“The same way you ‘take care’ of the women who leave you big, fat tips at Virginia’s?”
Robby gave him a not-so-playful punch in the shoulder. “Don’t mock patrons of the art.”
“I didn’t know go-go dancing was considered an art.”
“That’s because you haven’t seen me do it.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Miles wrinkled his nose in distaste. “You’re like my sister, Robby. I don’t want to see my sister twerking for tips.”
“Whatever you say, bro. But if you want to learn a few moves, you know who to call.”
Robby gyrated her hips to the slow, seductive rhythm of an imaginary beat. A few days a week, she worked the late shift at Virginia’s, a lesbian club where bartenders served up drinks and entertained overflow crowds composed of an uneven mix of out and proud hipsters and closeted politicos looking to leave their day jobs behind for a few fun-filled hours.
How would Taylor react if she knew Robby danced on a bar top when she wasn’t peddling antiques? Would she slip a five-dollar bill down her shirt like the other patrons lined up to do, or would she run the other way?
Robby knew what Taylor’s father’s advisors would say. They would have a shit fit if they suspected the First Daughter was involved with a go-go girl. As for Taylor’s parents, their conservative little heads would probably explode. Which, all things considered, might not be such a bad thing.
Did Taylor have a mind of her own, or was she destined to become another Mary Cheney? Shoved back into the closet and forced to toe the party line while her father spouted anti-gay rhetoric that endeared him to his base of supporters but alienated him from everyone else.
Miles pursed his lips as he picked a piece of lint off his corduroy pants. “Did you get our mystery shopper’s phone number?”
“Not yet, but I know where to find her if I need her.”
“Yeah, where?”
Robby waited a beat before hitting him with the punch line. “The White House.”
“Who do you know inside the White House?” he asked skeptically. “Some entry-level employee you plan to pump for information?”
“Oh, ye of little faith. My contact isn’t an unpaid intern no one cares about until they run out of coffee or office supplies. She’s someone much higher up.”
“How high?”
“So high she has her own Secret Service code name.”
“You’re kidding me, right? Secret Service code names are limited to some serious heavy hitters. Do you really expect me to believe a member of the First Family, the Vice President and her husband, or someone similar strolled off the street and through those doors?”
“Check the security camera if you don’t believe me.”
“Don’t make me jump through hoops, Robby. Just tell me.”
“I’m having too much fun to give up the information so easily, but I will give you a hint. You used to have a crush on her brother back when you preferred yuppies to gym queens.”
Miles’s brown eyes bugged. “Taylor Crenshaw? The daughter of the next president of the United States was here? In my shop?”
“In the flesh.”
“What did she buy?”
Miles was so excited his eyeglasses were starting to fog up. In DC, what you knew was important, but who you knew was even more valuable. If word got out that the Crenshaws were clients, the store could become a tourist attraction instead of the destination of choice for a selective, albeit very rich, few.
Robby slid the inventory log toward Miles. “She bought her father a shoeshine box to remind him he may be the leader of the free world, but he’s still one of the little people. Apparently, her grandfather shined shoes when he was a boy.”
“That story’s true? I thought it was something her father made up to garner sympathy votes during the campaign when he wasn’t slinging mud at the competition.”
“You thought wrong.” Robby’s fingers flew across the keyboard, her hands barely able to keep pace with the thoughts streaming through her head. She loved when that happened. When the words flowed so freely she didn’t have to think about what she wanted to say. In moments like these, she felt like she was taking dictation instead of writing.
Miles glanced at the computer screen. “Please tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.”
Robby read over what she had written and clicked Submit. “What do you think I’m doing?” she asked after she logged off the password-protected portion of her website.
“Getting into very big trouble.”
Robby grinned. “Is there any other kind?”
“You’re screwing around with the president’s daughter.”
“I haven’t screwed her yet. Even I don’t work that fast. And Terry Crenshaw isn’t the president yet. He’s president-elect. He won’t take office until Tuesday, by which time I hope to have wrangled an invitation to the inaugural ball.” Robby powered off her computer. “Would you like to come with? If you play your cards right, you might get felt up by the strapping Secret Service agent she came in here with.”
“As tempting as that sounds, count me out. Prison stripes make me look fat.” Miles bit into his sandwich. “But you have fun. I’ll visit you in the big house.”
Robby wiped a speck of mustard off the corner of Miles’s mouth. “I think you mean the White House. Because if I play my cards right, I’m going to be a frequent guest there for the next four years.”
“Or until Taylor Crenshaw finds out who you really are. Do you honestly think it’s going to take her that long to realize you’re something other than a simple clerk in an antique store?”
Robby unwrapped a kosher dill. “By the time she discovers who I really am, I’ll be too rich to care.”
Chapter Two
Taylor knew Steven was only doing his job, but his constant presence was starting to get on her nerves. Not to mention he insisted on calling her “ma’am” despite her many pleas to the contrary. She was only twenty-five. Old enough to drink, but too young for such a formal term of address.
