Cara’s expression remained completely neutral.
“You’re very good,” he allowed.
She sat forward. “I know you have to go after this, Max. But can you at least be fair about it? Can you please take into account all the facts before you help ramp up the public hysteria?”
Max leaned forward, bringing them close enough that he could feel her faint breath, inhale the coconut scent of her shampoo, close enough that it was hard to keep from kissing her.
“I always take all the facts into account.”
“You know what I mean.”
He reached for her hand.
But at his faintest touch, she snapped it away. “This is going to get ugly.”
He knew that was an understatement. The press, not to mention the opposition, smelled blood in the water, and they were already circling. “Are you going back to work tonight?”
“Lynn’s taking the night shift. I’ll go in early tomorrow morning.”
“It’s going to be a long haul,” Max noted, wishing there was something he could do to help her. But he had a very different job from Cara, a job that was certain to be at odds with hers.
“Yes, it is.” She sounded tired already.
“I’ll be fair, Cara.”
“Thank you.” There was a wistful note to her voice. For a moment, her blue eyes went soft and her expression became less guarded.
He reached for her hand again, this time squeezing before she had a chance to pull away.
She glanced at their joined hands. Her voice turned to a strained whisper. “You know all the reasons.”
“I disagree with them.”
“I can’t date you, Max.”
“I can’t stop wanting you, Cara.”
She lifted her long lashes, and her crystal-blue eyes looked directly into his. “Try, Max. Summon up some of your famous fortitude and try.”
He couldn’t help but smile at that. “I’m not here for inside information. I was genuinely concerned about you.”
“As I said—”
“You’re fine. I get it.”
That was her story, and she was sticking to it.
Her skin was creamy and smooth, her lips dark, soft and slightly parted. He imagined their feel, her taste, her scent, and instinct took over. He tipped his head, leaning in.
But she pulled abruptly away, turning and dipping her head before he could kiss her. “Your five minutes are up.”
He heaved a sigh, giving up, letting her small hand slip from between his fingers. “Yeah. I guess they are.”
Max had left his watch behind in Cara’s apartment. She had no way to know if he’d done it on purpose. It was a Rolex—platinum, with baguette-cut emeralds on the face. She couldn’t even imagine the price. Being a popular television personality definitely had its perks.
When she’d gone to bed, Cara had set the watch on the table beside her. She’d used its alarm as a backup, since she’d had to get up at three-thirty.
Then she’d put it in her purse before heading for her West Wing office at the White House. If Max called about it, she’d drop it off for him on her way home. She had no intention of letting him use it as an excuse to come back to her apartment again.
She flashed her ID tag through the scanner in the White House lobby, and passed through security in the predawn hours. A cleaner was vacuuming, while deliverymen made their way along the main hall. It was quiet out front, but closer to the press office, the activity level increased. Movers were lugging furniture and boxes into the newly appointed offices. She passed several people on her way to her small office.
“Morning, Cara.” Her boss, Lynn, fell into step with her.
Cara unbuttoned her coat and unwrapped her plaid scarf from around her neck as they walked. “Did you get a chance to talk to the president?”
Lynn shook her head, shifting a file folder to her opposite hand. “The Secret Service was with him for an hour. Then Barry went in for a while. And after that, he went back to the residence.”
“Is it true?”
One of the communications assistants appeared to take Cara’s scarf and purse. Cara shrugged out of her coat and added it to the pile in the woman’s arms.
“We don’t know,” said Lynn, pushing open her office door.
Cara followed her inside. “Barry didn’t ask him?”
Chief of Staff Barry Westmore knew the president better than anyone.
As press secretary, Lynn’s office was the largest in the communications section. It housed a wide oak desk, a long credenza, a cream-colored couch and three television screens mounted along one wall playing news shows from three different continents. In English, German and Russian, reporters were speculating on the president’s personal life.
Lynn plopped down in her high-backed leather chair, twisting her large, topaz ring around and around the finger of her right hand. Lights from the garden broke the darkness outside the window before her. “Even if it’s true, the president wasn’t aware that he had a daughter.”
“That’s good.” From a communications perspective, deniability was key in this situation.
Lynn didn’t look as relieved as Cara felt. “There’s more than one possible woman.”
Cara’s eyebrows shot up.
“Barry and I did the math,” said Lynn. “Accounting for possible variations in gestation period. Since the baby might have been premature, there are three possible mothers.”
“Three?” Despite the gravity of the situation, Cara found herself fighting a smile. “Go, Mr. President.”
Lynn frowned at her impertinence. “It was senior year in high school. The man was a football star.”
“Sorry,” Cara quickly put in, lowering herself into one of the guest chairs opposite the desk.
Her boss waved away the apology. “He’s refusing to give us the names.”
“He has to give us the names.”
“First, he wants to know if Ariella is his daughter. If and only if she is his daughter, then we can look at the ex-girlfriends.”
“The press will find them first,” Cara warned, her mind flitting to Max. The networks and newspapers would pull out all the stops to find Ariella’s mother. They wouldn’t wait on a DNA test. This was the story of the century.
“Yes, they will,” Lynn agreed. “But the president is unwilling to ruin innocent lives.”
In Cara’s opinion, the women’s lives were already ruined. Anyone who’d had the misfortune to sleep with President Morrow in high school would be fair game. It wouldn’t even matter whether the lovemaking squared up with Ariella’s birth date; they’d still be hunted down and hounded with questions.
Lynn twisted her ring again. “It’s always that thing that you don’t see coming. And it’s always sex. Next time, remind me to back a nerdy candidate. Maybe president of the chess club or something.”
“These days, nerds are hot,” Cara pointed out.
“That’s because we expect them to grow up rich.”
“That’s why I hang out at the local internet café looking for dates.”
Lynn grinned, putting a little life into her exhausted expression. “I should have