Confessions of a First Daughter (12 page)

“Uh…I’ll ask him.” Bowling? Yeah, right.

I gave my mom a kiss on the cheek. “See you in the morning.”

Once in my room I tore off the wig and ran my fingers over my itchy scalp. I scrubbed my face and added a swipe of daring lip color. A squirt of hairspray fluffed up my flattened hair. Once I slipped into jeans and a funky top, I felt like myself again.

Parker called the family line to tell me the Secret Service detail had moved Prince Richard to the Treaty Room, which was next door to the Yellow Oval Room. When I arrived, Prince Richard was peering out of the south-facing window, where night now lay velvety over the spectacular Washington, D.C., skyline.

“Hey there.” I stuck out my hand and introduced myself.

The prince took it gratefully.

“Ready to get out of here?” I asked him.

“Absolutely!” The prince’s gorgeous eyes shifted to his cadre of aides hovering at a discreet distance. “But where would we go?”

“I’ve got a few ideas. There’s just one important thing I have to deal with before we can go.”

The prince sighed. “Security.”

“Bingo.”

He gestured to a nearby member of his staff. “That will give me time to ask someone to go to my suite at the Watergate and get me some appropriate clothes.”

“Great! See you in a bit.”

I excused myself and went to find Max. He wasn’t at all happy when I informed him that I wanted to go out with Prince Richard, the most photographed celebrity in the world.

“C’mon, Max,” I wheedled. “The poor guy’s been stuck at official functions since he came to the U.S. Besides, my mom wants me to entertain him.”

“Was this you as your mom or the real president?”

“It was my idea, but Mom agreed.”

Max’s jaw hardened and I could see the vein on his neck pulse above his buttoned-up collar. “And what do you think she meant by the word ‘entertain’?” he asked sharply.

I blinked. Was Max angry at me? “She’d love it if we played Scrabble and drank lemonade, but since it’s a Friday night, I was thinking of something more exciting…like dancing.”

“Morgan—”

“What if we go to the Purple Panda? They’ve got a new DJ.”

“Out of the question. For one thing, you’re underage.”

“How about Asylum, then? They always book killer bands.” The more Max resisted my plan, the more I wanted to do it.

Max ran a hand through his short-cropped hair in frustration. “May I remind you that you’re still a minor?”

“Please, so are you! It’s not like no one ever snuck into a nightclub before they reached legal drinking age. Besides, we’re not going out to drink, we’re going out to dance.”

“Morgan. I’m serious. The security of both you and the prince is too important to compromise for a night out on the town.”

“Max. I’m serious, too. Prince Richard and I want out of The Bubble for a little while. I’ll call Hannah, too. She’s got a huge crush on the guy…it’ll be an early birthday present for her.”

“You want Hannah to come?”

“Sure. Plus you’ll be there, as will the prince’s detail. What could go wrong?”

Max chewed his lip. At the mention of Hannah, the tension around his shoulders seemed to ease. “All right,” he said after a long moment of consideration. “But we do this my way. I’ll call in a favor, and see if we can get you into Vex.”

“Vex?” Holy cow! Vex was the hottest club in the metro D.C. area!

“I know the head of security there,” Max continued. “I’ll send the advance team to sweep the place. I’ll check if the VIP room is available, too.”

I gave a yelp of joy.

“BUT—and Morgan, this is a big but—you’ve got to promise me not to do anything crazy.”

“I promise to remain in visual contact with my Secret Service team at all times.” I crossed my heart.

“If I say we have to move out, we have to move out. No lip, no flack.”

“Got it.”

“Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret this?” Max muttered.

“Nah.” I punched him playfully on the arm. “Nothing’s going to go wrong. You’re in charge, remember?”

Max regarded me warily. Or was that wearily? “Being in charge of a tornado is much harder than it looks,” he said.

Chapter Sixteen

“Secret Agent Man is getting us into Vex?
With Prince Richard?” Hannah squealed. “No way!”

“He knows a guy.”

“Impressive.”

It was. It really was. Max went up a notch or two in my estimation, but nothing could prepare me for the sight of Max when Prince Richard and I arrived at the motorpool. My baby-faced Secret Service agent was dressed in a black shirt—no tie in sight—and well-worn jeans slung low at his hips to show off flat abs. Had that hot bod been lurking under his boring gray business suit all this time?

