True Colors

by Yolanda Wallace

  “This is mellow?”

  “He’s dialed it down a notch or two since he got married. In basic, we used to call him Lumpy.”

  “Why?”

  Ethan bore no resemblance whatsoever to the pudgy ’50s sitcom character. His skimpy running shorts and singlet hugged his muscular frame. His body fat percentage had to be close to zero.

  “The joke was he was such a tight ass he could place a lump of coal between his butt cheeks and pull out a diamond.”

  Taylor grimaced. “Not the ideal topic of conversation before breakfast.”

  Steven cleared his throat and quickly resumed his serious demeanor. “Sorry, ma’am. Lump—I mean Agent Moss is a strong member of the team. We served two tours together in the Middle East. I trust him with your life because he’s saved mine more times than I can count.”

  “Lily calls him Chicken Little. Do you think the comparison is apt?”

  “I wouldn’t say the sky is falling, but his caution is justified. Domestic terrorism and lone wolf attacks are on the rise. You never know where or when the next incident might occur. It pays to be vigilant.”

  As much as she tried to convince herself she was just like everyone else, Taylor knew nothing could be further from the truth. To some, she was a symbol of everything they thought was wrong with the nation. Liberalism run amok. But she was free to love whoever and however she chose. Wasn’t freedom the reason the United States was formed in the first place? Why should she deny her own happiness in order to preserve someone else’s?

  She walked with her hands on her hips. Her side was killing her, and her ankle was starting to throb. Thoughts of Robby took her mind off the pain. She hadn’t meant for their dinner date to take such a serious turn, but now that it had, she was anxious to see what would happen next.

  She slowly picked up her pace. Ethan, Steven, Lily, and the other agents mirrored her actions. “I’m meeting Sheridan Kincaid for brunch today. Have you checked her out yet?”

  “She’s clean,” Steven said. “No warrants. No hits. No priors. No apparent cause for concern.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t comment on her about-face. She hadn’t wanted to hear the results of the background check he had performed on Robby, but here she was pushing him for details about Sheridan.

  “She has a degree in business administration from the University of Virginia,” he said. “She’s currently employed as a part-time lobbyist and a full-time legal consultant for a nonprofit health care firm in downtown DC. She’s dating Ana Fernandez, an Argentinean national who resides in Buenos Aires, but she lives alone in Penn Quarter.”

  “Nowhere near the coffeehouses frequented by our blogger, but close to the Verizon Center, where Robby and I were Friday night.”

  “Friday night’s game was nationally televised. So was the coverage of you kissing Miss Rawlins. Anyone watching the game at home could have seen you and commented on it. Experience tells me Miss Kincaid isn’t who you’re looking for. But she sounds perfect. Perhaps she should be.”

  Taylor smiled. “I don’t remember seeing ‘matchmaker’ listed on your résumé.”

  “Point taken.”

  “Miles is Robby’s best friend. You spent several hours with him last night. In all that time, he wasn’t able to sell you on Robby’s finer points?”

  “We talked about many things, but Miss Rawlins’s finer points didn’t come up.”

  “But you do agree there’s more to her than meets the eye.”

  Taylor lengthened her stride, but Steven easily kept pace.

  “As long as you believe there is,” he said, “why does it matter what I think?”

  “Because I value your opinion. Tell me what you think of her.”

  He hesitated for a moment before forging ahead. “I think she’s hiding something. Whether it’s her feelings for you or something more serious is up for debate.”

  The second half of Steven’s statement barely registered. The first half, however, resonated deep within Taylor’s soul. Robby had feelings for her?

  * * *

  Robby checked the beverage order to make sure she and Miles had enough wine on hand for the evening’s festivities. Two cases of red, an equal number of white, plus three bottles of Riesling should be plenty for even the thirstiest of crowds. The caterer had offered to provide the alcohol for tonight in addition to the hors d’oeuvres, but his stated price was so high it had made more business sense to use the liquor store around the corner.

