“Understood.”
He likely continues to speak, but I don’t hear it as I disconnect the call and turn to Gabriel. “Call your boss.”
With that handled, I proceed through the lobby, following the signs to the symposium and The Corcoran Ballroom. When I arrive at the location overlooking the canal, I pause in the doorway, scanning the scene of attendees. Many wear name tags, and there’s a low hum of chatter. The foyer is set with a continental breakfast—white linen tables, silver urns of coffee, and croissants under glass domes. The marble floors reflect the light from the large windows and, with the light at their backs, it’s more difficult to discern facial details.
But one man in a pin-striped suit turns, and I recognize him instantly.
Matthew Delacroix.
Heat floods my face, then drains away just as quickly.
His presence is unexpected. He hates these events.
His eyes find mine across the room. That smile. Slow, knowing.
The clink of china and polite laughter grate against my nerves.
A friend approaches, and I welcome her with a smile.
“Christine,” I say, greeting her with an air kiss to her cheek. “How are you? Come with me to get coffee?”
“Sure. The banana muffins they set out, let me tell you, they’re worth the calories.”
“Well, I’ve already had breakfast.” It’s a lie, but I don’t eat muffins. “But I would like coffee.”
“Did you notice that they dropped the women’s leadership panel?”
“I actually did not.” I participated in it last year, but this year I’m here strictly as an attendee. “Is it a worthwhile agenda?”
“Meh,” she says and pauses to wiggle her fingers at someone across the room. “It’s fine. Nothing new. Introductory remarks, then we break out. I think I’m going to attend the session on effective press releases.”
“These days, it seems most papers print the press release verbatim—might as well write them like you want the article to read.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Matthew slip away from the assembly, heading in the opposite direction. Away from the crowd.
I force my attention back to Christine. She’s dating someone new and I’m cautiously happy for her. The reason for my caution vibrates in my hand.
Christine glimpses the notification on my screen. “Ah, look who it is. The dick.”
With a frown, I swipe to read his entire text.
* * *
Dick: Alicia, we need to talk. Can you please call me?
* * *
My stomach knots. Of course, he could have left it at that, but that’s not Richard’s style. A second text follows, and it’s written with the formality of someone who has been coached that all texts might one day find themselves before a judge.
* * *
Dick: Bill Canon filled me in on the situation. I believe it’s in Stella’s best interest that she live with me during this time that you require a security detail. Please call me. I’d like to handle this without involving outside counsel.
* * *
Who the hell is Bill Canon? Senator Crawford shared details with few people. But given the White House Chief of Staff committed suicide and there’s an open investigation, I suppose nothing stays secret on the hill.
“Alicia? Are you okay?”