Fonduing Fathers (18 page)

“It’s like trick-or-treating,” I said. “I bet your mom doesn’t let you have anything until she goes through it. Am I right?”

He nodded solemnly. “I bet we don’t even get to go trick-or-treating this year.”

I didn’t know how to answer that, but Quinn leaned over. “I’ll go over every single piece with you and your mom today, okay?” He straightened and gave me a rueful smile as if to say he felt sorry for Josh and his sister’s fishbowl existence. “Ms. Paras is right: This is just like trick-or-treating, except for the fact that most of this is food instead of candy.”

Pre-packaged, over-processed food for the most part, I
wanted to add. That’s all Josh had been allowed to take. Our plastic collection bags weren’t exactly conducive to amassing the fresh offerings. Still, I understood the boy’s excitement and I hoped he would be able to enjoy most of his stash.

We wandered up Aisle Two, with Josh stopping at every booth along the way, maximizing our last few minutes. When I turned, I noticed a booth for a company I hadn’t thought to look for here. My knees went a little weak.

I turned to Quinn. “Do you mind if I go talk to those people for a minute?”

His eyes narrowed. “What’s up?”

I couldn’t tell him the truth. “A company I’m interested in.”

He glanced over at the giant logo. “Dietary supplements?” he asked. “You’re into that stuff?”

“A friend of mine is,” I said, fooling no one. Before he could give me the okay, I’d started toward Pluto’s sage-green booth, intending to pick up any paperwork they might offer. There were no prospective customers in the made-to-look-like-a-doctor’s-office scene, only a dark-haired woman with her back to me, adjusting the spotlights to best illuminate the sampling of Pluto’s products on wide glass shelves.

I didn’t need to bother her. At the mouth of the deep booth was a counter with a plastic display case offering all the paperwork about the company I could possibly want. I knew most of it would prove useless to me, but I gathered it up nonetheless.

The woman must have sensed me there because she turned.

I sucked in a breath of surprise.

It was the woman with the bright pink chunk of hair. “Hello,” she said. “That was a great demonstration by the White House pastry chef, wasn’t it?”

“Y-YES,” I STAMMERED, PANICKING AS THOUGH I’d been caught stealing. “Yes, it was.”

She sauntered over and saw that I’d picked up every single one of the pamphlets they offered. “You’re interested in dietary supplements, I take it?”

“I’m interested in your company,” I said. That wasn’t a lie though I was doing my best to come up with one. “I was…that is, I
am
interested in diet and foods and…uh…cooking. That’s why I’m here.” I punctuated that with a self-deprecating laugh, then chanced upon a genius idea. “I’ve heard great things about working at Pluto. You caught me doing homework.”

“Oh,” she said with a knowing look. “You’ll want an employment application then, won’t you?”

I didn’t get the sense that this woman recognized me as a member of the White House staff but I couldn’t be sure. She was either watching me oddly, or it was my guilty
conscience chuckling on my shoulder. “I’d love one,” I said. “I’ve been out of work for a while.”

“What do you do?”

Time to stay with the truth. “I’m a chef,” I said. “I’ve worked all over the world, as a matter of fact. But the job market is especially tough right now.”

“It sure is,” she said sympathetically. Pulling a folded sheet out from a stack beyond the sight of most visitors, she handed it to me. “You can fill it out here if you like, or if you prefer, mail it in. To be frank, that might be your best option. I have a lot to clean up here when the Expo is over and I wouldn’t want it to get lost.”

“Good point,” I said. “That’s what I’ll do. Thank you.”

I started to turn away, but she called me back. “What’s your name?” she asked. “So I can keep an eye out for your application.”

I hesitated. “Livvy,” I said, keeping with a version of my real first name.

“What’s your last name, Livvy?”

In my mind’s eye I could see Bucky having a good laugh at my expense. “Livvy Reed,” I said, borrowing his surname.

“I’m Sally Burns,” she said. We shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Livvy.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Quinn and Josh waiting for me. “Looks like the family’s ready to go,” I said. “Thank you again.”

