Secrets of a First Daughter (8 page)

Prime Minister Eckley started to laugh.
“No one can accuse your daughter of beating around the bush, Sara. Is she always so forthright?”

“To a fault,” Mom said wryly.

“It's refreshing to hear such straight talk, and from someone so young. Overthinking a problem can be as detrimental as underthinking. Wouldn't you agree?”

Mom eyed Owen Eckley carefully, but she kept her expression neutral. Some political power play was happening between them that I suddenly realized had nothing to do with me.

“Would you excuse Morgan and me for a moment?” Mom said sweetly, and drew me aside.

“Did I mess up?” I asked her anxiously.

“Of course not. I'm proud of your response. You showed them you've got a brain and aren't afraid of speaking your
mind. However…” Here Mom tugged her ear, a gesture she used when she was finessing the situation. “
Snore fest
might have been a step too far. True, but too far.” She kissed me on the top of my head. “Maybe you'd be happier doing something else this afternoon. Perhaps a little sightseeing after all?”

I read between the lines. Mom needed me out of the way before I said something really embarrassing.

“What a fantastic idea, Madam President,” Trevor interjected. Didn't the guy understand discretion? Who barged into a private conversation like that? “I'd love to show Morgan what London has to offer.” Cue ookey smile.

I hesitated. As much as I wanted to get out of the Parliament's stuffy chambers and see the city, hanging with Trevor Eckley all afternoon was the last thing on my mind. I didn't trust the guy
at all
.

“But if you'd prefer to stay here, I'm sure you'll enjoy the next round of meetings, too, honey. We have an exciting docket of trade agreements to hash out, especially the proposed tariffs on textiles.” Mom sealed the deal.

I sighed heavily. “Hoo-kay, Trevor. Let's get out of here.”

“Fantastic.” Trevor tried to take my arm, but I shook him off.

Owen Eckley smirked. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do, son.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, Dad.”

Did male piggery swim in the Eckley gene pool?

Out in the foyer, Trevor and I waited for George to confab with her MI6 counterpart, who was Trevor's personal bodyguard. A sizable crowd had gathered outside the gates of the courtyard, tipped off that the president had arrived. I spied paparazzi with their zoom lenses trained on the door. We'd have to do a duck and dash to avoid them.

Outside the gates, digital cameras flashed and people screamed my name. I waved. Out of nowhere, Trevor wrapped his arm around me and he mirrored my smile and wave. I hoped the paparazzi could see my skin crawling. We let the paparazzi get a few shots before I discreetly elbowed him away and George bundled me into the unmarked car.

Trevor patted the seat next to him. “Got your space right here, American girl.”

“No thanks.” I slid closer to George.

A trace of annoyance flicked across his face, but then his expression grew pompous. “We'll start with the Tower of London—you'll want to see the Crown Jewels—or maybe we should go to Westminster Abbey first….”

“Hold up, Trevor. I want to check out Portobello Market first. I hear it's the coolest flea market in the world.”

“A flea market? You want to buy
used
clothing?”

“Vintage, one-of-a-kind clothing,” I corrected. Did
Trevor ever remove that stick up his rear end?

“Why don't you ask your American designers to send round some free samples from their warehouses? That's what Mum does. Hasn't paid a penny for clothes ever since the election.”

“Because the Abbotts don't abuse the power of our office to score free clothes,” I told him icily. “Besides, it'll be fun to explore the funky shops and walk around.”

He shrugged. “Run it past your security agent. I don't think she'll allow it.”

To my fury, Trevor was right. “Sorry, Morgan, we can't secure the location,” George said. “Creating a bubble in an open market would take at least forty-eight hours' advance notice.”

Grr!

“Well, what about a ride on an open double-decker bus? Tour the city? That can't be much of a security risk, can it?”

George shook her head. “One word: snipers. Can't risk it.”

This “sightseeing tour”—i.e., being stuck in a limo in the courtyard—was really starting to blow. “What about a cream tea in a tea shop?” I asked. “There's no security risk in having a snack, is there?”

