President Darcy

by Victoria Kincaid

  He stared at the door, which failed to provide any answers. Idly he wondered where Elizabeth had gone. Most of the guest seats were taken up by his staff as well as Aunt Catherine and her staff—people Elizabeth would no doubt wish to avoid. That only left…

  Shit! He needed to tell Fitz!

  Darcy lunged across the sofa for the white intra-plane phone, knocking the receiver off. Scrambling for it with clumsy hands, he finally got it up to his ear and pressed the right button. His cousin picked up on the first ring with a sleepy greeting. “Fitz,” Darcy said quickly, “I’ve got a problem. Can you come to the suite? And”—Darcy exhaled heavily—“you better bring Hilliard with you.”

  Twenty minutes later he had finished explaining the whole thing to his press secretary and his cousin, whose mouths were hanging open so widely that it was almost comical. “You did what?” Hilliard yelled.

  “He made a pass at her.” Fitz’s eyes were closed, and his shoulders slumped forward.

  “I did not make a pass at her,” Darcy ground out through clenched teeth. “I kissed her.”

  Hilliard tugged at the few hairs remaining on the top of his head. “Sir, that could be interpreted as a sexual assault.”

  “She wasn’t unwilling!” he exploded. “She kissed me back.”

  Hilliard rolled his eyes. “Yeah, try proving that in a court of law.”

  Darcy dropped his head into his hands. How had things gone south so quickly? He’d been elated to finally get Elizabeth alone…and now, half an hour later, he was discussing possible accusations of assault. The bottle of scotch was more and more appealing, to hell with the press.

  “I wanted to ask her on a date,” he moaned. “I just got…enthusiastic and kissed her first.”

  Pacing as much as the small space would allow, Hilliard scribbled notes in his spiral-bound notebook. “Okay. Did she slap you or push you away?”

  “No!” he insisted. “I wouldn’t—I thought she liked me.”

  “What did she say?” Hilliard’s voice had a slightly hysterical edge.

  “I don’t know.” Her words were the last thing he wanted to remember. “She made it clear she didn’t like me.”

  The press secretary regarded Darcy blankly. “I could have been an accountant,” Hilliard said.

  “What?” Darcy asked, turning to Fitz, who seemed equally confused by the non-sequitur.

  Hilliard wasn’t looking at Darcy, and he almost seemed to be talking to himself. “Mom wanted me to be an accountant. I have a good head for numbers. And it’s low stress. But no, I wanted the excitement of politics. I just had to—”

  “Bob?” Darcy tried to catch his eye.

  Hilliard shook himself. “Never mind, sir.”

  Fitz frowned briefly at Hilliard, but then his eyes came to rest on Darcy. “Why doesn’t she like you, Darce? I don’t get it.”

  “Well, I called her ugly and stupid.”

  Both men gaped at him. “Not to her face!” he added hastily. “And not in public! It was just that—well, her sister overheard…and so did she. Then her sister put it on Twitter. Okay, it sounds bad when I put it that way.”

  “She’s that woman? I thought her name sounded familiar.” Hilliard paused his pacing long enough to make another note.

  “I can’t believe she agreed to speak with you after that!” Fitz exclaimed.

  “I apologized to her! Months ago.”

  Fitz shook his head. “Still, you’re lucky you got anything more than a polite grin out of her.”

  Darcy supposed that was true; he’d never thought of it that way. “She said a snob with an apology was still a snob,” he murmured.

  Fitz chuckled. “I like her.”

  Hilliard made an impatient gesture. “What else did she say? What else did she object to?”

  “I was rude to her family and called them nouveau riche.”

  Both men stared at him with wide eyes. “What?” Darcy asked.

  “Are you sure she didn’t slap you?” Fitz asked.

  “I would’ve,” Hilliard said under his breath as he returned his attention to his notepad.

  “Very funny,” Darcy mumbled.

  “No wonder you’re still single,” Fitz said.

  Darcy massaged the back of his neck in a futile attempt to loosen tense muscles. “Um…there’s more…Somehow she found out that I also encouraged Bing to break up with her sister.”

  “Shit!” Fitz snapped his fingers. “That was her sis— I’m sorry, Darce, I didn’t know.”

  One mystery solved. Darcy waved it away. What was one more disaster in a whole string of them?

  “Is there anything else?” Hilliard asked a bit desperately.

  “Yeah.” Darcy gritted his teeth when Hilliard made the sign of the cross. “She also got a load about me from our friend Wickham.”

