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?”
The president nodded. “Right in the nose.”
She tilted her head to the side, regarding the space. “But where did they put the cockpit?”
He pointed upward. “There’s an upper story. The cockpit and crew quarters are up there.” Oh, of course. Elizabeth had forgotten that 747s were two stories.
Closing the door behind them, he guided her toward one of the sofas. “Air Force One isn’t very luxuriously appointed compared to some privately owned jets, but this room can seat eight comfortably. And each of these sofas converts into a bed, although they’re pretty small.” His hand patted the cushion as they sat.