by Gage Grayson
He continues on through the craft and introduces me to each spot and its function as we make our way through the rest of the plane.
We pass through doors leading to the kitchen, and then the conference and dining room before we walk through a room with a large, glossy wooden table and a fifty-inch flat screen television mounted to the wall.
Soon, we’re surrounded by other people, and I make sure to break the contact between us. I’m trying to do my best to follow at a professional distance.
We move along all the way to the very back, where Henry schmoozes for a few minutes with the press before returning to the front in preparation for take-off.
I keep my distance on the way back, watching as Henry, once again, works the crowd. He greets everyone by name, jokes with his security detail, and takes time with even the most junior level staff member.
His charisma is hypnotic.
Every body in a room seems to shift slightly when he enters, recalibrating to his true north.
He is, quite simply, magnetic.
Back at the front, I find a seat at one of the desks so I can work compiling notes from the previous week.
Henry catches my eye and waves me forward into his office.
I follow him in to find Lawrence currently seated at one end of the L-shaped couch, pouring over documents and swigging from a cup of coffee like his life depends on it.
I drop my bag with my own papers and my laptop on a swath of the sectional and sit down next to it, pulling out what I need to start work.
Henry takes up position behind the desk. We all settle into our tasks as the plane begins to taxi down the runway, slowly gaining speed.
I’m just about to ask where Hope is, when her perfectly coiffed head pokes through the open office doorway.
Honestly, I don’t know how the woman does it. I’ve never seen her look anything less than immaculate, no matter the hour. Her current head-to-toe cream ensemble punctuated by a crimson pout has my own sensible black power suit feeling drab in comparison.
But I push any unkind thoughts I might be harboring in my head as she makes her way into the room carrying a cup of coffee with my name on it.
And it’s good, so good.
I moan slightly into my cup, “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” She smiles before taking a sip out of her own cup without leaving a trace of her red lipstick behind.
My god, what is this woman? Magic?
“I remembered you saying you hadn’t had any yet this morning, and I knew you wouldn’t know where to find it.” She shrugs.
Just then, there is an ever so slight pitch of the cabin, and we’re traveling up, up, and up before leveling out, smooth as glass.
Once airborne, we all bend to our respective tasks, though I’m finding it hard to concentrate.
Maybe Hope and Lawrence are immune, but Henry’s sheer presence is causing me to grow cold and hot with equal parts desperation and desire. His magnetism seems to be roiling off of him in waves.
I can’t seem to stop my gaze from constantly flickering to his body. It doesn’t help that Henry has tossed off his jacket and removed his tie completely; unbuttoning his top two buttons and rolling up his shirt sleeves to show off the burnished gold tan of his muscular forearms.
I sit back with a huff and close my eyes as I rub my temples. I keep rotating between tasks, unable to keep focused on what I need to do, and it irks me that no one else seems to be having this issue.
Though I’ve seen no outward sign, both Hope and Lawrence get up and head out of the room, each saying something about checking on the staff.
Within a few moments, it’s just Henry and I—and without anyone else in the room to absorb his charm, it feels as if I’m being assaulted on all sides.
A suppressed sigh of frustration slips between my lips as I pack up my notes and computer and pull out a new book by one of my favorite authors.
I’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone read, so I’m planning on taking advantage of this lull.
However, after thirty minutes of reading the same five sentences over and over again, I give it up as a lost cause. I almost throw the damn book, but I settle for forceful placement.
“Something wrong?” Henry asks with a breathy chuckle, his eyes still on the documents he’s signing.
I glare at the president of the United States of America, and he doesn’t seem remotely phased by it. Probably because he hasn’t looked up yet. When he does, I’m sure to change my demeanor into a look of quiet resignation.
“Yes,” I say with remarkable calm, given the roiling state of my insides. “You. You’re too loud.”
At this, he carefully—and quietly—sets the pen down on the desk and reaches toward the ceiling in a stretch.
I make it a point to not notice the way the muscles of his torso bunch and elongate, straining against the now slightly rumpled fabric of his shirt.
Then he brings his hands behind his head and leans back, his mouth quirking up at the corners.
“Alright,” he says. “I’ll bite.”
I swallow, suddenly nervous.
Why did I say that?
“It’s nothing. I’m sorry, I just can’t seem to concentrate and it’s making me prissy, Mr President.”
“Henry.”
“What?”
“Please, especially when we’re alone like this, please call me Henry.” He looks so pained that I readily agree.
“I’m sorry, of course Mr Pres—I mean, Henry.”
“And for god’s sake, stop apologizing.”
“I’m so—”
Henry glares at me, and I shut my mouth with a snap.
“Now,” he says, getting up and walking around the desk to sprawl at the opposite end of the couch. “Please explain to me how my very presence is somehow, ‘too loud’?”
“Okay,” I sigh. “Hear me out. So, I’ve been watching you,”
I blush as he arches an eyebrow and gives me a laconic smile.
“Stop, you know it’s my job.”
