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They ate in companionable silence. Serenaded by the sounds of the nation’s capital at night.
“What about the rest of your family?” she asked once they had put their forks down. “You mentioned an older sister. Does she live in Boston?”
He nodded. “She’s married to a guy she met while working for a software company. They’re expecting their first child in August. My dad owns an insurance agency. He loves it because he gets to play golf with his clients.”
“Sounds idyllic.”
Griffin shrugged. “Pretty boring typical family compared to yours. I’m surprised you’d choose working in the White House over one of your family’s hotels. You certainly wouldn’t be slaving at the oven on a Saturday night if your name was on the door.”
“You don’t know my grandfather. Most of my family are the first ones in and the last ones to leave every day. If the Chevalier name is ‘on the door,’ it means we have to work harder than anyone else.”
“Still, I don’t see the White House as a place where you come to rest on your laurels.”
Marin rubbed a finger over the rim of her water glass. “Especially when your oven catches fire and you have to improvise during crunch time. But when Aunt Harriett—Mrs. Manning—asked me to come work for her, I couldn’t say no. I told you before, just the history of this place alone was intriguing to me. Besides, it’s nice to be one among a team of chefs. No one here cares what my last name is. I’m glad I took the job.”
He leaned forward in his chair. “So am I, Marin. So am I.”
Dusk had faded into night. Marin was grateful for the darkness so Griffin couldn’t see how brightly she was blushing. Ernie emerged from the Yellow Oval Room and began to load their dinner plates onto one of the carts.
“Just take them into the kitchen up here, Ernie,” she said. “I’ll wash the dishes.”
“No can do, ma’am. Ms. Bloodworth said we weren’t to disturb your work so that you can leave at a decent hour. I’ll take these down to the big kitchen.”
Marin huffed in exasperation. “In that case, I’d better get back to work.” She stood from the table and Griffin did as well. “Thank you for a lovely dinner. I’d say you shouldn’t have, but it was too delicious.”
“It certainly beat pizza in my hotel room,” he agreed as they passed through the Yellow Oval Room.
His remark reminded Marin that he was only in Washington temporarily while he worked on a case. She wondered about his life. Where he lived. He’d been evasive when she asked before. But he’d have to tell her so she could book his airline ticket, wouldn’t he?
“I’ll have my grandfather’s assistant make the travel arrangements to the wedding. What city will you need to fly out of?”
Griffin didn’t so much as twitch. “I’ll make my way to DC and we can fly out of here. It’s just easier.”
Well, that was a swing and a miss. His secrecy seemed a little over the top, but Marin figured his job likely required it. He put his life on the line every day, which had to be stressful not only for him, but to everyone he cared about. She wondered if that was the reason he wanted to get out of the Secret Service. Marin felt an unbidden sense of relief knowing Griffin would be safer once he changed jobs.
“Thank you again,” she said when they reached the kitchen. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
He grimaced. “I still have a few hours of work to do myself tonight.” His mouth then curved up into that slow grin that had the power to make her knees buckle. “But at least I enjoyed part of my evening.”
Marin hurried into the kitchen so he wouldn’t see her ridiculous glow.
* * *
“Pillsbury is onthe move.”
Griffin glanced at the text on his phone, shaking his head at the ridiculous code name Agent Todd had dubbed Marin. He’d asked his friend to give him a heads-up when Marin was leaving the kitchen so he could intercept her on her way out of the House. After last night’s incident on the Metro, he didn’t want her traveling home alone. He wasn’t usually so chivalrous with women he suspected of grand theft, but in this case, he was playing a part. Besides, he wanted a second look around her penthouse.
Their dinner earlier had been part of the act, too; a ruse to fish for information. The fact that he had enjoyed the meal was a bonus. The food had been delicious and how many guys could say they’d had dinner with a beautiful woman on the Truman Balcony of the White House? So far, everything was going according to plan.
As long as he didn’t touch her.
He swore under his breath as he pulled on his suit jacket and headed out of the Secret Service office. Griffin had always thought that whole bullshit about sparks flying when people touched someone happened in chick flicks and his mother’s romance novels. But when he’d taken Marin’s hand earlier, shock waves had reverberated up his arm. And yet, the last thing he’d wanted to do at that moment was let go of her.
“This case is messing with my head,” he mumbled as he made his way up the stairs to the north lobby.
“Talking to yourself?”
Griffin had to brace a hand on the wall to keep from mowing Marin down.Or from touching her.
