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Stretch goal.
He glanced at the door, swallowed his pride, and loosened the tie around his neck. Picked lint from his jacket. Fiddled with his napkin.
When the waiter approached with two glasses of ice water, he tried to smile, found it was too much to ask, and attempted to not growl instead. “The maître d’ mentioned an ‘89 Bordeaux.” After the guy’s description of it, Rory didn’t want to know how much it cost. “I’d like to start with a bottle of that.”
The waiter looked thrilled. “Marvelous choice. A unique vintage,” he echoed. “You must know your wines. I’ll be right back.”
“Yeah, I know a lot about unique vintages.”Myself included. “You don’t happen to have Michelob on tap, do you?”
The waiter hesitated, his brows dipping. “A glass of that, too?”
Rory nodded and the guy scurried off.
The lights in the distance winked at him. He would try to be human, maybe evencharming. He used to be able to turn it on and off without even thinking.Used to. Life was so different now. He snorted to himself. Being charming was definitely too much of a stretch.
But he had rehearsed those questions Montgomery had given him to ask Amelia—How to Make Polite Conversation 101—and maybe, if he was lucky, he would indeed not fuck this up.
TWO
Amelia Thorpe was running late.
Again.
Story of my life.
Vivi had told her being late was a sign that she really didn’t want to do whatever she’d agreed to. That if she were truly invested in the person, situation, or occasion, that she would show up on time or even early.
Amelia had never been early in her life, even to things she genuinely wanted to participate in. She always wanted to believe it was a genetic fault—her mother had been the same—but she had to admit that Dr. Montgomery knew far more about the human psyche then she did.
Worrying her bottom lip, she stared at her phone. She’d left her appointment with her friend, Hannah, happy and excited for this time with Rory. While she’d been keeping their relationship—or whatever this was between them—a secret, she’d spilled the beans to the First Daughter during her rehab session on her wrist. She hadn’t mentioned Rory’s name, only that she was looking forward to dinner at this restaurant and hoping she never had to look at a dating app again.
The twenty-eight-year-old had squealed like a teenager with delight and demanded details. Normally, Amelia went to the White House for the sessions since Hannah’s mother had recently had hip replacement surgery and was relying on her daughter for help. Hannah had unfortunately injured herself while moving her mother from the bed to a chair and the two of them had enlisted Amelia for therapy.
Hannah, always on the go and traveling the world, had confided she was glad to be there for her mother, but she was bored silly. Only the planning for her upcoming fundraiser had given her something to focus on. She was scoping out the event location and finalizing the details that day and, since she’d be less than ten blocks from SFI, had requested they do it there.
There weren’t many places deemed safe enough for the president’s daughter by the Secret Service, but SFI Headquarters was one of them.
That was due in part to Rory’s vigilant security system. He was smart, calculating, and seemed to know exactly how criminals, terrorists, and war lords thought.
That wasn’ttoodisturbing.
He was probably worried about her at this very moment.I should let him know I’m running late.
“Looks like we have a traffic jam,” Jose, the proud owner of J-Dog Ride Service, said from the front seat of his older Mitsubishi. The car had probably been cute and sporty in its younger days, but now seemed old and smelled of fried food.
Amelia groaned at the flash of red taillights ahead. Of course there would be a traffic quagmire in D.C. on the one night she needed there not to be. When wasn’t there? This snarl could take an hour to untangle, making her even later.
The ride service driver, a friend of Hannah’s—ever since they were fifteen at volleyball camp, Hannah made friends everywhere she went—glanced at Amelia in the mirror. “I’d take a side road detour, but I can’t even get to the next one. We’re stuck.”
Cars were bumper to bumper in both lanes on either side of them and the nearest escape was a block away. Amelia swore under her breath. “Karma is a bitch.”
“Excuse me?” Jose asked.
“Nothing.” She’d been rude to Hannah’s lead Secret Service officer, Cohen Masden, when he’d demanded to search her upon Hannah’s arrival and again when she’d left. Like, what kind of bull hockey was that? Hannah was her friend above all else, and she would never harm her or do anything like record their conversations. Amelia cared little about what went on behind closed doors inside the White House, except where Hannah’s health and welfare were concerned. This was their third appointment and it riled Amelia that because it took place at SFI, Masden assumed he could be extra pushy.
While Hannah was an adult and didn’t live with her parents normally, she was actively involved in politics and doing everything she could, while her dad was the leader of the Free World, to make it a better place. She’d started a foundation, gathering social media influencers around the world to create change in ways the younger generation aspired to. Leading Edge, or LEAD, as it was nicknamed, brought the children of world leaders together with those directing social media platforms and created international friendships. Together, they set up scholarships, internships, and grants for young entrepreneurs like Jose.
Amelia didn’t actually believe in karma, but she wanted to, especially when a jerk like Masden insinuated she was willing to betray Hannah to get ahead in Washington.