“Best of luck to you,” she said.

“What was that all about?” Quinn asked when I returned to the group.

“Yes, Ms. Paras, you had me nervous for a moment there,” Sargeant said. “That woman sat next to me at Marcel’s event. Is she onto us?”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Then why on earth did you go talk with her? That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Let’s keep walking,” Quinn said. He arranged it so that Josh walked between us again. Rosenow covered one flank, Means the other. Sargeant trailed. We made it back to our vehicle with no one giving us a second glance—or even a first one, for that matter.

Sargeant wasn’t about to let the matter drop. As we settled ourselves and pulled out of the parking spot, the man was not exhibiting as much sensitivity as his title suggested. “Why did you engage that woman? What’s going on?”

“And you tell me I’m nosy,” I said in an attempt to derail the subject.

Unfortunately for me, Quinn picked up the thread. “I must admit, I’m curious as well. Was that a job application she handed you?” His eyes glittered in the sunlight that spilled in as we exited the dark lot.

“It’s a long story,” I said. “One that has nothing to do with today or any of you, so if you don’t mind…”

Sargeant regarded me coolly. He folded his arms and stared out the window. “As you wish,” he said.

Quinn asked, “You aren’t looking for a new job, are you?”

Next to me, Josh spoke up. “You can’t look for a new job, Ollie. You aren’t, are you?”

His earnest face, the apprehension in his voice, and the way he scooched forward, though hampered by his seat belt, tugged at my heart. I put an arm around him. “No, Josh. I’m not. She misinterpreted my interest and I didn’t want to be rude.”

When we got back to the White House, but before we alighted, Josh reminded Quinn that he’d promised to go through all the freebies in his bag that same day. Quinn said he’d have it back to him within an hour.

The car stopped behind the south entrance and, as we disembarked, I grabbed my plastic bag of freebies. “Uh-uh,” Quinn said, catching the edge of it and preventing my exit. “I have to go through that one, too.”

I laughed. “It’s for me. Not for anyone in the First Family,” I said.

“Can’t be too careful.”

Sargeant scrambled out from behind me. “I cannot wait to change from this monstrous outfit,” he said. With a shudder, he added, “Thank you for an illuminating adventure. I know my presence added a great deal to the boy’s experience.”

His sarcasm wasn’t lost on anyone. There had been no chance for Sargeant to interact at all with Josh. I also knew that it didn’t really matter. Mrs. Hyden had pressed the sensitivity director into this adventure in order to keep her husband happy. If the president believed that Josh was learning about diplomacy on the same trip he learned about food, everyone was happy. Except, perhaps, Sargeant.

He bustled off.

I turned to Quinn. “When do I get my goodies back?”

Quinn looked amused, so I pushed my luck. “All I really want is the paperwork I picked up. You can keep the munchies.”

He adopted a curious expression. “I’ll tell you what, Ms. Paras. I’ll give you the entire bag back in one hour. Will that do? I’ll bring it to you in the kitchen.”

I needed to change clothes and freshen up anyway. “Sure, that sounds great.”

HAPPY TO BE LOOKING LIKE MYSELF AGAIN after scrubbing my face and changing into jeans and a cotton top, I headed back into the kitchen. Thora wasn’t around today and I didn’t want to leave the wig and bright pink outfit lying around where it could get lost or misplaced. I had no idea when she and her team would return, so I packed the disguise into my gym bag and decided to take it home until I knew what to do with it.

While I waited for Quinn to return with my goodie bag and Pluto paperwork, Bucky and I discussed Marcel’s presentation at the Food Expo and menu plans. The two SBA chefs we’d hired for the evening were hard at work preparing dinner. The president and Mrs. Hyden were entertaining a group of mayors and their wives tonight. Dinner for sixteen.

I’d offered to help while we waited, but Bucky tossed that suggestion aside. “You’re supposed to be on vacation. Speaking of which…” He got a glint in his eyes. “Seems to me you’ve been in a really good mood lately.”