  Miles barged into the storeroom while Robby was loading the white wine into the cooler so it could get properly chilled before the first guests began to arrive six hours from now. He gasped when she nearly dropped a bottle of Château d’Yquem, which was often described as the greatest—and most expensive—sweet wine in the world. The bottle in her hand was “only” $300. Some of the rarer vintages sold for exponentially more.

  Robby carefully placed the bottle of wine on the rack and closed the cooler door. Château d’Yquem was the wine of choice for Beatrice Langford, the shop’s best client. Robby didn’t want to risk losing her as a customer. She’d miss the fat commission from Mrs. Langford’s monthly purchases too much. The woman was a handful to deal with, but she never left the shop without taking at least five figures’ worth of merchandise with her. For that kind of money, Robby could take anything the notoriously cantankerous woman could dish out.

  “I just got a call from my friend Peter at the Four Seasons,” Miles said after he recovered from his momentary panic attack. “He said Sheridan reserved the Arbor Room, and Taylor’s name is the only one on the guest list. Why are the two of them having brunch together?”

  “Sheridan invited her during the inaugural ball, and Taylor said yes.”

  “And you let her?”

  “What was I supposed to do, try to talk her out of it?”

  “Well, yeah. If Sheridan chooses, she could make life miserable for you.”

  “Trust me. She can’t make things any worse than I already have.”

  “What do you mean? I thought you said dinner with Taylor went well last night.”

  “It did. Swimmingly, in fact.”

  Taylor had pulled out all the stops, but it hadn’t seemed as if she was putting on an act. She had done and said all the right things to make Robby feel comfortable. Appreciated. Desired. Last night, Taylor wasn’t the daughter of the leader of the free world. She was just a woman. A woman Robby wanted to get closer to, even though her head told her to keep her distance.

  Miles spread his arms. “I’m still waiting to hear a problem.”

  “After we finished eating, she said she could see herself falling in love with me.”

  Miles covered his mouth with his hands. “Oh, my God. She really said that? I want to be happy for you. But, knowing what I know, I can’t. I was afraid something like this would happen. Are you going to keep stringing her along, or are you going to do the right thing and cut her loose before someone ends up getting hurt?”

  Robby flinched when Miles’s choice of words reminded her of the ominous message she had received the night before. If the threat was real, pursuing a relationship with Taylor was not only foolhardy, as Sheridan had suggested, it could also prove to be fatal.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I need to figure it out sooner rather than later.”

  She had to. Because it was quite possible Taylor’s life depended on her decision.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Taylor walked into the Four Seasons, a luxury hotel located only a few blocks from the White House, the concierge crossed the lobby to meet her. The gold nameplate on his dark uniform shined as bright as his welcoming smile.

  “Miss Crenshaw, it’s a pleasure to have you with us today. My name is Peter Simmons. I’m here to facilitate your visit. If there’s anything you need, please let me know. Your party is waiting for you in the Arbor Room. Please come with me.”

  Tay
lor followed him to a small private dining room that normally seated ten. Sheridan’s table was the only one occupied. Steven searched Sheridan while Ethan and Lily swept the room for cameras or listening devices. When their tasks were completed, the three agents moved a discreet distance away, giving Taylor a semblance of privacy when she would have preferred the real thing.

  Sheridan extended her hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong, her long fingers devoid of jewelry. Her blond hair cascaded past her shoulders. Her casual attire—a yellow Oxford shirt, dark blue blazer, pressed jeans, and cordovan leather loafers worn without socks—was a far cry from the stylish designer gown she had sported at the inaugural ball. Taylor wondered which was the real Sheridan. The one she had seen Tuesday night or the one she was seeing now. She didn’t have anything in common with the former version. This one, however, she could easily see herself sharing a beer with at a Redskins game or girl-watching with in Logan Circle.

  “Thank you for meeting me,” Sheridan said.

  She indicated the chair across from her, and Taylor took a seat.

  “My pleasure.”

