“I’ve fixed a few martinis and Manhattans in my time. I’ll pull bar duty until your replacements arrive. You go do your thing in the media center.”
“No way! I can’t let you sling booze. You’re a guest.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t. Go. I’ve got this.”
Jack had no trouble interpreting the emotions that flashed across her expressive face. He could tell the instant the idea of John Harris Mason III dishing up drinks at Global Protective Service’s big bash struck her as too irresistible to pass up.
“All right,” she conceded, laughter sparkling in her eyes. “But let’s hope Nicole doesn’t hear about this. My ass won’t just be grass. It’ll be mowed and mulched.”
“And it’s such a nice ass.” He couldn’t help it. He had to reach behind her and caress the body part under discussion. “Trust me, sweetheart, I won’t let anyone mow or mulch it.”
She backed away and tried to look stern, but the light still danced in her eyes. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
Jack couldn’t believe it, either. He’d do it again, though, in a heartbeat. Or better yet, drag her upstairs to that bridal suite she’d mentioned and caress a whole lot more than her ass. Sanity intruded in the form of the gray-haired senior senator from Virginia.
Thomas Dillon broke away from the group he was with and strolled over to the bar. “Jack?”
The senator looked from him to Gina and back again. Clearly he didn’t understand what an ambassador-at-large was doing behind the drinks counter, but he contained his confusion behind a broad smile.
“I thought I recognized you, son. How’s your father?”
“He’s still kicking butt and taking names, Senator. What can I get you to drink?”
“Pardon me?”
“I’m pulling special duty tonight. What would you like?”
* * *
Despite the near-disastrous start, the remainder of the event went off without a hitch. Most of the invitees were jaded Washingtonians who had attended too many black-tie functions to do more than guzzle down the free booze and food, but Jack heard more than one guest comment on the quality of both.
His replacement arrived before he’d had to mix up more than a dozen drinks. He surrendered his post with some reluctance and mingled with the other guests. Jaded they might be, but the arrival of the movie’s star started a low buzz. Gina had returned to the plaza and stood next to Jack while Dirk West graciously made the rounds.
“Wow,” she murmured, eyeing his shaved head and six-feet-plus of tuxedo-covered muscle. “He looks tougher in real life than he does on the screen.”
Tough, and extremely savvy. West worked the crowd like a pro and seemed to sense instinctively the real power brokers and potential backers. He might have been aided in that by the CEO of Global Protective Services, who stuck to the star’s side like a barnacle and made a point of steering him over to Jack.
“This is Ambassador John Harris Mason,” he said by way of introduction. “He’s the man who faced down a cell of armed insurgents in Mali a few years ago.”
“I read about that.” West crunched Jack’s hand in his. “Sounded like a pretty hairy situation. I might have to send a script writer to ferret out the details that didn’t get into print.”
Jack could have told him not to bother since most of the details were still classified but West had already turned his attention to Gina.
“And who’s this?”
The bronze-edged name tag pinned to her lapel should have given him a clue. He ignored it, concentrating all his star power on her face.
“Gina St. Sebastian.” She held out her hand and had it enfolded. “I’m with the Tremayne Group. We’re coordinating this event.”
West’s appreciative gaze made a quick trip south, edged back up. “You ever considered taking a shot at acting, Ms. St. Sebastian?”
“I’ve toyed with the idea once or twice.”
“If you decide to do more than toy, you give me a call.”
Global’s CEO was more interested in Jack’s connections at the State Department than the acting aspirations of the hired hands.
“I hear you’ve got a meeting with the Senate Intelligence Committee next week regarding embassy security, Ambassador. I’ve got some ideas in that regard.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“I’d like to discuss them with you. I’ll have my people call and set up an appointment.”
His mission accomplished, he steered West to the next group. Jack waited until they were out of earshot to fill Gina in on his conversation with his parents.
“I got ahold of my folks. They’re anxious to meet you, but mother’s chairing a charity auction tomorrow evening so I told them we’d drive down for Sunday brunch.”
“Sunday brunch works for me.”
“Good. That leaves tomorrow for just you and me.”
She started to comment, but spotted the plump brunette with the radio clipped to her waist signaling from across the plaza.
“Gotta go. It’s almost showtime.”
She turned, spun back and flashed one of her megawatt smiles.
“Thanks for helping out earlier. Remind me to pay you for services rendered.”
“I will,” he murmured to her retreating back. “I most certainly will.”
* * *
Jack carried fantasies of the various forms that payment might take with him into the plush media hall. They teased his thoughts all through Dirk West’s explosive attempts to single-handedly save the world from evil. But not even his wildest imaginings could compete with reality when a tired but triumphant Gina invited him up to the bridal suite several hours later.
Gina had tried to convince Jack he didn’t need to hang around while she signed off on the final tally sheets and supervised the breakdown. She’d honestly tried. Yet she couldn’t suppress a little thrill of pleasure when he insisted on waiting for her to finish up.
So she’d extended the invitation to join her upstairs. When they entered the lushly appointed suite, though, all she wanted to do was plop down on the sofa, kick off her shoes and plunk her feet on the coffee table. Which was exactly what she did. And all she would have done if Jack hadn’t plopped down beside her!
“That’s some view,” he commented lazily, his eyes on the dramatic vista of the floodlit capital