Uh-oh.
I pressed my hands to my chest. “What are you saying? That I’m usually grouchy?”

He wagged a finger at me. “Don’t try to get around it; you know what I mean.”

“I’m sure I have no idea.”

“And I’m just as sure you do.” He took a step closer. “There’s someone special in your life, isn’t there?”

“Psh,”
I said, giving him a dismissive hand motion. “You’re seeing what you want to see.”

“Curious,” he said, close enough to me that the two worker-bee chefs wouldn’t overhear, “you’re trying to put me off the scent but you’re not out and out denying it.”

He was good. Still, I wasn’t about to spill. “I see no reason to—”

“Ollie,” he said very quietly, “keep in mind that I’ve worked next to you for quite a few years now.” He winked. “I can tell.”

To maintain the charade at this point felt wrong. But owning up didn’t feel right, either. Fortunately for me, Bucky seemed to understand. “I don’t know who it is,” he said. “No idea at all. I thought I did, but…” He let the words hang before picking them up again. “It doesn’t matter who. If you’re happy, we’re happy.”

“We?”

“Cyan and I have talked.”

“About my love life?”

He scratched the back of his bald head, but he was grinning. “We ran out of conversation while you were gone. Don’t worry. We waited until Virgil was out of range.”

“Thank goodness for small favors.”

Bucky held up his hands. “So? Who is he?”

“I thought it didn’t matter.”

“Anyone we know?”

I shook my head. “Not telling.”

“Come on. A hint?”

“Not yet.”

“Ms. Paras,” Quinn called from the doorway.

I turned to see the agent making his way past one of the SBA agents. He held the plastic goodie bag and as I approached, he handed it over to me. He was still dressed in his “suburban dad” getup, but he’d donned an identifying Secret Service pin and wore a cord in his ear. “Thank you very much, Agent Quinn,” I said, digging into the bag to ensure all my Pluto paperwork was still there.

“My pleasure,” he said.

“Did you find anything amiss?”

“No, ma’am,” he said.

Bucky was watching our interchange closely. I wasn’t surprised. After my near-admission about actually having a love life, my assistant would be looking to put a face to the mystery person’s identity. I was certain he was assessing Quinn’s potential.

For his part, the agent didn’t seem eager to leave the busy kitchen. “Thank you again,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint.

He didn’t. With a consternated look, he tilted his head. “Would you have a moment for private conversation, Ms. Paras?”

Bucky must be having a field day now. “Sure,” I said.

He led me out of the kitchen just around the corner. We stood beneath the stone archway that still bore the scars of
fire from when the White House was attacked by the British in the War of 1812.

Quinn was taller than I was, but most people were. He wasn’t quite Gav’s height, but his light eyes pierced me much the way Gav’s had when we’d first met. I had no doubt I was in for a lecture.

“Ms. Paras,” he began, and I braced myself. “May I call you Olivia?”

I hadn’t expected the question. Startled, I replied. “Sure, but I’d prefer Ollie.”

“Thank you.” He gave a brief nod. “Today when you left the group to talk to the representative at the Pluto booth, you took us by surprise. We would have been happy to make allowances for you to stop there, had we known your desire to do so.”

As far as Secret Service admonishments went, this one registered as mild. “I didn’t know the Pluto booth was going to be there,” I said. “Otherwise, I would have mentioned it ahead of time. I apologize for any trouble I caused.”

“No trouble,” he said, making me wonder how this guy ever made it into the Secret Service. Most of the agents I’d encountered viewed deviations from “the plan” as sacrilege. Why was I getting off easy?

“If I may ask,” he continued, “what it was about Pluto that aroused your interest? Not that I mean to pry, but…” He let the thought hang, one eye narrowed at me, scrutinizing.

“Nothing of national importance, trust me,” I said. “My dad worked for that company a long time ago, a fact I was reminded of recently. I was curious.”

That seemed to satisfy him. “Thank you. I appreciate your honesty.”

He didn’t say it with a sneer. Didn’t seem suspicious, didn’t appear to doubt my words. “Anytime,” I said.