Fatal Diversion (The Keeper's Series #4) - Stephanie St. Klaire Page 0,2
but I have a Glock.” Dillon smiled and winked before taking her seat, earning an impressed look with a chuckle.
“Then maybe you’d like to go to the shooting range with me sometime?”
“Depends on the bull’s-eye, sir.” She looked him up and down. “Maybe we should use rubber bullets or paintballs…you know, for the good of the country.”
Ransom knelt to one knee to meet her stare. “I think I’d take my chances with you, Ms. Stone. I don’t apologize for who I am and call it like I see it. What you see is what you get.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said under her breath as she looked away, only to notice the press corps had circled closer. This was going to be all over the fucking news.
“I’m not a bad man, and I respect women like they’re the air I need to breathe.”
“I’m not sure that’s a very good analogy…”
Ransom stood. “I like you, Ms. Stone. And I intend to pass the bill that brought you here, to begin with. We’re on the same side here. And I think deep down, you’ll begin to like me if you don’t already.”
“Pfft. Okay.” Her sarcastic response did him no harm. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it, just as he’d enjoyed everything she’d had to say.
“I’ll be in the Oval at eight o’clock, having dinner, reviewing this farm bill. Should you decide to join me, I’ll have a second plate waiting and make sure you have no trouble getting in.”
The president returned to his audience but not before he looked at the cameras and gave them a front-page, headline-worthy smile. “Okay. Next question.”
Dillon was seething with anger. Not because the man behind the podium was some sort of pompous cowboy, but because of the flood of heat that made her cross her legs a little tighter while she wondered how well that cowboy could ride.
3
“You fucking owe me, Mercy. Your brother is a real piece of work,” Dillon said into her phone while sitting at her favorite corner table in the trendy coffee shop below her DC apartment. “Thank God I have a day off to recoup after yesterday’s bullshit in the Rose Garden. The media is having a fucking heyday with…”
Dillon looked up, and her jaw dropped when she saw a string of vehicles pull up and line the curb outside. When a handful of dark-suit-wearing men exited, she straightened. “Hey, Mercy? I…gotta call you back.”
She disconnected the call and stood as the door to the coffee shop opened. The parade of men and women — most of whom she recognized from her previous week’s research — filed in like a football team protecting its quarterback.
“Mr. President.” Dillon nodded as Ransom made his way to her table, his detail walling them off from the rest of the patrons.
Something was different about the man. He wasn’t as smug, smiling, or relaxed as he had been the day before. He held out his hand, gesturing to the seat across from Dillon. “May I?”
“Yes. Of course.” She furrowed her brow and took her seat when she realized he was waiting for her to sit before doing so himself. “Is…everything okay?”
“You tell me.”
Dillon studied him for a moment before answering. Something was wrong. He was biting the inside of his cheek, and the vein at his left temple was protruding and throbbing. Shit. He knew who she was and why she was here. “Sir, you’re going to have to clue me in.”
“The news…have you seen it?” Uncertainty laced his words, his confidence from the previous day absent. He was worried. For her. “I’m so sorry. I expect them to go after me, but I didn’t think they’d come for you the way they did.”
Dillon relaxed in her seat with a sigh of relief. “Oh…that.” She rolled her eyes. “Your love life has been breaking news since the day you announced your candidacy, sir. This is nothing new.”
“I may be used to it, but you aren’t, and I apologize for bringing such attention your way. I wanted to be sure you were okay.”
Dillon tossed a hand in the air. “Ehh…I kinda liked the sexy siren reference. It gave me a good laugh.”
“I’d tell you they aren’t wrong, Ms. Stone…” He was finally relaxing back into old habits. “But that would be inappropriate.”
Dillon snorted at his use of her words. “You’re a quick learner, Mr. President.”