President Darcy

“With good reason,” Hilliard said, frantically scribbling on his pad.

“I thought I’d help him out,” Fitz finished.

“Big help.” Hilliard glowered at him. “Fitz, did he ask you to go out and get him a woman?”

Fitz rolled his eyes. “Darcy didn’t even tell me he liked the woman. I just guessed by how he talked about her.”

Hilli

ard looked up from his notepad. “Where is she now?”

Fitz’s head shot up in alarm. “Please tell me you got her a nice seat in the guest area,” he implored his cousin.

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose; they wouldn’t like the answer. “She stormed out. I don’t know where she went.”

Fitz pushed off from the bulkhead. Hilliard was already hurrying to the exit. “She could be speaking to the press right now! Why didn’t you start with that?”

Fitz gave Darcy a reproving look before both men disappeared through the door.

Chapter Eleven

Why hadn’t he warned them immediately that Elizabeth might be taking a damaging story to the press? After all, he’d summoned them for damage control. They could have visited Elizabeth immediately and persuaded her to stay quiet. Now the damage might already be done. He could imagine the headlines: “President Accused of Sexual Assault.” “Air Force One Love Nest.” “President Darcy: Awkward Loner or Sexual Menace?”

Why hadn’t he sent them to stop her half an hour ago?

He wanted to claim that he didn’t know. But he did. It was because he didn’t care anymore. It was hard to care about anything at all. Darcy hadn’t moved when Hilliard and Fitz returned to the suite, quite a bit less panicked. Good.

“Where is she?” Darcy asked.

“In the press area,” Fitz responded.

Icy fingers of fear crept up Darcy’s spine. Maybe he did care after all. The only thing worse than crashing and burning with the only woman who’d caught his interest in years was performing said crashing and burning in the full view of the media.

“But we don’t think she talked to anyone,” Hilliard said. “Most of the reporters are asleep; nobody seemed to be writing up an urgent story.”

“Did you talk to her?” Darcy asked.

Fitz shook his head. “She was curled up, fast asleep in the last row of the press section. I didn’t want to have that conversation with the press around.”

“Which is probably why she decided to sit there,” Hilliard observed.

Darcy sighed. “Nobody accused her of being stupid.”

“If you like her, I’m sure she’s very smart,” Fitz said. Darcy raised his eyebrows. “What?” Fitz asked. “You like intelligent women. It’s your thing.”

“We’ll have to talk to her in the morning,” Hilliard said.

Darcy scowled. “Just leave the poor woman alone.”

“Sir, we need to know if she’s likely to go to the press.”

“She’s not the type to do that sort of thing.”

Hilliard took a deep breath as if summoning his patience. “With all due respect, Mr. President, I’m not sure you’re the best judge of what this woman would do. You thought she’d like being kissed by you.”

That was a depressingly accurate statement. Darcy waved an irritated hand at Hilliard. “All right, but you have no tact. Send Fitz to talk with her, and let’s hammer out a media strategy.”

***