He nodded. “Professional. That’s it.”
I bit my lip for a moment. “You know. I think it could be beneficial to have a dinner together. I have a good deal of information to go over with you about the campaign.”
“Do you?” The president sounded so thrilled as he spoke—if a bit amused. He knew he had co
nned me, in some way, into saying yes to dinner. He knew his kiss had worked. For this reason, I mildly hated that I’d allowed this to occur.
But I couldn’t go back on it now.
“You’ll meet me at the White House.” It wasn’t a question; it was a command. “We’ll dine in the formal dining room.”
My heart nearly stopped beating in my chest. I knew the White House formal dining room was top-notch, offering the most beautiful dining experience in the world. I swallowed. I hadn’t even entered the place before. I had barely looked inside on my many walks past it. It was, in my mind, simply off-limits.
“What time?” I croaked, feeling the scratchiness of my throat.
“You’ll meet me at 7:30,” the president said, utilizing his arrogant, orderly tone. “I’ll see you there.”
He hung up the phone, then, leaving me in a lurch at my dining room table, feeling the pangs of an illicit relationship take forth before me. I could already see the disastrous consequences of it; I could already feel the terror of it coursing through my veins.
But to have his lips upon mine just one more time; perhaps I could do it. I could.
Just once.
Chapter Ten
The next evening, I leafed through my closet, searching for the perfect gown for the evening with the president. I knew it had to be a professional dress—something that would be appropriate in the eyes of the Secret Service. Finally, my fingers traced the lace sleeves of the black dress I’d worn to a previous gala—something that was formfitting but not low-cut. Something that left a good deal of my body to the imagination. This, I knew, was essential.
I called a taxi and walked quietly out into the darkness. The night had come earlier each day since the middle of August, and already I felt that summer had passed me by too readily. I’d been hovered over a desk for too much of it, searching for the perfect solution to all presidential problems. Searching ever for the right career path for myself, as well.
The taxi sprung from the darkness up toward the sidewalk. I stepped into the back seat.
“Hello, beautiful lady,” the man up front spoke to me in a gruff, not unpleasant voice. “Where to?”
“The White House,” I answered primly. I actually never tired of saying it. The White House had become my home. I’d been a wayward girl from Philly, but now I was so much more.
The taxi wound its way to Pennsylvania Avenue, swerving through traffic. I steadied my shaking hand on my leg, trying to hum something to myself to put my brain at ease. I tried to tell myself that this was only a business meeting—that nothing was different about this meeting than the lunches we’d had together through the course of the previous few weeks.
But something in the back of my mind ebbed at me, allowing me to understand my lingering, wholehearted attraction toward the man at the other end of the taxi route. I shivered once more.
Suddenly, we arrived. The taxi driver rushed around to my side and opened the door for me, placing his hand out. I felt like Cinderella at the ball. I thanked him, leafing through my purse for the money I owed him. He accepted it, bowing to me a bit as he skirted back into the taxi, leaving me alone on the curb.
I stepped toward the White House, finding myself face to face with Dimitri once again. I smiled at him sheepishly, realizing he would suspect something was up. “Hello, stranger,” I called to him. I tried to play it cool.
“Well, well. Don’t you look ravishing,” Dimitri said, a twinkle in his eye. He reached behind him and grabbed the door, allowing me entrance. “Don’t play too rough in there, you hear?”
“What do you mean?” I asked him seriously. “I have a campaign meeting—“
“I know. And I know how you work,” Dimitri chortled. I now understood: he was joking with completely good intentions.
“Right,” I laughed, nodding toward him.
I walked through the halls, remembering that the president had said the dinner would be in the main, formal dining room. I felt my dress fly back behind me as I walked, tiptoeing through the great, echoing place.
Finally, I reached it. The great, double, floor-to-ceiling doors were wide open for me. I sighed, my mouth open with wonder. At the very center of the room stood a long table, set with a white tablecloth. At the door stood a Secret Service agent. He reached out and took my hand, shaking it. “Hello, campaign manager,” he said. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Jacob.”
“I’m Amanda,” I said, smiling at him. I was glad he’d referred to me as that—allowing me to understand that this dinner was, indeed, a business meeting. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was a business meeting.
Jacob sauntered with me toward the table, pulling the chair out and allowing me to sit gracefully, flinging my dress out before me. I nodded at him as he left, stating, “Mr. President will be with you in just a moment. He’s taking a call upstairs.”