  “Damnit!” Fitz punched the bulkhead.

  “That is…not good,” Hilliard said slowly. Knowing Wickham might attempt to sabotage Darcy, they had discussed him at the beginning of the campaign.

  “He told her I cheated him out of his inheritance,” Darcy spat.

  In the ensuing silence, Darcy realized that Hilliard’s eyes had gone unfocused again. “Or I could have been a math teacher. They’re in high demand…”

  Fitz watched the press secretary with concern. “Bob, maybe you should be thinking about a vacation.”

  “Bob, focus!” Darcy said sharply.

  “Sorry, sir.” Hilliard grimaced and made another note. “Okay…so we need to be…concerned about the media.”

  “Understatement of the year,” Fitz muttered. Darcy glared at him. “When did she meet Wickham?” Fitz asked.

  Darcy dug his hands into his pockets and slumped against the back of the sofa. “I don’t know for sure. I saw them talking at the Carlisle Ball.” The image of how Wickham had stood waaaaay too close to Elizabeth was branded in his memory.

  A chill raced down his spine. “What if Wickham got his hooks into her? What if she’s dating him?” His skin crawled. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse…. “No. No. She said she didn’t have a boyfriend. But maybe it’s a casual thing…” Darcy grabbed the arm of the sofa against the impulse to race through the door and ask her.

  Fitz clasped Darcy’s shoulder. “She’s smart. I’m sure she’ll see through him.”

  Darcy gave Fitz a level stare. “Like she did with the story of the inheritance?”

  “That isn’t relevant,” Hilliard snapped. “We need to focus on damage control. How did she come to be on Air Force One in the first place? She didn’t fly to Paris with us.”

  Now Fitz stood and started pacing. Noticing the broken glass on the opposite sofa, he gave Darcy a speculative glance, which he ignored. Fitz leaned against the bulkhead. “Her flight was canceled.”

  “So you offered her a lift?” Hilliard sighed.

  Fitz shrugged. “I knew Darcy liked her, so I got him to invite her. I gave her a ride to the airport.”

  “You procured a woman for your boss,” Hilliard said flatly.

  Fitz stood up straight. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  Hilliard shook his head slowly, staring at his notebook. “I’m going to be subpoenaed one day, aren’t I? And I’ll have to testify in front of a congressional hearing. I should have become a fireman. When I was seven, I loved firetrucks. I never should have given up on my dreams.”

  “It wasn’t like that!” Fitz protested. “There hasn’t been a woman who caught Darcy’s eye in ages. He’s been talking about Elizabeth Bennet for months but wouldn’t make a move because of the president thing.”

  “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.”

  ***

  A hard bump woke Elizabeth. Peering out the window, she was shocked to discover they had landed. The unfamiliar airport was characterized by low-slung red brick buildings and lots of people in military uniforms; presumably it was Andrews Air Force Base, where Air Force One traditionally landed.

  The reporters around her were gathering their stuff, chatting softly. A few gave her curious glances, but she studiously avoided meeting anyone’s gaze. Hopefully nobody had noticed her panicked state upon entering the press area the previous night.

  Sitting up, Elizabeth stretched, scrubbed her eyes with her hands, and checked the time. 8:32 a.m. She’d planned to fake sleep so nobody would question her; at some point it had become the real thing. However, every time she shifted position, she would wake enough to remember why she was hiding, and her stomach would tense into a hard knot. Fleeing his suite had been the right choice, but she had allowed anger to guide some of her words to him. I definitely could have handled that better.

  Was it true that Will had planned to invite her on a date? Had she assumed he was making a pass when he was actually trying to romance her? Her initial impression of him was of an honorable—if tactless—man. Maybe that had been right. Maybe she had horribly misjudged him the previous night.

  No. His actions toward George and Jane attested to his character. As did his snide comments about her family. Even if she had been wrong about his intentions, she hadn’t been wrong about their compatibility. Nothing would work between them.

  She regretted her manner of rejecting him, but not the fact of it.

  It was time to get off the damned airplane and meet Jane’s car. I hope he doesn’t try to talk to me again. What would she say? Just the thought made her whole body twitchy.

  The door to the press area finally opened, and the reporters started filing out. However, before Elizabeth could follow suit, Fitz pushed his way into the compartment and pulled her into the front row of seats with him.

  He waited until they were alone. “We need to talk.”

