A Wedding She'll Never Forget

“You’re my boss,” she said. “Being attracted to you would never enter my head.”

“Same here.”

“Because of that extra ear in the middle of my forehead, right?”

“All I’m saying is a man knows when there’s a mutual connection. He feels that spark. The simmer of primal heat.”

She knitted her fine, dark eyebrows together. “Maybe you should talk to a boy buddy about this.”

“No. I need a female’s take.”

Pushing out a breath, she crossed over to him, her designer combat trousers rustling as she took a seat. “So, you met a woman.”

“I asked her out to dinner. She declined.”

Morgan grinned. “I’ll put out a press release.”

“She wanted to say yes, but something held her back. She was trying her best to be cool about it. Dismissive. But I’m not mistaken. Those sparks were firing.”

He recalled the way Scarlet Anders had looked at him, almost fearful but hungry, too. What was the problem? She didn’t like his cologne?

“My best guess,” Morgan said, “is that she’s either seeing a guy or getting over one.”

“Attached or burned … I see.” He absorbed the opinion, then went on. “I have her number. Business number at least.” He drummed his fingers on the desk, made a decision, then reached for the phone. “I’ll call her.”

Morgan cringed. “If she said no, that move could feel a little stalkerish.”

“I don’t stalk. It’d be a follow-up.”

“Uh-huh.” She stretched out her legs and her Doc Marten heels dug into beige plush pile. “Who is she?”

Daniel filled Morgan in. She already knew about Max and Caroline Cranshaw tying the knot; part of his reason for being in D.C. was to personally congratulate the couple and offer his support before the big day. Morgan hadn’t known about his planned visit to DC Affairs, however. When he’d finished telling her about his meeting with Scarlet, his assistant blinked twice.

“Let me get this straight. You want to help a professional wedding planner plan a wedding?”

“You’re on my side, remember?”

“Fine.” She shrugged as if this most difficult problem had an easy solution. “Next time you meet up with Max Grayson and his fiancée, ask a few questions about your Scarlet. If she and Caroline Crawshaw are good friends, as you say they are, she’ll gush with information.”

The cogs began to whir, and his smile grew and grew.

“Very crafty, Ms. Tibbs.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Now you’re accusing me of being shrewd?” Tipping back, he thatched his fingers behind his head and put his loafers up on the desk, crossing one ankle over the other. “Need I remind you that I’m the poster boy for Free and Easy.”

“Or that’s what you’d like everyone to believe, including yourself.”

His grin wavered. Sometimes he wondered if his assistant knew him a little too well.

“Now that we have your social life sorted,” Morgan went on, “you need to know who called today. It’s not public knowledge yet, but apparently a congressional committee has been formed to investigate concerns regarding hacking into private computer systems and phone networks during the presidential campaign.”

“Which resulted in the president’s paternity question.” Daniel straightened and set both feet on the floor. “Why am I not surprised?”

“They want you to return their call as soon as possible.”

An army of ants crawled up Daniel’s back and he shuddered. “I don’t like this cloak and dagger stuff.”

“Then you’d better get the hell out of Dodge.” When his frown didn’t ease, she sighed and pushed to her feet. “You’re the current Mr. Big of the IT world. They want to pump you for information on the basics as well as possible dangers of hacking they’d rather not even think about. Most importantly, they’re hoping you can tell them who might be behind it all.” She headed out. “I’ll get that commission representative back on the phone.”

“Hang on to that thought.” Daniel reached for the office extension. “The White House might be digging for clues, but I have a pressing matter of my own to clear up first.”

He’d decided to follow Morgan’s sound advice regarding Scarlet Anders. He wouldn’t call her. He had a far better idea.

Scarlet greeted Ariella Winthrop at her Georgetown town house with a huge I’m-here-for-you hug, then quickly shut the door.

After receiving Ariella’s text message, Scarlet had called her right back. Her friend had wanted a hand to hold when she read the paternity results. Rather than meet at Ariella’s house or the office, where the chance of media hounds skulking around was higher, they’d agreed to meet at Scarlet’s home as soon as possible.

Now Ariella reached to take her friend’s hand at the same time Scarlet spotted the envelope.

“When I lost my adoptive parents in that accident,” Ariella said, lifting that envelope to her chest, “I missed them so much I prayed that a miracle would bring them back. Now I’m finally facing the prospect of knowing my biological father. Hopefully having a relationship. I can’t get my head around the fact that man might be the president of the United States.”

