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He nodded, trying to let concern show on his face. No insensitive lout here. No sir. This seemed like a good, neutral topic of conversation. “Jane said she had a similar back injury before,” he said casually.
Elizabeth regarded him warily as if his concern was somehow suspicious. “Yeah, two or three years ago. She was laid up for a while and in a lot of pain. It hurt to stand or walk. She missed close to a month of work. This doesn’t seem quite as severe, but it’s hard to tell.”
“I can call for a doctor,” Darcy said, trying to look solemn and presidential despite the fact that his inner teenager was cheering and high-fiving himself at the prospect of having Elizabeth in his house all night. Calm the fuck down, he told teenage Darcy. Nothing will happen, and I need to ensure the press doesn’t find out. The admonishment did little to quiet his inner glee.
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “I don’t think that’s necessary at this point. Hopefully she’ll be well enough in a few hours to sit in the car, and I can take her to see her doctor tomorrow.” She paused and then added, “But thank you, Mr. President.”
“Call me—” The words were out of his mouth before he thought them through. He barely knew her. If other people heard her using his first name, what would they think? “Er, Mr. President is fine,” he finished lamely.
Her mouth twisted in a bitter smile, and no wonder. It probably sounded like a demand that she recognize his title. “Um…well, thank you for letting us stay, Mr. President,” she said stiffly.
“Of course.” Would she look askance at an offer to keep her company? She rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. No. Forced sleep deprivation was not the way to anyone’s heart. Not that I want to win her heart. It would be progress if she thought of him more positively than as “the man who called me stupid and ugly.”
He briefly allowed his eyes to linger on her, indulging his desire to admire her vivid green eyes. Unfortunately, they were narrowed and viewed him with suspicion. The situation was a bit…irregular…maybe even creepy… Damn. He would have gladly enjoyed her company all night, but there was no legitimate reason to remain.
“I’ll be next door in the Treaty Room”—he pointed to the left—“if you need anything.” Despite the heaviness in his body, Darcy knew sleep was an impossibility with Elizabeth in the Residence; he might as well work.
“You don’t need to stay up on my account,” she said.
“I’m not.” I totally am. He gave her sour smile. “I’m trying to figure out what to do about Zavene.”
“Because of the civil war?”
“Yes.” Huh. The smallest country in Africa, Zavene was unknown to most Americans. Previous administrations had meddled in Zavenian politics, and Darcy believed the U.S. had a moral duty to try to stop the violence. Surely peace was achievable without involving the U.S. military, but Darcy didn’t know how. The previous State Department had been understaffed, and they still didn’t have an expert on Zavene.
“I served in the Peace Corps there for two years.” Elizabeth stared down at her hands. “The people were wonderful. It’s so distressing to think of them caught up in a war. Although I don’t think the village I lived in has been affected yet.”
“You lived there for two years….?” Darcy clasped his hands behind his back lest he frighten her with too much enthusiasm. “Could you explain to me the tribal differences that led to the war? The media portrayal seems too simplistic, and the State Department doesn’t have a real expert.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I’m not an expert, but I can tell you what I know. Do you have a map of the country? It would make it easier to explain.”
“I have one in my study,” he said, suppressing the broad grin that threatened to break out. He hesitated for just a second. Would she perceive that as a bizarre proposition? Hello young woman, want to come upstairs and see my maps? “I know that’s not why you came to the White House—”
She was already striding toward the door. “Are you kidding?” She grinned impishly over her shoulder. “I love to show off how much I know. Now that I can flaunt it to the president, I’m in heaven!”
A slow smile crept over his face. “My pleasure.”
***
Elizabeth stretched luxuriously, realizing too late that her feet had encountered an obstacle on the coffee table. Something clunked. Shit! Had she bro
ken that swirly glass vase? It was probably a gift from the Sultan of Brunei that she’d have to sell her car to replace.
Tentatively she opened her eyes to examine the scene. Her feet had knocked over the remarkably ugly vase, but it appeared intact. Upon inspection, it revealed no cracks or nicks. Whew.
The sunlight streaming in through the windows suggested that it was morning—and further suggested that it was past time to wake up. She didn’t know what the protocol was for having spent the night on the president’s sofa, but she was sure it didn’t involve sleeping in. Bathed in the sunlight, the Yellow Oval Room was far more cheerful and less forbidding with all the creams and golds in the upholstery brightening the decor, but she still couldn’t imagine allowing a toddler or a dog within fifty feet of it.
The moment her brain registered “White House,” adrenaline pumped through her body, waking her sluggish mind. The Zavene discussion had lasted at least two hours, so Elizabeth was functioning with only a couple hours of sleep, but it had been a surprisingly lively and enjoyable conversation.
She finger-combed her hair, wishing the room had a mirror since she had stupidly left her purse in Jane’s room. On the other hand, she might be tempted to sneak out the back door if she could see herself.
Before going to bed—er, sofa—Elizabeth had checked on her sister, who appeared deeply asleep. Bing had sacked out in the overstuffed chair next to Jane’s bed.
Elizabeth straightened the pillows she’d been using and folded the throw the president had given her. President William Darcy was an enigma. No one in her life had ever said such disparaging things, and he was disdainful of her family. At the same time, he had listened attentively to her description of Zavene. He had taken notes, asked intelligent questions, and thanked her without mansplaining or condescension.
At times she had even forgotten who she was speaking with. Her family was never interested in hearing about her experiences in foreign countries. And the president had the power to make a difference, unlike the coworkers with whom she occasionally traded stories.
If her information could have even a small impact on the fate of the Zavenian people, it was worth the effort of swallowing her anger. Although the effort hadn’t been as great as she expected.