  She shook her head wearily. “Fitz, I just want to go home. I don’t want to talk to him.”

  Fitz blinked. “He’s already gone. The president always gets off first.”

  Of course he did. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She stood. “Then I want to go.”

  He grabbed her elbow, and she gave him a hard stare. “Are you keeping me here?”

  Fitz released her arm like it had burned him. “Of course not; you’re not under arrest.” As Elizabeth edged toward the door, Fitz spoke faster. “But I do want to tell you about Wickham—”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “But—”

  She held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear anything about Will or George or anyone connected to the White House. I just want to go home.”

  Fitz stared at her for a long moment and then nodded. “All right. But can you tell me one thing? Are you going to the media with this?”

  Huh? Maybe she was more tired than she thought. Why would she involve the media in one of the most mortifying experiences of her life? She turned his question over again in her head, but it still didn’t make any sense. “The media?” she repeated.

  Fitz shifted uneasily, lowering his voice even though they were alone. “Darcy said he kissed you.”

  She cringed. “He told you about that?”

  Fitz shrugged. “He didn’t have a choice. We need to know if you’ll approach the media with the tale.” She gaped at him. “You know”—he pitched his voice higher—“‘the president grabbed me and kissed me’—”

  “It wasn’t like that!” she said indignantly. “I mean, I don’t want—I don’t like the—I don’t want to be his girlfriend, okay? But I didn’t mind the kiss.” Actually, she wouldn’t mind reenacting the kiss. Yeah, she would have fond memories of it—if not the rest of the farce.

  “Uh…you’re smiling,” Fitz said, rubbing his chin.

  “It was a good kiss,” she sighed. Fitz stared at her quizzically. “Can I go now?” she asked.

  He sat up straighter in his seat. “Sure, but who are you planning to share this story with?”

  Elizabeth stared at the ceiling as she considered. “Maybe Jane, but I can’t tell anyone else…definitely not the rest of my family. The president doesn’t need that much squealing in his life.”

  “Good.” Tension leaked from Fitz’s body.

  She ran both hands through her disheveled hair. All she wanted was a shower and a nap—far away from anything presidential. “I don’t want to hurt the president. I mean, I believe in what he stands for, and the last thing I want is to be at the center of some sex-fueled controversy—especially when nothing happened.”

  Fitz grinned. “He’ll be relieved to hear that.”

  “I just don’t want to see him ever again,” she said firmly.

  Fitz flinched as if she’d punched him. “Elizabeth, he’s a really good guy.” He reached out to touch her arm.

  The last of her patience evaporated,
leaving behind a bundle of raw, exposed nerve endings. Fitz had obtained the reassurance he needed, and now she needed to be left alone. She yanked her arm away. “No. You don’t know me, and you don’t know what happened between us. I don’t need your input.”

  He exhaled, eyes focused on the floor. “Fair enough.”

  “Is that it?” she snapped.

  “Yeah. There’s a porter at the foot of the stairs who will help you obtain your luggage, and we have a limo to—”

  Elizabeth interrupted. “No, thanks. My sister is on her way to pick me up.” Without waiting for a reply, she stood and hurried through the door. Hopefully she would never see Air Force One again.

  ***

  During the half-hour wait for Jane, Elizabeth contemplated whether she should have accepted the offer of the limo. The White House staff and press were long gone; Elizabeth stood in front of a red-brick building in the blazing July heat watching the flight crew and various Air Force officers service the airplane.

  Finally, Jane’s Prius pulled up in front of her. Shading her eyes with her hand, Elizabeth couldn’t stifle a groan when she saw Lydia in the passenger’s seat. Of course, she loved her younger sister, but she wouldn’t have a high tolerance for Lydia’s particular brand of crazy today.

  Jane hopped out of the car to open the trunk and help Elizabeth load her luggage, giving her a quick hug. “I’m sorry it took so long. This place is like Fort Knox. I was worried they wouldn’t admit me at all.”

  Elizabeth swung her laptop bag into the back of the Prius. “What is Lydia doing here?” she asked under her breath.

  Jane rolled her eyes. “Sorry about that. She locked herself out of her dorm last night.”

  “Again?”

  “I wasn’t planning to bring her this morning, but she was so excited about Air Force One.” Jane gazed at the plane. “Plus she wanted a chance to ‘ogle cute guys in uniform.’”

  Elizabeth exchanged eye rolls with her sister. “At least my misfortunes provide an opportunity for my sister to drool over some beefcake.”