“Yes,” he laughs. “I’m sorry, it’s just ‘I’ve been watching you’ sounds so…”
“Stalker-ish?” I ask.
He rolls his lips between his teeth as he fights back a laugh.
I give him a withering look.
He clears his throat. “Please, continue.”
“I’ve been observing,” I say pointedly, “your interactions with people—and if I’m being honest, I’ve noticed it since your campaign for senator. But you have this—this aura about you. You walk into a room and every person angles towards you. Your mere presence is something akin to gravity. You affect people, even without trying. The crackle of your charisma is deafening. Even when you are silent, you’re loud.”
I’m unsure if anything I’ve just said makes sense, and I’m comfortably aware of the intensity of his regard.
His face has shifted between curious, to bewildered, to an almost hungry look—that I might have imagined because it’s gone in the space of a blink.
The air feels fraught, and when my body can no longer handle the vibrating intensity of his gaze, I drop my eyes and swallow.
Henry clears his throat.
“Well, please let me apologize Beatrice,” he says softly. “I’m terribly sorry I have such an effect on you.”
But when I look up, the devilish grin on his face doesn’t look remarkably close to sorry at all.
Chapter 16
Beatrice
Today I spent the afternoon taking in some of the sights of the city and wandering around.
I visited a local market, bought some wares, explored the gardens close to the hotel, and took some gorgeous pictures of the canal.
A few of the shots turned out really beautiful.
Maybe I’ll get one framed for my living room at home.
Now I’m sitting at the desk in my hotel room, stretching my arms above my head and letting out a heavy sigh. I’ve been looking at my notes for over an hour, and I d
ecide that I’ve been sitting at my desk long enough that I deserve a break.
I walk from the desk to the bed and flop down against the lush, comfortable mattress. A soft breeze comes through the window, and a smile appears on my face as I feel the cool air caress my skin.
It’s been such lovely weather for the trip, and today was no exception.
I sigh and turn my gaze towards the window, enjoying the gorgeous view of the cityscape as the sun outlines its silhouette in the sky.
What a trip this has been so far.
If someone would have said to me two years ago that I’d be traveling around the world with the President of the United States, documenting his every move, I would have laughed in their face and told them to lay off the Scotch.
I’ve met so many people; dignitaries, world leaders, and just yesterday, I met with the pope.
The freaking pope!
Yesterday’s chain of events was like my dream come true, and I can’t stop thinking about it.
We had a fantastic meeting with the pope, and then we were given our own private tour of St. Peter’s Basilica, the Papal Palace, and it was finished off with a tour of the Vatican’s secret archives.
I swear, I was like a kid in a candy store yesterday, and I’m still riding on that high today.
There was limited time, and if I was given the chance, I’d spend days there.
But alas, that obviously isn’t an option.
Exciting as yesterday was, I’m taking today for myself. Tonight is the Italian State Dinner, and the president and the rest of his staff will be there, so I plan to relax.
Well, as much relaxing as I can do, while I catch up on transcribing my notes, reviewing my recordings, and going over the other various briefings that I’ll need for the rest of the trip.
I’ll try to take in some more sightseeing this evening if I can—I am in Italy, after all.
I can’t very well be in one of the most beautiful countries in the world without seeing at least some of the city on my own.
I gaze back over to the desk, my unfinished work seemingly calling to me and mocking me from its folder.
The sooner I get it done, the sooner I can relax. Then, I can take the evening to center myself, so I can focus again.
Lately, I’ve been so hung up on Henry—and how much he distracts me from what I’m supposed to be doing. The second I am within ten yards of the man, my brain goes to mush, and I can’t form coherent sentences.
The fact that he still has that sort of effect on me even after all this time is worrisome, if not a bit sad.
I shake myself from my thoughts and sigh.
I’m a professional, dammit, and no man—president or not—will take that away from me.
Suddenly, there’s a knock at my door, and I turn towards it in confusion.
I didn’t order room service, and I’m certainly not expecting anyone. I made sure that the rest of the staff knew I was taking the night off to work in my room, so it’s likely that it’s not any of them.
I get up from the bed and stroll over calmly, getting ready to tell whoever it is that they’ve got the wrong room number and to visit the front desk for more information.
When I get to the door and swing it open, I’m greeted with nothing.
Well, not nothing, but certainly not a person. I lean out of the doorway and look down the hallway, not seeing a soul in sight, before I catch a glimpse of something at my feet.
I look down and there’s a box in the doorway with a small card attached to the front with a large gray silk bow, and my name written on the card.
I kneel down and pick it up. My brow furrows in confusion when I look around the hallway once again and see no one.
Who on earth sent me this, and why the hell would they leave it at the door and leave?
I bring the box inside and take it over to my bed. I set the box down and flip the card over.
My heart skips a beat, and my breath catches in my throat when I read the note attached:
Beatrice,
Tonight’s dinner plan was almost complete, but there was one thing that was missing to make it perfect—you.
