Ryden took her time in the shower and, still refusing to wear anything that was Thomas’s, sat on the bed with nothing on beyond her underwear. Her conversation with Ratman had given her the strength, and enhanced her need, to be the woman she’d always wanted to run away from and change—a simple person who craved simple pleasures and didn’t have to answer to anyone. So what if Kennedy would never desire someone as plain as Ryden the florist? She was a good, decent, hardworking woman, and as long as she was proud of herself and the difficulties she’d overcome, then screw Kennedy and every other Kennedy for wishing her to be someone else. Someone refined, with immaculate table manners and knowledge of expensive wines, and… “I could use a glass of wine right about now.”
She eyed the adjoining door to Kennedy’s room. “You think you can play with people. Does that make you feel special?” Ryden got up. “Special, my ass. You wouldn’t know a good, decent woman if she slapped you on the ass. How dare you try to kiss me and then…how dare you manipulate me, too?”
Ryden got up and knocked on the door. She waited, biting her lip and prepared to give Kennedy a piece of her mind. But when no answer came, she did something completely out of character. She tried the door to see if it was unlocked.
It was. Of course it was. Kennedy had to be able to reach her immediately at any hint of danger.
Ryden knocked one more time, her hand on the knob, before she entered Kennedy’s room. It was too dark to see anything, so she made her way toward the light switch, hoping it was where her own was. “Crap it all to hell,” she shouted when she stubbed her toe on something. Limping, she found the switch.
Except for a few items on the dresser, the room was seemingly devoid of anything personal except for the musky, alluring scent that was Kennedy. Ryden opened the closet and found three black suits and two blue ones, an array of shirts, three belts, and a few pairs of black shoes. Every item appeared well sewn and the fabrics and leather expensive. “Looks like the wine business is doing well.”
Part of her wanted to feel guilty for what she was doing, but the other half couldn’t and didn’t want to resist. She didn’t know why she was in Kennedy’s room, and although she’d feel completely embarrassed if Kennedy walked in and found her there, practically naked, Ryden almost wished she would. I wonder what her pillow smells like. “Okay, now you’re just being scary.”
And why the hell did it matter what it smelled like, anyway? Kennedy was just another manipulative idiot. Ryden spotted a bottle of wine on the bedside table and picked it up. “Il Grigio Angelo.” But not the one she’d tried that day with Kennedy. This one had a gold label that said SPECIAL COLLECTION. Kennedy must have gotten it from the White House’s wine cellar. “If it’s fit for a president, then it’s fit for a florist. Besides,” she said, raising the bottle toward Kennedy’s neat rack of suits, “you shouldn’t be drinking on the job anyway.”
Ryden took the bottle back to her own room. “I deserve a night off.” She dialed Betty for a corkscrew.
*
By the time Shield returned to the White House, it was eleven o’clock. According to Jason, everything had gone smoothly except for Thomas’s foul mood at the fact that she’d taken the day off. “She said she wanted to see you when you got back.”
“How long ago did she retire?”
“Two hours.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Shield decided to stop in her room to drop off her bag before she saw Thomas, but as soon as she flipped on the light, she realized someone had been in there. The closet door was half an inch ajar, and her private-collection wine was missing. She was about to run out of the room in search of answers when a knock from the adjoining door stopped her.
“So you’re finally back,” the president said loudly through the door and then laughed. “Did you have a nice time with that someone you had to see?” Thomas sounded different, somehow.
“Elizabeth, are you all right?”
The knob turned, and a moment later, the president stood looking at her curiously from the other side, dressed only in a pale-blue nightgown that ended mid-thigh. It was made of silk, with spaghetti straps and a lace-trimmed bodice. She had Shield’s bottle of wine in one hand and a half-full goblet in the other. “Care for a glass?” Thomas asked.
“What are you doing?” Shield asked quietly, trying to control her anger.
“You’ve been holding out on the good stuff.”
“All my wine is good, but that’s beside the point.”
“Hmm.” Thomas lifted the bottle and eyed it. “This one here says Special Collection. You can’t tell me it’s not better.”
“You were in my room.”
“You’re sharp.”
“You have no right.”
“And you shouldn’t be drinking on the job,” the president said, and chuckled to herself.
“I didn’t…don’t. It was a keepsake I like to have with me whenever possible.” Shield’s heart sank when she realized the bottle was more than half-empty. “It was a special bottle. The only one of its kind.”
“Settle down.” Thomas waved the bottle in the air. “I’ll get you another one.”
“You can’t.”
“I’m the president. I can do anything.” Thomas laughed.
“Why were you in my room?”
“Like I said, I’m the president. I can do anything.”
President or not, Shield was close to losing what little patience she had left. No one invaded her personal space or touched her things. The loss of her beloved bottle was particularly upsetting. “Look, Madam President,” Shield said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm from her voice. “I don’t know what you’re going through, but you have no right to be in my room unless you need me because of an emergency.”
“Maybe it was an emergency,” Thomas replied, “but then again, you wouldn’t know because you weren’t here.”
“If that’s the case, you had a guard with you all day.”
“And if they were competent to begin with, they wouldn’t have hired you.” Thomas hiccupped. “Am I right, or am I right?”
“What was the emergency?” Kennedy crossed her arms over her chest, not believing a word of it. Had anything happened, she would have been informed immediately.
“I wanted to talk to you.” Thomas entered Shield’s room on unsteady feet and leaned against the dresser.
Kennedy followed her with her gaze and turned to face her. “So I heard. I was about to come to you when you knocked on my door. What do you want to see me about?”
“I um…I…”
“You’re drunk, Madam President.”
“I’m tipsy, and stop calling me that. Call me Elizabeth like I asked you to. Or better yet, call me Lizzy.”
“I can’t do that. Maybe you need to sit down.” Shield walked over to Thomas and slowly took the bottle and then the glass from her hands. She placed them on the dresser and put an arm around Thomas’s waist.
“This feels nice. Maybe we should go for a walk. It’s a lovely evening,” Thomas said as Shield led her to the armchair.
“I don’t think you should be going anywhere.” Shield helped her sit.
“Party killer.”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“A glass…or three.”
“You really are a lightweight.” Shield took a seat on the armchair across from her.
“So, how was your day, Kennedy?”
“I had to fly to Maine for business.”
“To see someone.”
“Yes.”
“Who’s in Maine?”