing. The French Ambassador spun the Vice President’s wife across the ballroom. A Democratic senator from California cozied up with an NRA gun lobbyist. The prince of a small European country dazzled an up-and-coming starlet. Tish wasn’t very political herself, but she knew good content when she saw it.
Elysee danced with Shane. His arm was around her waist. Tish thought of the dance they’d shared at Louie’s and her throat went dry.
Halfway through the waltz, Elysee saw Rana Singh walk into the ballroom, an anxious frown furrowing her brow. She was dressed in an exquisite ruby red sari, but she looked decidedly out of place and uncomfortable with her surroundings. Elysee’s former nanny kept casting nervous glances over her shoulder at the male foreign dignitaries in the room.
Elysee’s pulse skipped. Could one of these men be responsible for putting the price on Rana’s head? She stopped dancing.
“Is something wrong?” Shane asked.
She looked up at her husband-to-be and briefly thought about telling him what was going on. But Rana had sworn her to secrecy and she wasn’t about to do anything that could jeopardize Alma Reddy’s life.
“These shoes are killing my feet,” she said. That wasn’t a lie. Her feet did hurt. “Do you mind if we sit this one out?”
“Not at all. Where would you like to sit?”
Elysee peeked around his elbow to see Rana edging toward the back corner of the room. Their gazes met. The expression in Rana’s eyes was urgent.
Hurry.
“Um, I’ll find a spot.” She smiled at him. “Could you get me some water?”
“Certainly.”
The second Shane turned away, Elysee hurried over to Rana. “This way.”
She led Rana to a shadowy corner of
the outside patio where earlier, she’d stashed the cash she’d gotten from liquidating her grandmother’s antique coin collection inside a safe made to look like a rock. After lifting the safe from a flowerbed filled with chrysanthemums, she spun the tumblers on the combination.
Rana kept glancing over her shoulder. “I’m so worried. The last thing I want is to put your life in jeopardy.”
“Please, don’t worry about me. I have around-the-clock bodyguards. See, Cal is standing right over there watching me as we speak.”
“Anyone can be bribed for the right amount of money.”
Elysee’s eyes met Rana’s. “They’re that desperate to kill you?”
“You don’t understand how much I threaten those small-minded tyrants.”
“What you’re doing is very brave and dangerous,” Elysee said.
“No more than you.” Rana’s smile was tight, slight.
The combination to the rock safe yielded and Elysee took out the money. Furtively, she slipped it to Rana. The woman quickly stowed the cash into the folds of her sari.
“Bless you,” Rana said and kissed Elysee on the cheek. “With this gift, you may very well have saved Alma Reddy’s life.”
Suddenly, Tish felt hot and dizzy, claustrophobic. The camera weighed heavy in her arms. She had to get out of this room. Without even thinking to turn off her camera, she hurried from the room. She passed a Secret Service agent posted at the doorway and went in search of the ladies’ room.
She swung the camera up onto her shoulder and opened a door where she believed the bathroom was located, but ended up outside on a patio. A few guests were there, taking in the fresh air, enjoying a quiet moment away from the crowd.
Rounding a cluster of potted ficus trees, she spied Lola talking in hushed tones to a man Tish didn’t recognize. The setting looked intimate. Glasses of champagne rested on the table in front of them and they were leaning in toward each other. Lola’s shoulder touched the stranger’s.
That’s when Tish saw the red Record light and realized the camera was still on.
Lola looked up at her, saw the camera, and frowned darkly. “Is that thing on? Turn that camera off. Right now.”
Jeez, what was she getting so fired up about? Was the guy beside her married or something?
“No, no,” Tish said. “It’s not on.”
“Don’t video me, Tish. I don’t like to be filmed.” Lola prickled.
“I’m not filming you. I was looking for the bathroom and got lost.”
“Go back inside the ballroom and out the second exit. The ladies’ room is the first door on your right.”
“Thanks, thanks.” Tish nodded at the man, but he had his face turned away from her. Hmm, she was getting the feeling the guy was definitely married.
For shame, Lola.
As Tish turned and hurried away, she heard Lola mutter to her paramour, “What a pathetic woman.”
Shane couldn’t find Elysee. Perhaps she’d gone upstairs to change her shoes. He stood in the middle of the room, water glass clutched in his hand, trying to spot his fiancée. Instead he saw Tish rush into the ballroom from the adjoining garden courtyard. He noticed as the Secret Service agent positioned at the door touched his earpiece and mouthed a coded message into the microphone.
Tish was under surveillance.
Shane sighed. What had she done now?
He set the glass of water down on a table and went after Tish. He saw Cal cruise by a bowl filled with matches engraved with the date of Shane and Elysee’s engagement and stuff them in his pocket.
Shane stepped through the doorway, peered down the empty hall, and then stepped back to speak to Cal.
“I thought you stopped smoking,” Shane said.
Cal shrugged. “Hard habit to break.”
“Did you see which way my wife went?”
Cal arched an eyebrow, but otherwise kept his face noncommittal as he’d been trained. Grace under pressure was part of the Secret Service agents’ code. “Your wife?”