“Who’s that bloke?” Prince Richard asked. He’d changed into an exquisitely tailored Euro-style shirt topped with a leather bomber jacket and knitted skullcap that covered his distinctive wavy black hair.

“That’s my Secret Service agent.” I blinked a couple times to make sure. Max looked almost…cool.

“What’s the deal?” I asked Max, who stood by the door of the limo, waiting. “Where’s the suit?”

Despite the new clothes, Max was all business. “I have to blend in, Morgan. Unless you want everyone in Vex to know that the president’s daughter and Prince Richard of Great Britain are getting their groove on with them.”

True. Max would stick out like a sore thumb in his business suit.

Still. It unnerved me how different he looked—like he should be sitting next to me in calculus class instead of muttering into his wireless com and concealing his government-issue firearm.

I tried to ignore Max as the limo slid through traffic to the revitalized part of Anacostia’s waterfront, where Hannah’s parents owned one of the new high-rises going up near the Nationals’ baseball stadium. Lights glittered over the Anacostia River, and good hostess that I was, I pointed out notable landmarks to the prince like the Marvin Gaye Memorial Park and the historic wharves, which the British burned down in 1812.

The prince, good guest that he was, feigned polite interest and apologized for the burnings until Hannah emerged from the lobby of the luxury condo; then he became Scooby-Doo eyeing a Scooby Snack. Hannah had pulled out all the stops for this occasion. A clingy knit dress in a gorgeous shade of fuchsia set off her chocolate skin, and she’d straightened her hair so it flowed silkily over her shoulders. The gold choker around her throat and matching armband bracelet winked in the light of the street lamp.

Gracefully she folded herself into the limo. “Lovely to meet you, Prince Richard,” she said in a low sultry voice, and held her hand out to him.

The prince swallowed, then hastily took her outstretched hand. “And you,” he murmured.

Max and I exchanged glances. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

A massive line snaked from the front door of Vex to around the block, but the advance team had managed to clear the back entrance for us. The Secret Service also posted agents in strategic places around the club’s interior.

Max checked me before we headed in. “Remember your promise, Morgan.” The expression on his face was tense.

I knew the hardest security situations were in public places like this. That’s why the Secret Service tried to keep people like the prince and me contained inside The Bubble, where they could control conditions.

“Nothing crazy’s going to happen. Just fun tonight,” I assured him.

But Max didn’t look reassured at all. “This place is sick!” Hannah yelled into my ear over the pulsing music.

“Isn’t it awesome?” I screeched back. Friday night and Vex was packed. Lasers shot blades of light over the wall-to-wall patrons. A DJ wearing shredded urban wear and a Nationals baseball cap stood on a lit platform and mixed dance cuts.

Hannah immediately pulled an unresisting Prince Richard onto the dance floor. They melded pretty well into the crowd heaving to a hip-hop remix of disco tunes. Smoke from dry-ice machines misted the room, and a disco ball lowered from the ceiling.

The whole thing—the music, the special effects—was so killer, the urge to dance overwhelmed me. No wonder Vex earned a reputation as the hottest club in D.C. I scanned the room looking for someone who would dance with me. But the only people nearby were security agents from the prince’s detail, and Max.

Desperate times…

“Come on, Max!” I pulled at his arm. “Let’s dance.”

He jerked away so hard, he elbowed one of the prince’s MI5 agents in the ribs. “That’s not a good idea, Morgan. I need to stay alert.”

“But it’ll look less suspicious. See, people are already starting to wonder about you guys.”

Max cast a hunted look at the cocktail tables over by the bar. Sure enough, some people were nodding and turning in my direction.

“Well…I guess it makes sense….”

A remixed Madonna song pumped through the sound system. That did it. I didn’t wait for Max to finish his sentence. I hauled him out on the dance floor and began grooving.

Max stood before me, eyes wide with shock, watching me gyrate. I may be the president’s daughter but I’ve got some moves.

“Get it together.” I laughed. “Dance!”

Max moved robotically for a few beats, and the thought crossed my mind that maybe I should have gone it alone. If the floor were any less crowded, Max would have been a little embarrassing. Then all at once he relaxed and his movements became fluid.