The look on George's face said it all. A big, fat N-O.

That hurt. I really wanted to try a cream tea, ever since I'd heard Nigel rave about it.

“They canceled your London tour when you decided to go with your mother this morning. If we'd had more advance notice—” George began apologetically.

“It's okay. I guess we can't bubble the entire city of London just for me.”

We pulled out of the courtyard and Trevor directed the driver to motor us around Trafalgar Square and over Tower Bridge, but even those experiences were ruined by London's gridlock traffic and the squad of paparazzi on mopeds following our car. Finally, after witnessing more than one close call between paparazzi and pedestrians, I threw in the towel and instructed the driver to head back to our hotel.

So annoying. The afternoon was a complete bust, and my first full day in London was spent in conference rooms and behind bulletproof glass.

The day couldn't get much worse.

And then…it did.

Even though George and Trevor's MI6 agent had us in
a highly sophisticated and ironclad security bubble when we returned to the hotel, Trevor insisted on walking me upstairs to my room.

“It's not necessary,” I told him when I got into the chrome-plated elevator. “Really. George would flatten anyone who tried to get near me in a nanosecond.”

Trevor chuckled. “Just being polite, Morgan. I wouldn't dream of leaving you in the lobby. It's just not cricket.”

I'd had enough of Trevor Eckley to last a lifetime, but it wasn't worth arguing over. “Whatever.”

The elevator holding the four of us mercifully slid up the side of the building in about five seconds. In the polished metal of the doors, I could see Trevor leaning toward me, and I pointedly shifted away. What would it take for him to get the message I wasn't interested?

George and Trevor's MI6 agent headed toward the makeshift security station at the end of the hallway while Trevor walked me to the door of my room. “Thanks again for the tour,” I said.

“Aren't you going to invite me in?”

“Let's call it a day here. I'm bushed. Jet lag, y'know.”

I opened the door to my room a crack. I could see the beds were made, the room had been tidied, and fresh bottles of mineral water had been left on the table. I sighed, ready to kick off my flats and collapse, when I felt hot breath on my cheek.

I turned my head. Trevor Eckley was leaning in, trying to look inside my room.

“Back off.” I pushed at him.

“You're so cute when you're getting in a tizzy.”

“A tizzy?” The
hell
?

“Angry, Morgan. Angry.”

He leaned in again. Oh my god, he was going to kiss me!

I dodged and his mouth ended up on my cheek for a wet and slobbery kiss. Paralyzed with disgust, I couldn't even move when he tried again and planted his lips squarely on mine.

Ugh! I'd been slimed, British style.

“You know you want it,” Trevor panted when he pulled away. I think he was going for a sexy voice but was failing miserably. “The merging of two powerful nations…”

Oh my god. Trevor Eckley had officially surpassed my ex-boyfriend Konner Tippington as the most clued-out male ever.

“What I want is for you to respect my personal space,” I said firmly. He swooped in again. I cringed and dodged his lips. While my head was crooked down, I saw Max standing in the hall in front of an open elevator door. He stared at us with a shocked expression, then he turned right around and disappeared back into the elevator.

“Max! Wait!”

The ding of a closing elevator door was all that answered me.

Trevor, incredibly, was still trying to cop a feel. I elbowed him in the gut and ran to the elevators. Desperately I pounded at the buttons until the doors opened and I leaped inside the empty elevator. Maybe I could catch Max in the lobby and explain this latest Morgan mess. It was a total misunderstanding!

Down in the lobby, hotel employees and aides on my mom's staff flurried about in the dance I've come to know as Here Comes the Commander-in-Chief. No one wants to be caught slacking when the president waltzes in. Max cut efficiently between the scurrying bodies and vanished out the front door.

I clenched my fists. Max!

I was about to run after him, the bubble be damned,
when I felt a tug on my arm. “Morgan? Come on, we don't have much time for, you know, games. My old man is expecting me home before teatime.”