  “You might not think so by the time we’re done. I hope our conversation doesn’t give you indigestion because the food here is excellent and I don’t want to be responsible for spoiling your meal. I highly recommend the Virginia ham. It’s almost as good as the ones my grandmother used to make.”

  “Do you get back to Richmond often?”

  “When my schedule permits. I travel a great deal because of work, but when I’m in town, I try to visit every few weeks or so. Shall we?”

  Sheridan led Taylor to a series of stations that had been set up around the room. The wide-ranging menu featured everything from scrambled eggs to oysters on the half-shell to Korean duck chili.

  “You look none the worse for wear,” Sheridan said as she filled her plate. “The bloggers have been raking you over the coals this week. I expected you to be showing the ill effects.”

  “Not all bloggers seem to find me fascinating. Just one in particular.” Taylor followed Sheridan back to their table. “What do you think of The pH Factor?”

  “If you’re referring to the blog instead of the scientific term, I think it’s a poorly written exercise in displaced wish fulfillment.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The author—and I use the term loosely—clearly wishes he were living a life similar to the ones of the people he writes about, but he doesn’t have the wherewithal to get there so he busies himself denigrating the people who are there. People like you and your father, for example.”

  So much for Robby’s theory about Sheridan being the blogger. She couldn’t be. When she talked about the blog, her voice was filled with vitriol instead of pride in ownership.

  “I don’t want to talk about me,” she said. “Tell me about you.”

  “I like candlelit dinners, drinks by the fire, and long walks on the beach,” Sheridan said, sounding like a contestant on a reality dating show. “For fun, I whack a little round ball around a polo field. But I’m sure that isn’t what you wanted to know.”

  “On the contrary. I’m enjoying learning what makes you tick.”

  “That’s no great mystery. I’m very much like you. I have an extraordinary life, but I like to live it as ordinarily as possible.”

  “How do you stay grounded?”

  “Falling off my polo pony from time to time tends to prevent me from getting too full of myself. Speaking of which, you should come to my match in April. It’s a charity event I put on each year during the Cherry Blossom Festival.”

  “Would I be expected to play?”

  “Only if you have experience. And if not, you’re welcome to help clear the field between chukkers.”

  Taylor was familiar with the tradition of polo fans coming out of the stands to stamp divots and pick up piles of horse manure, though she wasn’t excited about the prospect of experiencing it firsthand. She did, however, look forward to seeing men and women compete on a level playing field.

  “What about you?” Sheridan asked. “How do you manage to keep your head on straight?”

  “My brother sticks a very large pin in my ego whenever it starts to overinflate.”

  “We all need someone like that. Wait. I am someone like that. Tell me,” Sheridan said, pouring maple syrup on her French toast. “Have you slept with Robby Rawlins yet?”

  Taylor nearly choked on her egg white omelet. “Excuse me?”

  “Then I’ll assume your answer is no.”

  “Are you always this blunt?”

  “I’ve found it helps me save time separating the wheat from the chaff.” Sheridan took a slow, deliberate sip of her mimosa. “How deeply are you involved with her?”

  “We’re still in the getting-to-know-you stage.”

  “Though I’m sure she’s getting to know you a great deal better than you’re getting to know her. I’ve never known Robby to voluntarily share details about herself.”

  Taylor replayed the conversations she’d had with Robby to see if they appeared to be one-sided. Both in real time and in retrospect, talking with Robby had felt natural, not like pulling teeth. “I don’t think that’s a fair assessment. She’s told me as much about herself as I have, if not more.”

  “But how can you be certain what she’s told you is true?”

  Taylor tried not to react to Sheridan’s provocative question. She considered herself a pretty good judge of character, and her instincts said Robby was someone she could trust. Robby probably had her faults—just like everyone else—but Taylor could tell she had a good heart. And that mattered more to her than the size of Robby’s bank account. Or the amount of her outstanding debts. “Why would she lie?”

  “Because she’s willing to do anything she can to better her lot in life. She tried it with me, and now she’s trying it with you.”