“You still haven’t spoken with Ted Morrow?”

“Only his office. It’s all very clinical. Respectful but with an undercurrent of ‘tread carefully.’ As if I’m anyone to be afraid of.”

Except where the president’s popularity polls were concerned, Scarlet thought. This situation should have had nothing to do with politics but some were of the opinion private skeletons in the closet made for the juiciest scandals. In this day and age of sharing everything with everyone on sites like Waves, it seemed that nothing remained sacred, including an individual’s feelings.

Scarlet asked, “How are you holding up?”

“I have so many nerves bouncing around in my stomach, I feel sick.”

“Come in. Sit down. We’ll open it together.”

Arms around each other’s waists, Scarlet guided her friend through to the living room. They’d spent months here together in this very room, going over plans for their business, discussing individual strengths, hopes, fears. Both women had been so anxious—and thrilled—when the doors to DC Affairs had finally opened.

Since then, they’d learned together and, like anyone, had made their share of mistakes. But they hadn’t quarreled once and, consequently, their friendship had grown even stronger. There were times they laughed and times where one or the other had needed support.

Times like this.

The women took a seat close together on a sofa positioned adjacent to the piano and directly opposite the fireplace. On the mantel, Scarlet’s parents smiled out from the heart of a white-gold frame. The three Anderses were cut from the same cloth—proud, strong and loving…. Although her mother could be a little, well, overzealous sometimes. She was pleased her daughter was dating a Matheson, and didn’t lose an opportunity to remind Scarlet of such.

Still, if there was one thing Scarlet could be certain of, it was her roots. Today, Ariella’s journey of fitting together missing pieces of her own past might truly have begun.

Staring down at the envelope, Ariella siphoned back a big lungful of air, then blew it shakily out.

“I haven’t stopped looking in the mirror, at photos,” she said, “wondering if there’s a resemblance. I find myself smiling, hoping that it’s him. Then I wince thinking how he might react if it’s true. And most of all …” She pushed out a sigh. “Most of all I wonder about my mother. I’m actually grateful the press dug around the president’s earlier life and found out who his high school sweetheart was. We know she left for Ireland years ago, but why can’t Eleanor Albert be found now? Why did she give me up for adoption? I need to know why she and Ted Morrow broke up. Was it because of the baby? Because of me?”

“At least you have a name now,” Scarlet said gently.

Ariella nodded, pushed out another shuddery breath, then shunted the envelope across to her friend.

“Will you do it?” she asked. “I’m shaking so much, I might tear it.”

A withering feeling fell through Scarlet’s center. The country was on tenterhooks waiting for these results. Now was one of those pivotal moments in history, and she’d be one of the first to know the truth.

Scarlet pried open the flap, slid out the record, ran her eye down the page. Lots of stats, but the information Ariella so desperately sought was outlined at the top.

“It says there’s a 99.99999% probability of paternity.” Lowering the page, Scarlet met her friend’s glassy gaze. “That means Ted Morrow is your father. Ariella, you’re the president’s daughter.”

“There’s been a whisper. A congressional committee’s been formed to look into this hacking business.”

Receiver pressed to an ear, Daniel smirked at Max Grayson’s announcement. “I was privileged to have received a personal invitation to the proceedings.”

The laptop sat at one side of his desk. Daniel opened the most recent Waves feed, scrolled down, but no word of a committee had gone viral yet … although every man and his dog was discussing ANS’s paternity accusation against President Morrow.

“The White House must be revved up on high preparing to hunt down anyone connected with tampering with private phone and computer lines to obtain the information.” Max circled back. “Did you just say someone from this committee called you?”

“Affirmative. Can you give me some background? I know that Brit, Colin Middlebury, was lobbying for the U.S. to form a tech treaty with the U.K.”

“Middlebury got the treaty through with Senator Tate’s support. Word is, Middlebury’s family has been stung by hacking jobs in Britain. He’s passionate about hauling guilty parties out into the open and bringing them to justice.” Max’s voice lowered. “If they’ve asked you to appear, be sure to take your lawyer.”

Daniel groaned. “And a joyous time was had by all.”

“Don’t joke about it. They’ll pick your brains till they bleed about the fundamentals and specifics of the nebulous art of hacking. Whether you might have any ideas or leads on any likely suspects.”

“I’m not in the business of consorting with people who get their jollies from illegal activity.”

“But you are a world leader in IT. So, any ideas?”

“You mean aside from the obvious?”