“You stupid jerk!” I swung around, blazingly furious at Trevor. The trajectory of my bunched fist was unfortunate, because my bared knuckles landed right on his nose.

“Ow!” he yelled, cupping his face.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” I spat at him.

Trevor Eckley blinked in confusion. His voice was muffled behind his hand. “I'm…the prime minister's son. And you're the president's daughter. It's fate. Kismet, or something like that. All the tabloids said we'd hook up when you came to visit.”

My god. Was he really that idiotic?

I suddenly realized that people were staring at us. I took a deep breath to keep from giving him a matching bruise on his jaw.

“Trevor, listen carefully. I have no interest in you. None. Nada. Zippo. Zilch. There is no kismet between us. The only reason we're together now is because our parents are world leaders. That's it.”

Trevor listened to me intently, taking it all in. “So does that mean we're not going to Chinawhite for cocktails?”

A lost cause.

The elevator doors opened, and George and Trevor's
MI6 agent emerged. A thunderous expression darkened George's pixie face. “You'd better have a good explanation for dashing off the floor like a bat outta hell without informing me of your destination first, Morgan.”

I did, only it wouldn't be one that George would accept. “I, um, thought I saw someone I knew.”

“Thought you knew? Who?”

My teeth gnawed my lower lip. I was too upset to even think up a convincing fib. “Agent Jackson,” I said, giving up.

“As in Agent Max Jackson? Here, in London?”

“He, um, ran out the front doors and I hoped I could catch him.” My eyes pleaded with her not to ask any probing questions.

“Excellent. Great. This won't end badly
at all
.” She shut her eyes briefly, as if she contemplated having her brain checked for sanity. “Do you want me to go after him?”

“Could you?” I breathed in relief. “That would be so cool of you, George. I swear I'd never cause you any problems ever again.”

“Don't make any promises you can't keep.” George glanced at her MI6 counterpart, who was politely but firmly reaming Trevor for breaking
his
bubble of security. Trevor's hangdog expression and swollen nose were super satisfying. The iron grip the agent had on Trevor's shoulder
while he steered him toward the back exit also pleased me.

“All right, I'll try to find him. But you've got to head straight back to your suite. No delays, detours, or more fistfights. Got it?”

Yay! “Got it. And, thank you.”

George nodded curtly before heading out the hotel's front doors.

In the elevator zipping back up to the top floor, a wave of exhaustion swamped me. A delayed reaction to having Max see me in the arms of Trevor Eckley, I supposed, coupled with the fact that George now knew Max was in London. And she must suspect there was something more between me and Max. Things were getting complicated fast, and I'd been in town less than forty-eight hours.

The bell dinged when I reached my floor. I was sooo looking forward to getting out of my boring clothes and into a pair of jeans, when the doors slid apart to reveal Brittany Whittaker.

I wasn't catching any breaks today.

“Hey there, Morgan. Back from touring London?”

I elbowed past her. “I haven't seen much yet,” I muttered.

“Oooh, too bad. I just got back from a major splurge session in Mayfair.” She held up Stella McCartney and Burberry shopping bags. “My dad gave me his black American Express card and told me to go wild. Hm, you look upset. There isn't any trouble in paradise with Supersecret Agent Man, is there?”

The hollow pit in my stomach grew to the size of a
watermelon. “What are you getting at?”

“It's just that most men don't like sharing their girlfriends with other guys. I saw you flirting with that freckly dude. Was that the prime minister's son?” she asked innocently.

I got right in her face. “Careful, Brits. You overplay your hand with me, and you'll get more than you bargained for. Now leave me
and
Max alone.”

I stomped off, ignoring her sputters. It felt good to tell Brittany off, but the satisfaction only lasted a second. I knew I'd just given her more ammunition to send that photo of me and Max when we got back to the States. Plus it killed me that Max might have gotten the wrong idea about Trevor. He already felt insecure about dating the president's daughter. I didn't want to give him another reason to question our relationship.

I prayed that George would find him quickly so I could clear the air with him. Maybe we'd even laugh about it later.

Maybe.