Ann Keaton was hassled. It was tricky enough just being chief of staff. Being chief of staff during a national emergency was murder. Everybody wanted something. The speechwriters wanted to know what to say and the press secretary wanted to know what not to say and everybody else wanted to know what was happening, whether they needed to or not.
Sorting them out was her job, and no one was going to thank her for it. Oh, Kate would in the long run, but in the short term no one would appreciate what she was doing and everyone would blame her for what she wasn’t.
Yesterday had been bad, and things hadn’t eased up much today. It had been a tough morning. For the most part she’d managed to make Kate’s secretary field requests for appointments with the President, but even so, Ann’s nerves were frazzled. When she finally got a moment’s respite, she groaned as her secretary opened the door.
Ann smiled when she saw who was being ushered in, however.
Paul Wagner was indeed a handsome man. Late forties, wavy black hair slightly flecked with gray, decked out like a fashion model in a stylish blue suit, Paul only had to smile to make Ann’s troubles fade away.
Ann twined her arms around his neck. “What a pleasant surprise! I’m glad it’s you and not someone else who wants something.”
He kissed her, said, “I only want to take you to dinner.”
Ann laughed. “You sure picked a great day.”
“You canceled our last dinner.”
“I know, I’m sorry about that—I’d much rather have dined with you than the congressman. And with everything that’s been going on . . . well, it’s been crazy around here.”
“Any news about the shooting?”
“Not you, too.”
Paul put up his hand and smiled. “Sorry. It’s just everyone’s talking about it. Of course you don’t want to. It’s your job. I’m here to take you away from all that. Have dinner with me. I promise we won’t talk about anything job-related.”
“That sounds wonderful. I wish I could.”
The phone on Ann’s desk rang. She looked at it in annoyance, disengaged herself from Paul’s clutches, and picked it up. She listened, heaved a heavy sigh, said, “Yes, I’ll take it.” She pressed the flashing button on her phone, said, “I am sorry, Mr. Ambassador . . . Yes, these are distressing times.”
Ann removed the phone from her ear, rolled her eyes, mimed jabber, jabber, jabber with her free hand, and mouthed, “Ask me tomorrow.”
Paul nodded, blew her a kiss, and went out.
Paul hadn’t expected Ann would be able to go out to dinner. He hadn’t expected she’d tell him anything, either. Ann was a smart, savvy, independent woman, and part of what made her so good at her job was her unfailing self-command. In the months they’d been dating, Paul hadn’t learned anything from Ann that he couldn’t have seen on the evening news. Not that she didn’t joke about her job, she did, but always with the utmost discretion.
Her secretary was another story. Julia was a born gossip, and quite susceptible to the charms of a handsome young man. Paul flirted with her shamelessly, to good advantage.
Julia was chatting on the phone, no doubt with one of the other White House secretaries, when Paul came out, but she hung up to flirt with him.
“So how’d it go this time?” Julia said.
Paul threw up his hands and grinned. “Shot down again!”
Julia laughed. “You just have no way with women.”
“She claims she’s busy.” Paul perched jauntily on the edge of Julia’s desk. “Should I believe her?”
“It’s been crazy around here.”
“Do tell.”
Five minutes later Paul was out the door with a ton of information. Nothing vital, of course—even if she would mention state secrets, she didn’t know any. But as far as everyday affairs were concerned, the woman was a major source.
Paul jerked his cell phone out of his pocket, but refrained from clicking it on. He had to make a call, but he wasn’t going to do it from the White House. He was too familiar with the workings of the NSA to trust any communication within the walls or even on the grounds. It was only when he was safe on the streets of Washington that he made the call.
“It’s me.”
“I know who it is. Why are you calling?”
“The President’s national security advisor called in a witness for questioning.”
“Who?”
“A lawyer in the White House counsel’s office.”
“What lawyer?”
“A woman named Margo Sappington.”
There was a pause. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. She had her in twice, yesterday and then again this morning.”
“Why?”
“My source didn’t know.”
“Maybe you need a new source.” Another pause. “Is that all you called for?”
“I thought you’d want to know.”
“Do you have anything else?”
“No.”
And the line went dead.
Paul stared at the phone. These guys certainly never massaged his ego. They ought to be damn grateful he was so good at what he did. He was practically ready to call them on it. Let them try to find someone else handsome enough, suave enough, and clever enough to romance the President’s chief of staff and come up with valuable information. And then they act as if he were just delivering a pizza.
Paul nodded in agreement with himself.
They were just lucky they paid so well.