I haven’t been able to get the image of you in that black dress out of my head since we had dinner months ago. That particular dress wasn’t formal enough for tonight, so instead, I had this sent over.
I can’t wait to see you light up the room.
From H.
My mind brings me back to the night when we had dinner together in the White House residence dining room, when I had just been hired. We spent the evening talking and chatting. I’d worn a black mid-length dress with gray pumps and matching gray earrings and a necklace.
It seems it left enough of an impression for him to remember what I was wearing. My heart flutters at the fact that he seemed to enjoy thinking about that evening as much as I do.
That, and he decided to not only invite me to tonight’s dinner, but to have a dress picked for me that has the same color scheme as our first dinner together.
A grin spreads across my face as I open the box up. I gasp as I throw the lid aside onto the bed.
Inside of the box is an absolutely stunning Valentino dinner gown. It’s in midnight black satin with a keyhole back and deep gray cross paneling across the bust. It’s sleeveless but not flashy, with a thick shoulder and conservative neckline.
I pull it out and sigh as my fingers caress the luxurious fabric as it spills out of the box. I hold it up against my frame. The top is fitted with an elegant empire waist, while the bottom half flows down like a waterfall, stopping just at floor level.
This seems to be exactly my size—how on earth would anyone know this?
Wait a second, Henry sent this for tonight, which means he wants me to attend the Italian State Dinner with him?
Oh, no.
Before I have a chance to react and think about this, I hear another knock at my door.
Not wanting to have another ding-dong-ditch situation on my hands, I quickly place the dress back into the box and jog over to my door, whipping it open as soon as my hand grips the handle.
I’m greeted by Hope, who has an amused look on her face as she glances at my firm grip on the handle, probably wondering why I opened the door with such haste.
“Oh, good, it arrived.”
She walks into my room without so much as a ‘hello’ or an explanation, and walks over to the dress, nodding.
“Um, Hope, care to tell me what this is all about?”
She chuckles at me and smirks.
“The State dinner! The president wants you to attend.”
I feel my blood pumping through my veins and my cheeks flush. I stammer and stutter, trying to come up with an excuse.
“What? You can’t be serious, Hope. I hadn’t planned on going to the dinner. In fact, I was told that I wouldn’t be attending. I wasn’t given an invitation, and I don’t have anything to wear.”
She looks at me like I have three heads and gestures to the dress that’s now strewn across my bed.
“That’s what the dress is for, Beatrice.”
She looks over to the pile of papers on my desk and then back to me, raising her brows.
“Anyway, I’ll need you to wrap up whatever you’re working on there, because hair and makeup will be here shortly. You’ll want to be showered and ready for them. We’re on sort of a tight schedule.”
Seriously? Not only is this dinner sprung on me, but I’ve got next to no time to get ready, and someone else is going to be doing my hair and makeup?
“Ugh, Hope, I don’t even have shoes to match this dress with me.”
Hope takes a quick look down at my feet, then back to the dress, and then starts texting on her phone, speaking to me as she’s leaving my room.
“It’s being handled. Get ready, I’ll see you soon.”
And just like that, she leaves my room and walks out like nothing out of the ordinary happened.
Part of me is stressed because I’ve got next t
o no time to get ready.
But the other part of me is happy, because I’m going to the Italian State Dinner—with Henry.
And he wants me there so bad, that he had a gown ordered and delivered to my room with a note.
If that doesn’t make a girl feel special, nothing will.
That part of me starts to drown out the stress, and I happily trot into my bathroom to get showered, anxious to get ready for my dinner with Henry.
Chapter 17
Henry
As soon as the limo pulls up and Beatrice walks out of the hotel, I’m completely blown away by how stunning she is.
She walks towards the car, and I silently thank myself for choosing the perfect gown for her shape. The satin hugs in all the right places and falls gracefully off of her hips, cascading to the ground in a smooth, elegant flow, framing all of her best assets.
I’m instantly brought back to our first dinner together in the White House and how much I wanted her then—and how much I still want her now.
She’s driven, determined, passionate, and drop dead gorgeous. I’m convinced that there’s no one else on this planet like her, and there’s no one else I’d rather be my date to dinner.
Is it a date, though? She’s seemingly blocked my every attempt to get her alone, but I can feel the tension between us—the lingering glances, the handshakes and touches that go on just a half a second too long, the shy giggles and soft sighs.
I’m brought back to the present when one of the security staff opens the door for her and she peers in, giving me a shy smile.
That was then, though, and this is now. Things are different. Tonight, I’m going to make sure that she knows how I feel.
She steps into the limousine, and I grin at her, earning a small smile in return, and I’m pretty sure I can see a slight flush in her cheeks—a good sign.
“Well, don’t you look absolutely gorgeous tonight.”
She looks back at me with a smirk and tilts her head, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear as she quips back at me.
“Oh? Thank you so much, Sir. Someone very dear to me had it sent over. I’ll give them your thanks and appreciation.”