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He waggled his eyebrows at her. “I’d like to know you well enough.”
Ugh. Shoot me now.
Rather than disappearing, his hand shifted to splay over her back. She smiled apologetically at him. “Sorry,” she whispered, “I have an itchy rash there.” The hand evaporated.
She put some distance between them, only then glimpsing a knot of people—socialites dressed to the nines, businessmen, and Secret Service agents—standing a few yards away. A man in the center of the group was staring at her. After a moment of disorientation, she recognized him. President Darcy.
Hundreds of people at the ball, and yet somehow his eyes had found her the instant she entered the room. Her stomach did a slow, sickening flip, and she could almost feel her sweat glands gearing up to work overtime. “You didn’t tell me the president would be here!” Elizabeth hissed to her sister.
“You didn’t know? I thought everyone knew the president attends the Carlisle Ball. It’s the primary draw.”
Panic urged her toward the nearest exit. The only thing worse than a blind date with Bill the stapler guy was a blind date with Bill the stapler guy while President Darcy watched. The last time she had encountered the commander in chief, he had labeled the Bennets nouveau riche, implied that she visited the White House for bragging rights, and eagerly agreed with Caroline Bingley that Elizabeth needed to be “extracted.” His politics might be in the right place, but his heart certainly wasn’t. Not that Elizabeth cared what he thought of her.
Still, it would have been nice to arrive at the soirée with a David Gandy lookalike. Instead she got a plaid tux, greasy comb-over, and smarmy smile—all of which had undoubtedly been catalogued by the president. The man himself was conversing with others in his group, but his eyes flickered back to her again and again.
His expression was unreadable, but no doubt he was laughing inside at her plight. Elizabeth’s face was so hot that she wondered if she might spontaneously combust. Is it too late to pretend I don’t know Bill? Maybe I could slap him.
Draped over Bing, Jane gave them both a sunshiny smile. “Would you two like to go dance—?”
Bill’s eyes went wide. “OMG!” Elizabeth spun around, expecting to see a celebrity. “Open bar!” he crowed, throwing a fist in the air. “Score!”
Bing gave the other man a skeptical glance, but Bill only had eyes for the bar. “C’mon!” Grabbing Elizabeth’s hand, he yanked her in that direction. Her eyes pleaded with Jane for a rescue, but her sister shrugged helplessly.
Bill dragged her toward the nearest bar like a kid pulling his mom toward a roller coaster. Oh, God! Was the president watching this farce?
At the bar, Bill shamelessly demanded the most expensive alcohol (a kind of scotch) and asked for a double shot. He ordered one for her, thrusting the glass into her hand as he sipped his appreciatively. “Ah, that’s good stuff!”
Elizabeth happened to hate scotch. Discreetly faking a coughing fit, she turned around and poured most of her glass into the large fern behind her. Her date smacked his lips and was ready for a refill.
The conversation returned to the fascinating topic of Mrs. de Bourgh’s genius in the stapler industry. Nodding absently at the appropriate moments, Elizabeth wondered whether appendicitis or gallstones would be more plausible for a woman her age. The scotch must have been top-notch; Bill was compelled to order another double.
The band struck up a rollicking song with a thudding bass line. “I love this song!” Bill exclaimed, now slurring his words slightly. “C’mon!” He tugged her arm, and Elizabeth soon found herself on the moderately packed dance floor.
The scotches did not improve Bill’s coordination; his moves were less “getting down” than “having a seizure.” Flailing his arms wildly, he threw his head back to howl out the lyrics, drawing both stares and a few discreetly raised phone cameras. Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Hungry children. Remember the hungry children, she reminded herself. At the same time, she contemplated how to fake an ankle injury; compassion could only trump humiliation for so long.
When the song finished, Elizabeth did an about-face and marched off the dance floor without looking back. Bill caught up to her at one of the bars, where she had just ordered a glass of white wine. She took several gulps before even glancing at the red, sweaty man; one strand of his comb-over drooped over his forehead. What the hell could she say to get out of this situation gracefully?
“Elizabeth?” Raising her head, she found Charlotte Lucas standing opposite. Tall, with a statuesque figure, Charlotte never took much time with her appearance. Tonight she wore a blindingly bright turquoise gown with orange shoes. The effect was…striking. But Charlotte had been a friend since childhood and Elizabeth was accustomed to her quirks. Elizabeth introduced Bill, relieved at the reprieve.
Charlotte repeated his name thoughtfully. “By any chance do you work for De Bourgh Staplers?”
Bill preened as if such recognition was his due. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“You’ve heard of him?” Elizabeth asked, not quite keeping the incredulity out of her voice.
Charlotte’s eyes lit up with an excitement that couldn’t possibly be feigned. “Of course! Haven’t you?” She gestured deferentially to Bill. “He’s like the crown prince of staplers! He’ll probably take over when Catherine de Bourgh retires.”
Bill smiled with false modesty. “That hasn’t been decided.”
Charlotte continued, “At Lucas and Lucas we’ve been following the office supplies industry avidly. It’s going through so many upheavals, and it’s so cutthroat.”
“It does require a certain level of ruthlessness to survive, that’s true.” Now Bill’s smile was smug.
Charlotte leaned closer and spoke in a lower voice as if corporate spies lurked in every corner. “What do you think about the merger between United Erasers and Best Pencils? Will it be good for the industry?”
That was all the encouragement Bill required. Soon the two were engrossed in a conversation about the market share for protractors and the best ways to advertise scotch tape.
“Maybe I’ll go to the ladies’ room,” Elizabeth interjected during a break in the conversation. The others failed to react before launching into a spirited debate about number two pencils. As she made her getaway, Elizabeth wondered how long her reprieve could possibly last. Could Charlotte keep him talking all night?
