Fatal Diversion (The Keeper's Series #4) - Stephanie St. Klaire Page 0,3
you’re trying to…make me…melt…or…something.” Dillon found herself caught in his stare as she struggled to find words.
“Is it working?” He grinned, snapping her out of her stupor.
“N-No.” She straightened. “Of course not. You’re the…president.”
“And you’re Ms. Stone.”
Dillon buried her face in her hands for a moment before raking them through her hair. “I was starting to dislike you less. Dillon…please.”
“Only if you call me Ran. Everyone close to me does.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. How about you tell me why you’re here.” They were beating the proverbial dead horse, so Dillon changed the direction of the conversation before she continued to fall under his spell and do other things he wanted.
“You missed dinner and our meeting.”
“Right. I told you I’d think about it, and…well, I thought about it and decided on pizza and staying in. I have a meeting with one of your staffers in a few weeks.”
“Is that so, Ms. Stone?”
“Are we seriously going to keep this going?” She made a crooked face to mock him. “Hello, Ms. Stone. Why yes, Ms. Stone…”
“You’re the one for formalities.”
“Point taken. Surely there is more to your visit than asking if I watch the news and to see if I ate dinner last night. And before you ask…no, no date.” She rolled her hands in the air, signaling for him to get on with it.
“You’ll know if I’m trying to date you,” he assured. “I wanted to pick up where we left off. We still have business to tend to.”
She nodded. “Business. Are you sure you want to talk…here? How did you know I’d be here anyway?”
“It’s my business to keep my finger on the pulse of things I’m interested in. There’s little I don’t know or can’t find out when needed.” He paused, letting that sink in. “I think we are cut from the same salt-of-the-earth cloth. Farmers like your family are important to me and the core of our country. I vowed to help them, be a voice for them, and here you are.”
“You know about my family, impressive. You’ve done your research.” Dillon leaned forward and rested her chest on the table to accentuate her cleavage, knowing it would distract him. She could play this game too. “We are hardly cut from the same cloth, sir. Comparing the small family farm who’s struggled to survive for three generations through Mother Nature’s wrath and playing the pawn in political games to your family’s multimillion-dollar cattle ranch that feeds half the free world hardly puts us on the same playing field, let alone the same cloth. We aren’t the same.”
“You’ve done your research too, but we only feed half of America, not the free world, Ms. Stone.”
“Okay, fine.” She put her hands up in surrender. “You win, sir. I mean…Ran.”
“There’s only one place you should call me sir.”
A loud bang rang out, and glass shattered as Ransom dived across the table and pulled Dillon to the ground with him. People were screaming as they scrambled to hide behind any barrier they could find while the president’s detail fell into order with their weapons drawn. Some hunkered behind vehicles while some stood boldly in front of the blown-out window, willing to take a bullet for Ransom.
Before Dillon knew what was happening, she was being lifted to her feet by two men from the president’s detail. “This way, ma’am.”
Ransom moved from the huddle protecting him and pulled Dillon to him. “Not a chance.” He looked out the window and scanned the area just as she did, each trying to make sense of the chaos surrounding them. “She stays with me.”
“As you wish, Mr. President,” one of the men said. The couple was ushered through the back of the building and into a vehicle as it came to a screeching halt at the exit to extract the president and move him to safety. Dillon was a part of Ransom’s exit plan. He had a team protecting him — but he was protecting her.
As the vehicle sped off and joined a second caravan that made up their extraction detail, Ransom turned Dillon to face him and brushed her hair from her face. Flipping her arms top to bottom, he frantically inspected every inch of her for injuries while she sat stunned
“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do we need medical?” Nothing about his tone was playful or relaxed. This man sitting before her was in combat mode, full of concern. “Dillon, answer me. Are you okay?”