“If things go well with Robby, hopefully, he’ll take the hint and make himself scarce,” she said to herself as Steven shadowed her through the aisles of Kramerbooks. “Otherwise, he might get an eyeful.” And, perhaps, an earful.
She smiled at the thought of getting intimate with the sexy clerk from the antique store she had wandered into that afternoon, but quickly banished the idea from her head. She needed to get her hormones under control. While her father was in office, discretion would be the better part of valor. But he wasn’t in office yet, so why shouldn’t she have one final fling before she checked herself into the nunnery? There would be plenty of time to be good after her father was sworn in on Tuesday. Until then, all bets were off.
She browsed the shelves at Kramer’s while she waited for Robby to arrive. Both the bookstore and the attached café were bustling as tourists and locals alike competed to see and be seen.
Taylor picked up a book and pretended to read. She scanned the room instead of the printed page. All the online customer reviews she’d read since leaving Osgood’s that afternoon said Kramerbooks was the place to be. For once, there was truth in advertising. Love connections were being made everywhere.
“I wonder how many of them last for more than one night.”
She got her answer when a man in a three-piece suit dropped to one knee in the Current Affairs section and pulled out a huge diamond ring. His intended started screaming yes before her new fiancé could even pop the question.
Taylor joined the rest of the patrons in a round of applause as the happy couple floated out the door. She was beyond envious. If her father and his cronies had their way, she would never get to experience such a magical moment herself.
Terry Crenshaw, the senior senator from Missouri, had spoken out against marriage equality on several occasions before, during, and after the election. He had also promised his fellow conservatives that, if elected, he would do everything in his po
wer to overturn the Supreme Court’s landmark decision legalizing same-sex marriage in all fifty states. Would he keep his promises once he took the oath of office, or, like most politicians, had he only said what he thought he needed to say in order to get elected?
Taylor fervently hoped her father was only pretending to be a bigot instead of actually turning out to be one. Neither scenario offered much comfort, but it was the only thing she had to hold on to.
Needless to say, she didn’t share her father’s political beliefs. When he became a presidential candidate, she had refused to make appearances or stump speeches on his behalf. She had even toyed with the idea of publicly endorsing the Democratic nominee until family loyalty compelled her to think better of the idea. She had not come out in favor of anyone, answering reporters’ questions about her preferred candidate with a noncommittal “May the best man—or woman—win.”
In turn, her father had promised not to make her “life decisions” a point of contention as long as she kept her name out of the headlines. He needn’t have bothered to make the request. He had chosen to be a public figure; she had not. She kept her private life so private it was practically a state secret. Who she slept with was her business, not anyone else’s.
She had never denied who she was, but she hadn’t flaunted it either. She lived her life openly, not brazenly. And that was all she wanted. Nothing more, nothing less. She had no desire to be a celebrity, a role model, or a cautionary tale. She just wanted to live her life and be who she was: a grad student with a heavy class load, a slight caffeine addiction, and a fondness for beautiful women. With that being said, what was she doing rendezvousing with a stranger in a very public place on the weekend before her father was sworn into the highest office in the land?
“Good question.”
“Ma’am?” Steven asked.
“Never mind.” Taylor reminded herself to keep her internal monologues just that. Internal. Because her burly bodyguard might not be the only one listening. “Toto,” she said under her breath, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas City anymore.”
“While we have a few minutes, there’s something I’d like to bring to your attention.” Steven reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and retrieved a small notebook. “I’ve completed a preliminary background check on Miss Rawlins,” he said, flipping the notebook open. “Would you like to know what I’ve found?”
Taylor skimmed the table of contents of a book about Eleanor Roosevelt. “No.”
Steven’s thick eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Ma’am?”
“Call me old-fashioned, but I consider it a turnoff when I go out with someone and she doesn’t make an effort to get to know me because she’s learned everything she thinks she needs to know about me on the Internet. If you tell me everything you’ve discovered about Robby before our first date, you’ll ruin the getting-to-know-you stage of the relationship. And that just so happens to be my favorite part.”
Taylor loved gleaning the details of her paramours’ lives. Hearing their hopes and dreams. Discovering what they liked and what they didn’t. Learning what made them tick. She wanted to feel that sense of wonder with Robby. And she wanted to do it on her own. Which she couldn’t do if Steven gave her all the answers before she took the test.
“Just tell me she isn’t a terrorist or a serial killer,” she said. “That’s all the information I need from you. The rest I can muddle through myself.”
Steven snapped his notebook shut. “She isn’t a terrorist or a serial killer.”
“Is she single?”
“Very.”
“I could take that a couple of ways, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.” She tucked the book under her arm and headed to the counter so she could pay for her purchase.
Even though she was done with the subject, Steven wouldn’t let it go. “She likes to party, her social media presence raises a few red flags, and she has debt issues. Serious debt issues.”