“ANS.” Max hissed down the line. “That network’s ethics are questionable, and that’s being kind. If there’s no political dirt around, they’ll rustle up some grist and churn out their own. I can tell you, given Cara’s condition, she’s pleased to be away from all that.”

Daniel remembered their conversation when Max had shared his engagement news. His pregnant fiancée had walked away from her high-pressure position in the White House Press Office to work with her party-planning friends in a PR capacity. This was his in.

“Actually, I met Cara’s friend today,” he said.

“Ariella?”

“Scarlet Anders. I dropped into DC Affairs.”

“You should have called. Cara doesn’t go in every day, but she’d have been happy to show you around. What were you doing there?”

“Being a good best man.”

“You mean looking into organizing stuff? Guess we’ll have to start thinking about cars and suits and those preceremony drinks.”

Sure. Not that he drank. Ever.

“She’s an interesting woman.”

“Scarlet? Cara adores her,” Max confirmed. “Although, between you and me, she can be a little snooty. You won’t catch Scarlet Anders putting a debutante foot out of place. Her parents are pillars of Washington society and their little girl is a carbon copy of her folks. First Lady material, that one.”

Daniel grimaced. A life of unerring duty and plastic smiles? “Maybe she needs someone to show her how to loosen up.”

“That someone being you?”

“I asked her out to dinner. She said no.”

“We’re paying DC Affairs to do a job. Scarlet wouldn’t dream of mixing business with pleasure.”

“I thought she might be involved with someone.”

“Cara and I went out with her and a high-profile suit named Everett Matheson recently. Starchy personality to go with his impeccable pedigree.”

“Is it serious?”

“They were both so concerned about making sure they used the right fork and acknowledged the right people, I couldn’t tell.”

“But no kissing? Holding hands? Rubbing noses?”

“She straightened his tie at one stage.”

Daniel grinned. “You won’t turn me off. You know how I love a challenge.”

“I know how much you like laid-back and that, my friend, is something Scarlet Anders is not. Poised, admired, even snobbish, yes. She’d rather stab herself in the heart than pick her teeth in public.”

Daniel thought about how he loved to shovel popcorn while watching a game. How he abhorred routine and attending functions because it was expected. He recalled how he got off on revving his motorbike to the max down the Great Ocean Road when the urge struck. Then he imagined Scarlet sitting behind him wearing Catwoman leathers, clinging on, arms lashed around his waist with the wind making flying ribbons of her long red hair. At least he guessed that, when it was free, her hair was long. Past her shoulders. Maybe halfway down her back.

He smiled.

Bet it felt like satin.

Daniel pushed to his feet. “Think I’ll ask her out again.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I have a good feeling.”

Max chuckled. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Max had to answer another incoming call and the men signed off. Daniel dialed the number for the committee and, putting justice rather than his own aversions first, agreed to come in when requested. Then for the next couple of hours he battled over that other, far more enticing matter.

He’d decided against calling Scarlet. He didn’t like the idea of showing up again unannounced. He’d had an idea earlier. Around three, he had it perfected.

He’d heard Max about the Everett Matheson character being a contender. But Scarlet wasn’t spoken for, and Daniel’s fair and reasonable barometer said, Go for it. She might be playing near impossible to get but she was definitely interested.

After some research on the web, he chose a florist located near Scarlet’s place of business.

“I need some flowers delivered as soon as possible today,” he told the woman who answered the phone. “An added charge is no problem.”

“I’ll deliver them myself,” she assured him. “What kind?”

“They’re called heaven’s trumpets.” To complement an angel. When a silence followed, he prodded. “Something wrong?”

“You’re aware that plant is highly toxic.”

Bending close to his laptop’s screen, he scrolled down, read on. Damn. “I missed that.”

“They are beautiful blooms, distinct perfume—”

“And poisonous.” He couldn’t see Scarlet Anders chewing on a petal, still … not the message he wanted to send.

The woman went on, “Could I suggest something more traditional. Perhaps roses.”

“I don’t do traditional.”

Unless …

As the idea took shape, Daniel explained what he had in mind and, laughing, the woman on the other end of the line assured him that his instructions would be followed to a T. When details for the bouquet were set, he gave his name and credit card details as well as Scarlet’s name and address.

The woman coughed as if she’d lost her breath. His jaw shifted. “You okay?”

With a smile in her vaguely familiar voice, the woman replied, “Mr. McNeal, I’m positively floating.”

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