It was only then Shane realized his Freudian slip. “I meant my ex-wife. Which way did she go?”
“Ladies’ room.”
“Thanks.” Shane went down the corridor to the ladies’ room and knocked on the door.
The attendant who’d been hired for the evening’s event poked her head from the lounge. “Yes, sir?”
“There’s a redhead in there with a camera.” He handed the woman a ten-dollar bill. “Will you tell her I want to see her, please?”
“Just a minute, sir.” She shut the door.
Feeling awkward, Shane waited in the hall. Cal stood at the other end of the hallway, watching him. Shane stuffed his hands in his pockets, turned his back, and tried to appear nonchalant.
What the hell was he doing out here anyway? So Tish was upset about something. What did he care? It was no longer his job to look out for her. This was Elysee’s big night. He should be at her side.
But he couldn’t shake Tish off his mind. She’d been upset about something. He’d seen it in her face. And no matter how he might wish things were otherwise, he still cared about her. Probably more than he should.
The door to the ladies’ lounge opened again and Shane straightened.
It wasn’t Tish, but the attendant. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“Tell her I’m not going away until she does.”
The attendant sighed, rolled her eyes, and let the door close between them.
A couple of seconds passed. The attendant returned. “Actually, I’m cleaning this up a bit, but she said for you to buzz off back to your fiancée.”
That made him mad. He knew what word Tish had used in place of “buzz.” Shane glanced down at the woman’s nametag. “Stand aside, Mattie, I’m going in.”
“You can’t do that.” Mattie moved to block the door. “It’s the ladies’ room.”
“I’m aware of that, but I’m going in anyway,” he growled and glowered, giving her his full burly tough guy routine. “I’m Secret Service. Now step aside.”
The look on his face must have said it all, because Mattie hurriedly stepped aside.
Shane stalked past the mirrored sitting room where a handful of women were applying makeup, brushing their hair, and gossiping. They gaped when they saw him. He blew past them, his shoes trodding heavily on the tile as he walked down the row of stalls. He was pissed off. “Tish,” he said sternly. “Where are you?”
“Go away!” she hollered from the last stall on the left. In spite of the command, her voice sounded shaky.
“Come out here,” he said. “We need to talk.”
“Go back to Elysee. It’s her big day.”
“Exactly. So get out here. Let’s get this over with so I can get back to her.”
“Just leave me alone.”
What in the hell was wrong with the woman? He turned slightly, glanced back the way he’d come and spied a clutch of women standing in the doorway, craning their necks, looking for a show.
“That’s it,” he said and pointed for the door. “Out, out, everyone out.” He marched toward them, scowling and shooing them out with extravagant hand gestures. “You, too, Mattie. Go on, everybody mind your own business.”
“Ooh, he’s so manly.” One woman giggled. “He could boss me around anytime.”
“But this is his engagement party to Elysee and he’s come into the bathroom after another woman.” One of the women glared at him. “What’s that all about?”
“It’s the wedding videographer,” interjected a third woman.
“I heard she’s his ex-wife.”
“Out!” Shane rumbled, pointing at the door.
Tittering, they left.
Once he made sure the ladies’ lounge was empty, Shane dragged one of the heavy sitting room chairs in front of the door to block further interruptions. Then he went back after Tish.
“Open the door,” he demanded.
“No.”
“Tish, don’t make me bust the door dow
n. I’m not in the best shape of my life here.”
“Please, Shane, just go away.” Her voice sounded so vulnerable, it sliced him like a blade. Emotion clotted inside him—a dark viscous knot of anger and regret, helplessness and concern.
“Tish, open the door.”
“What is with you and following me into bathrooms? Can’t a girl get a little privacy when she needs it?”
“If you don’t come out here and talk to me, I swear I’m kicking down this damned door.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I sure as hell would.” No one could irritate him as much as Tish when she was being stubborn.
“What would Elysee think? Directing so much passion toward me when you’re marrying her?”
“It’s not passion, dammit!” he yelled.
“You’re yelling and threatening to break down doors. Sounds like passion to me.”
“Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it. Who cares what upset you? I’m leaving.”
“Good.”
“Fine.”
“Good-bye.”
“So long.”
“I don’t hear your feet carrying you off in the opposite direction,” she said.
Shane fisted his good hand, shifted his weight. This was idiotic. He was arguing with a bathroom stall door.
“Patricia Rhianne”—he almost said Tremont, but managed to bite off the word before it came out of his mouth—“Gallagher, get out here this minute.”
What was he going to do if she didn’t come out? Shane had made such a big deal out of this he couldn’t just walk away, although it was the sensible thing to do. Just walk away, go back to the party, back to his sweet-tempered Elysee, back to the new life he was forging for himself. But when it came to Tish, when had he ever taken the sensible route?
To his amazement, the stall door swung slowly inward and Tish peeked out at him, her eyes red-rimmed.
Tish? Crying?
Shane had only seen her cry once, and that was when… He bit down on the inside of his cheek at the rush of raw, hot emotion that suddenly filled the back of his throat.
“Have you been crying?”
“No,” she denied viciously. “I had something in my eye. That’s why I rushed into the bathroom. Happy now?”