Chapter 38 #2
“Cuba.” This was not going how I had planned at all. I hadn’t accounted for his leg against mine, the feeling of being pinned between him and the edge of the sofa. And I was clearly running out of time.
His expression didn’t change. “What about Cuba? It was a lovely place to visit before the revolution. I assume you’re too young to have been.”
“I am. Mr. Vice President”—I turned to face him, inching my leg away from his—“are you at all worried that they’ll try to retaliate after the Bay of Pigs disaster?”
His face darkened. “No. I’m not.”
I was letting my nerves get the better of me. What would Patricia do here? “It’s just—” I batted my eyelashes. “The whole idea of that sounds so frightening. They wouldn’t come after you, would they?”
“You have nothing to worry about on that front, little lady.” His expression softened. “We’ve got plenty of plans in motion to make sure Castro and his army are nothing to worry about.”
If he was willing to tell me that much . . . “Like what?”
He laughed, moving the hand behind me to play with the ends of my hair. “Now you know I can’t tell you anything like that. Why don’t we talk about you and that pretty little face of yours?” He put his other hand on my knee, and I jumped up, casting around for some kind of distraction.
“That’s quite a view,” I said, gesturing toward the window.
“Isn’t it?” He had stood up behind me and put an arm around my waist, guiding me toward the window.
I realized I was trapped between the glass and him.
He trailed a finger up the bare skin of my back, revealed by the dress’s low cut.
Goose bumps arose where he touched me, and I struggled to control my breathing.
I could duck under his arm. It wasn’t time to scream.
But I could feel it rising up in my throat all the same.
I needed to leave. “Play your cards right, and I can bring you there one night for a private tour,” he said softly, his breath tickling my ear. “No prying eyes. Just you and me.”
A private tour. The girls at the bar had shown their IDs to the president’s secretary. Someone arriving with the vice president through a special entrance likely wouldn’t have to do that.
I turned around to face him, an idea forming. “Would I get to meet the president?”
He shrugged. “Of course. Assuming he wasn’t busy entertaining someone of his own.” He mimicked the president’s accent, quoting a famous line from his inaugural address.
The president’s Massachusetts accent.
Mass goal in sight.
My eyes widened at the realization. He leaned in, his gaze fixed on my mouth, and I ducked under his arm, dashing toward the door, as he, surprised, landed face-first on the window. “I have to—”
A commotion of shouting outside the hotel suite door cut me off.
“—my baby sister in there, and I swear on all that’s holy that this will wind up on the front page of every paper in town if you don’t—”
The voice turned muffled, and there was a knock at the door. I tried to open it, but it was locked, and suddenly the vice president was beside me. He looked down, amused. “How old are you anyway?”
I thought quickly. “Sixteen,” I said, letting my voice go even higher than usual.
He blanched, then opened the door. One of the Secret Service men had one hand pinning Jack’s arms behind him, the other clapped over his mouth while he struggled.
“Let him go,” the vice president said. Then he shoved me out of the room.
“She’s too young. Get them out of here. And get Collins on the phone. He’s fired.”
The Secret Service agent released Jack, and he crashed into the wall. I ran to his side. “What are you doing?” I asked.
He looked up at me. “I couldn’t let you do it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I couldn’t—”
The door shut behind us. One of the Secret Service agents had gone inside with the vice president, and the other was still outside the door, glaring at the two of us. “If I hear one word about any of this—anywhere—you’ll be seeing me again,” he said menacingly. “Now get out of here.”
“We’re going,” I said, giving Jack a hand. He stood up, and the two of us took off down the hall, choosing the stairs over the elevator. Hand in hand, we flew down them, bypassing the lobby and leaving through the emergency exit onto the street.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked, his eyes wild. “Did he—?”
I shook my head. “I’m fine. But Jack—”
“I should have never let you go up there. I’ve heard enough stories. I should never—”
I grabbed his face with both hands. “Jack! It’s not a mass goal. It’s a Massachusetts goal!” He stared at me, not connecting the dots. I moved to the side, my hands still holding his face so that the White House came into his line of sight.
“Massachusetts goal,” he said quietly. “The president.”
“She’s trying to get to the president.”
He looked back at me. “You did it. You figured it out. Oh my God—is she—”
But I cut him off, kissing him. For a second, his lips kept moving with what he had been trying to say. Then his arms went around my waist, pulling me in close until the world spun and nothing else mattered except us.