“Who doesn’t? My parents didn’t approve of my choice of major—among other things—so they didn’t pay for me to go to college. When I get my master’s degree next year, I’m going to be paying off student loans for the rest of my life.” Taylor paid for the book and turned back to Steven. She tapped the notebook he was cradling in his huge hands. “Is there anything in there I should be worried about?”
“Like I said, it was only a cursory search. If I have time to perform a more extensive scan—”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
Taylor headed to the bar. She couldn’t tell if Steven had been assigned to look out for her best interests or her father’s. Until she figured out where his real loyalties lay, she would look out for herself.
* * *
When she walked into Kramerbooks and saw the hulking Secret Service agent by Taylor’s side, Robby was glad she had decided against bringing her tape recorder. The voice-activated machine was tiny, but probably not small enough to escape the agent’s eagle eyes.
The guy was so big, he made the Incredible Hulk look emaciated. Robby could understand Taylor having him tag along for a shopping spree, but why did she feel the need to bring him on a date?
“Talk about two’s company and three’s a crowd.”
When the agent swiveled his head in her direction, Robby nearly lost her nerve. She ran through her mental checklist, making sure she had covered all her bases.
Her name wasn’t on the website. Neither was her image. The domain registration couldn’t be traced to her, and today’s entry was so vague it could have been written by anyone.
“Time to stop worrying and start digging up some real dirt.”
Robby squared her shoulders, plastered on her best come-hither smile, and joined Taylor at the bar.
“What’s in the bag?” she asked, polishing off the rest of Taylor’s drink. She tried not to make a face when she discovered the rim of the glass was lined with salt instead of sugar. She liked her drinks sweet, not bitter. The salty dog she had just swallowed definitely didn’t fit the bill.
“A book about Eleanor Roosevelt.”
“The one detailing her long-running affair with Lorena Hickok?” Robby rested her elbows on the bar, smiling a little when Taylor gawped at her cleavage.
“Unfortunately, no. I don’t think my poli sci professor wants to read about the former First Lady’s desire to kiss the soft spot on the northeast corner of her alleged lover’s mouth.” Taylor cleared her throat and signaled for another drink. She turned to Robby. “Would you like something?”
“Sex on the beach.”
“I’m assuming the kind that comes in a glass.”
“You know what they say about assuming.” Robby slowly circled her finger around the rim of Taylor’s glass, picking up leftover crystals of sea salt along the way. Taylor’s breath quickened as if she could feel every stroke. “What’s the book about?”
“It’s a collection of the newspaper columns Mrs. Roosevelt wrote from 1936 to 1962. I think it will provide valuable research material for my thesis on the changing role of women in politics. I can see your eyes glazing over, so I’ll take that as my cue to change the subject.”
Taylor laughed self-consciously. For a brief moment, Robby saw her as a woman instead of source material for her column. She liked what she saw.
Taylor’s light brown hair was cut fashionably short. Streaks of blond made her look like a free spirit instead of the über serious women’s studies major she was and the earnest professor she would most likely become. Her angular face was unconventionally beautiful. Wide-set blue eyes, aquiline nose, and a jaw so sharp it could probably cut glass. With her trusting expression and rakish smile, she was a cross between the quintessential girl next door and the naughty neighbor across the street. Robby wanted to get naked with both. Preferably at the same time.
When her drink arrived, Robby drank half of it in one swallow, the sweet pineapple juice and peach schnapps cleansing the bitter remnants of the salty dog from her mouth.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Taylor said. “I reserved us a table for two.”
Robby glanced at the Secret Service agent who was giving her the evil eye. “Don’t you mean three?”
Taylor took a sip of her fresh drink. “Steven doesn’t eat when he’s on duty.”
“What time does he get off duty?” Robby plucked the maraschino cherry from her drink and tied the stem in a knot with her tongue.
“Not soon enough. Wait. Did I say that out loud?”
This is going to be easier than I thought.
Robby followed Taylor to their table in the Afterwords Café. Steven trailed close behind. Robby felt the ground shake each time he took a step.
After looking over the menu, Taylor ordered a grilled filet mignon. Robby opted for the butternut squash ravioli, though she wondered if she should have upgraded to the lobster instead. When the date was over, she would be forced to return to her regular diet of ramen noodles and frozen pizza.
Definitely should have gone with the lobster.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Taylor asked.
“You promised to tell me how a rabid conservative whose platform makes him sound like he wants to turn back the clock sixty years managed to produce a daughter who’s a liberal Democrat most people suspect was rooting for the opposition.”
Taylor’s eyes flashed with something that looked like pain, but her expression remained inscrutable. “Just lucky, I guess.”
“Do you really expect me to take that for an answer?”
Taylor’s sigh sounded world-weary. Like she had been the one hitting the campaign trail for the better part of a year instead of her father. “In a few days, I’m going to be living in a glass house. I can’t afford to throw stones. Especially at my own walls.”
“Then that makes this difficult.” Robby leaned back in her seat as she tried to figure out a way to dig beneath Taylor’s guarded exterior. “How are we supposed to get to know each other better if you don’t let me get to know you at all?”
True Colors Page 2