  “That’s where you and I are different, Sheridan. You’ve got money. I don’t.”

  “Perhaps not, but you have something more important.”

  “Such as?”

  “You have power, prestige, and influence—if you choose to exercise them.”

  Taylor thought of the dozens of letters and emails directed to her attention that arrived at the Office of Presidential Correspondence each day. She intended to respond to each personally, no matter how long it took or what subject the author broached. She was just trying to be polite. If she changed a few hearts and minds along the way, all the better.

  “You might not recognize the position you’re in, Taylor, but I can guarantee you Robby certainly does.”

  Taylor had been pursued in the past by women whose declarations of love had hidden an ulterior motive, but she had always managed to see through them. Was Robby the first to pull the wool over her eyes, or was she stubbornly turning a blind eye to all the warning signs because she knew on some level that Robby could be bad for her? She didn’t want to put her life on hold for the next four years. There was no better way to insure that didn’t happen than by dating someone who could potentially blow it up. And based on what Sheridan was saying, Robby was a ticking time bomb.

  “If you thought she was an opportunist,” she said, “why were you in a relationship with her for so long? It doesn’t take two years for someone’s true colors to show. If you didn’t like what you saw when you looked at her, why did you stay?”

  “Good question.” Sheridan pushed her empty plate away from her. “Our ‘relationship,’ as you call it, was never a grand romance. It was an affair. Plain and simple.”

  “Did she know that?”

  “Knowing and accepting are two different things. Did I spell it out for her that we didn’t have a future? No, but it should have been obvious. Just like the two of you, Robby and I come from two different worlds. She lives her life with the volume turned up to eleven, while your family, like mine, appreciates the value of discretion.” Sheridan reached for the pitcher of mimosas and refilled their glasses. “I don’t feel the need to flaunt
my private life simply for the sake of shock value.” She met Taylor’s gaze and held it as she set the pitcher aside. “Until recently, I thought you felt the same way.”

  Sheridan’s subtle putdown rubbed Taylor the wrong way. “I have never flaunted anything, but I’m not going to hide who I am or who I’m involved with to make someone else feel better about their prejudices.”

  Sheridan looked at her hard. “Is that what you think I did? Do you think I hid Robby away because I was ashamed of having people know I was with a woman? That’s far from the case, I assure you. I was genuinely enamored with her in the beginning, but all she could see the whole time we were together were dollar signs. She didn’t love me. She loved what I could do for her. The things I could buy. The places I could take her. The introductions I could make. Her burning ambition to be something other than what she was got a bit tedious after a while so I decided to break things off. I’m sure she told you I left her for someone else, didn’t she?”

  Taylor reluctantly nodded in confirmation, hesitant to hear what Sheridan would say next.

  “That much is true.” Sheridan’s response made Taylor feel vindicated, but the moment of triumph didn’t last long. “I left her for someone who actually gave a damn about me. I left her for me. If Robby paints me as the bad guy, so be it. At least I’m free of her and her desperate social climbing. You, on the other hand, can’t say the same. And, apparently, you don’t want to.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You’re obviously smitten with her. I can’t blame you. Her physical charms are quite evident. There’s no denying that. But once you get past the gorgeous façade, do you still like what you see?” Sheridan held up her hand like a crossing guard directing traffic. “I won’t put you on the spot by pressuring you to give me an answer. Now that you’ve heard both sides of our story, you’re free to believe whoever you want. I’m not here to sway you one way or the other. I just thought you should know who you’re getting in bed with.”

  Taylor tried to reconcile the woman Sheridan had described with the one she had been interacting with over the past week, but the images didn’t fit. There was some noticeable overlap, but there were some glaring differences, too. Robby had an obvious taste for the finer things in life, if her out-there wardrobe was any indication, but when she had talked about her relationship with Sheridan, her feelings had seemed real, not part of an act. She had sounded like someone who had fallen in and out of love, not someone who only had aspirations of becoming a trophy wife. “The picture you’re painting is not of the Robby I’ve come to know.”