an empty table in any half-decent restaurant close to the White House was darn near impossible, anytime day or night, but as they approached one of the best ones, Samantha told him to pull up out front at the valet service area.
“Much as I’d like to tell you I’m even smarter than my personnel file says I am, I didn’t know you were going to be lying in wait for me in the parking lot, or that you’d agree to come to dinner with me. That said, I don’t have reservations.”
“That’s all right. Just pull over.”
He did, and the valet opened the passenger-side door. Samantha accepted the hand she was offered, and said, “Good evening, Anthony. It’s good to see you again.”
“And it’s wonderful to see you again, Ms. Cosgrove,” Anthony the valet said, guiding her under the canopy and out of the rain.
“I guess I’m just supposed to schlep it on my own,” Jesse grumbled to himself as Anthony and his large black golf umbrella didn’t move from the canopy again.
He got out, tossed his keys to Anthony, and found himself following Samantha inside the dimly lit foyer of the restaurant known for its old boys’ club decor and aged steaks.
She was already standing in front of the podium, with an Anthony look-alike holding her raincoat over his arm, and speaking fluent Italian with the maître d’.
A few more Italian phrases, some sharp snapping of the fingers by the maître d’, and they were being escorted past the line of diners waiting to be seated and to a prime table. Jesse was pretty sure he recognized a representative from Pennsylvania in the line, as well as a second assistant undersecretary of state.
“How’d you do that?” he asked once they were seated.
“So much for your thorough research. I was raised in the District, remember, before Dad decided to relocate in Connecticut. I’ve known Anthony and his family for years, since my father and mother first began coming here,” she told him as she spread her napkin in her lap.
Then she leaned forward and said with an unholy grin on her lovely, patrician face, “You see, Mr. Colton? Badges? I don’t need no steenkin’ badges.”
If he were less a man of the world, Jesse would have believed he fell in love with Samantha Cosgrove the moment the words were out of her mouth.
Instead, he threw back his head and laughed, and banished any other thoughts as unprofessional. And definitely personally dangerous.
They were handed oversize menus, leather-clad, and Jesse watched as Samantha frowned over hers.
She was so blond. So sleek. So High Society.
And he was the part Comanche nobody from Black Arrow, Oklahoma.
Man. Who would have thunk it.
“I think I want two of everything,” she said at last, smiling at him overtop the menu. “Is that all right?”
“That depends. How good are you at washing dishes?”
“Ah, the woefully underpaid public servant,” Samantha said, closing the menu and placing it beside her cutlery so that she could fold her hands on the tabletop. “Do you like it?”
“Being a public servant, or being underpaid?” he asked, closing his own menu.
“No, seriously, do you like it? I mean, I get chills, just thinking about the West Wing. The Oval Office. All that power, all in one place.”
“And the doughnuts ain’t bad,” Jesse said, grinning.
She sat back. “All right, so I’m not immune to the idea that you work in the West Wing. It’s heady. How did you get there, anyway?”
“Hard work, determination, knowing the right people—all that good stuff.”
“Will you please be serious. I mean, I know you started in the Secret Service.”
“Not much of a secret, is it?” he commented, trying to look upset. “And then I moved on to the NSA—National Security Agency.”
“Yes, and from there to the West Wing. One of the president’s trusted advisers. I don’t remember reading that you stopped a bullet for him, or anything like that.”
“No, nothing that dramatic. Let’s just say I’m ambitious, and that, yes, I did know the right people, and that I was in the right place at the right time. When the president’s second term is over, and your guy’s in the Oval Office, I’ll head back to the NSA. I’m only on loan, you know. That was the deal.”
“You won’t want to be part of Phillips’s staff?”
“I won’t be asked. Same party, Samantha, but each man comes in with his own people. And, frankly, I think I’ll be glad. The NSA is where I really want to be. I’m not all that political. I’d rather think I’m serving my country, not just the current administration. Since the president agreed, and really wants more of an outsider’s opinion on national security, we’re fine. This was, hell, this was an ego thing as much as anything else. But enough about me. Why do you want to be part of Phillips’s staff?”
The waiter approached, and they both gave their orders, then were silent as the wine—compliments of the owner—was opened and poured.
“Nice touch, even if I am going to have to pay for it. We’re not allowed to accept gifts, you know. Still, I could get used to this,” Jesse said, sipping the wine. “So, Samantha, are you going to tell me? Why do you want to be part of Phillips’s staff?”
“Because he’s right for America,” Samantha said, and then she grimaced. “Okay, okay, the truth. Not that he isn’t right for America. He’s a wonderful man. But to get the chance to walk into the West Wing? Stand inside the Oval Office? Be even a small piece of the power behind the man in that office? You’ve admitted it, so I can say it. Who wouldn’t want that?”
“True, true. Fifteen-hour days, constant emergencies, news leaks, congressmen who need their hands held. It’s great.”
“You’re just saying that. I don’t think you’d ever be anywhere you didn’t want to be.”
Jesse didn’t answer her. He just lifted his glass in salute and took another sip of wine as the waiter placed large bowls of salad in front of them.
Oh, he liked this woman. He really, really liked her. And she was correct. He was right where he wanted to be. Across the table from a very interesting woman.
By the time they’d finished their steaks, Jesse was feeling pretty mellow.
Mellow enough to ask a question he probably shouldn’t have asked.
“Have you ever been to the Chekagovian embassy?” he asked, because it seemed as if she’d been everywhere else in the District, and most parts of Virginia. She knew everybody, probably through her parents or Senator Phillips, and had been invited to all the right parties.
Samantha sat back and rolled her eyes. “Oh, the Chekagovian embassy! Isn’t it beautiful?”
“I