I flashed him a grin.

Max jerked his shoulders in a cool b-boy bodywave, and once again I realized that there was more to Special Agent Max Jackson than I’d previously suspected.

With Hannah and Prince Richard next to us, we danced through three decades of remixed hits. The floor became even more crowded, and heat from dancing bodies steamed up the wall mirrors.

We were pushed into the center of the packed dance floor. I couldn’t see anything over the heads of the bobbing dancers. My T-back halter top stuck between my shoulder blades, and the hair on the nape of my neck curled in the humidity.

The remix of nineties house music ended in a staccato drum solo. Then a slow song tinkled over the sound system.

I expected the floor to empty so I could grab a drink of mineral water, but no such luck. More dancers flooded on. We were stuck.

I saw Hannah and the prince sink into each other. She gave me a big fat wink over Prince Richard’s shoulder and settled her head on his shoulder.

I glanced at Max. Sweat plastered his short brown hair into spikes and I could see him looking for a way out of the packed floor.

I tried teasing him even though I felt a little weird myself. “You said you’d take a bullet for me. One slow dance won’t kill you.”

“Remember that this is in the line of duty,” he quipped, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He pulled me close; I draped my arms across his shoulders and we shuffled. I smelled his aftershave and tried not to think about how solid his biceps felt around me. Or the holster of his sidearm digging into my side.

Max tilted his head against mine. And then I tried not to think about how much I liked
that
. For a moment, I forgot that he’d been hired to do a job—protect me. Instead, all I could think about is how right it felt to be in his arms.

I sighed and snuggled closer; he tightened his hold on me.

Then he stiffened.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Cell phone video recorder,” he murmured into my ear. “Our cover’s been blown. We have to move.”

By the time Max had cleared a path to the door, the energy in the club had changed. Now a familiar buzz hummed underneath the music, and people were nudging one another and trying to get snaps of the prince and me on their cell phone cameras.

The security detail closed in. Max ushered us through the kitchen while he arranged for the Baby Beast to meet us at the back door. Unfortunately, a bunch of photographers and videographers already packed the alley hoping for that million-dollar shot.

“Your Royal Highness,” Max said to Prince Richard, “I’m afraid the paparazzi have discovered you.”

“Ah well.” Prince Richard slipped his arm around Hannah’s waist. “It was entirely worth it.”

The flash of cameras and digital recorders nearly blinded us. I grabbed Prince Richard’s hand to keep him from being mauled by a group of screaming girls and yanked him into the Baby Beast. Hannah and Max flung themselves in after us, and we rolled.

Max and I politely stared out opposite windows as the D.C. skyline eased by, while Hannah and the prince snuggled close. I reached for a bottle of water in the limo’s wet bar and my hand accidentally grazed Max’s. An electric shock passed between us. He jerked away like he’d been burned.

Whoa.

Was I beginning to fall for my Secret Service agent?

Chapter Seventeen

“I told you to keep the fun low-key, Morgan.”

Mom slapped the front page of
The Washington Post
next to my bowl of Frosted Flakes. She and I were eating breakfast in the family kitchenette.

With a sinking feeling, I stared at the grainy photo of me and Prince Richard ducking out of Vex’s back door. I was holding Prince Richard’s hand, and he happened to have his head turned toward me so that his gorgeous profile was perfectly captured. Max and Hannah were nowhere to be seen. Probably Photoshopped out of the shot.

“Mom, I can explain.” My mind raced. I didn’t want to get Max in trouble.

“You know what?” Mom sighed. She looked unusually tired. “I honestly don’t want to know. You and the prince made it home safely, and that’s the main thing.”

Mom’s taking a pass on giving me a lecture?
My
mother? “Is everything okay?”

“Actually, it is.” Mom took a sip of her herbal green tea and spread soy butter on her sprouted wheat toast. “I made real progress with the Mfuso junta last night. I think he might be ready to play ball after all.”

“That’s excellent, Mom!”

Mom allowed herself to crack a smile. “It
is
pretty excellent, isn’t it? But this means that next Saturday, you’ll have to be me again while I hold the meeting. Are you sure, Morgan? Totally, one hundred percent sure you can do this?”