Lizzy poured drinks at the bar while a local band Valeria had hired right before she disappeared, played. She and Alex worked nonstop as the bar filled to capacity. She joked that her injuries were the result of Alex trying to teach her how to ride a motorcycle. The story was laughed about around the bar as she served drinks.

The door was propped open and Lizzy’s eyes were drawn to the man who walked in—Crew. The man who had saved her butt earlier that day and who had also seen the other side of Lizzy. He came over and patted his grandfather, Buzz, on the back before taking a seat next to him. Lizzy headed their way.

“I’m telling you my grandson will be here when you’re ready for a husband,” Snip said. Everyone else groaned.

“Grandpa, you have to stop trying to hook me up with someone who already has a boyfriend,” Flint Scott said with an apologetic look to Tate.

“Besides, when she’s ready to settle down, it’ll be with my Crew,” Buzz said as Crew almost choked on his beer.

“Pops, who said anything about marriage?”

“Yeah, flyboy isn’t mature enough for that,” Flint shot over the heads of the two old men.

Lizzy sighed. Some things never changed.

“Where is my girl?” Buzz said with a waggle of his bushy eyebrows.

“Valeria?” Snip said with a bit of Latin flare. “I think you are referring to my girl.”

As the two battled over which man Valeria liked the most, Lizzy just shook her head and filled another order. She was setting the mugs on the bar for Alex when Flint caught her attention.

“Sorry about my grandfather. I know you’re with Dalton. I was actually wondering if I could ask you a question.”

“Sure,” Lizzy said, leaning against the bar.

“What do you know about Tate Carlisle?”

Lizzy didn’t have to pretend to be surprised. “Well, she’s Tucker’s sister. He’s with the FBI here in Quantico, and that’s how I met her. She’s very nice. Down to earth. Why? Are you wanting to date her?”

Flint shook his head. “No, just curious. I’m meeting her tomorrow for an interview and wanted to know what kind of person she was.”

“You mean, is she honest?” Lizzy asked.

“Yeah,” Flint said as he flipped his long hair into a messy bun.

“As far as I know she is. She’s easy to talk to. We usually talk girl stuff, but she’s never seemed gossipy or anything. I know it’s not much. I can say I consider her a friend.”

“That’s exactly what I was wondering. Thank you. And hey, where is Valeria?”

“She’s visiting family,” Lizzy smiled as she reached for a new order ticket to fill.

Flint went back to his grandfather, and Lizzy caught up on orders. She went to fill a round of tequila shots and realized she was low on tequila. After sending them off with Alex, she hurried to the storage area. When she stepped inside, she felt someone behind her. She whirled around ready to fight but stopped when she saw it was Crew.

He shot her his trademark grin. “I hate to tell you, but I don’t think we can date.”

Lizzy crossed her arms over her chest as Crew leaned against the beaded door. “And why is that?”

“I don’t date women who can kill me.” Crew’s grin slipped. “Seriously, how are you?”

“I’m okay. I had someone clean up the wounds for me,” she said, thinking of how Jason had tended her after they tied up the man in the horse stall.

“I swear my heart stopped when you flew off the roof. I just kept thinking how Dalton would kill me if something happened to you. I know he’s busy tonight. I want you to let me walk you home.”

“Thanks for worrying about me. I can walk home myself. You don’t have to do that,” Lizzy said, reaching for the new bottle of tequila.

“I know. I’d feel better if you let me.” Crew let out a deep breath. “I want, no need, to be useful.”

“I understand the feeling. All right, you can walk me home.”

Lizzy waited for Crew to leave. He seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He had just realized how big this mission was. How dangerous. How imperative it was for them to win. She knew the feeling well.

Birch slipped his hand to the small of Tate’s back. She flinched and took a step away from him. He gritted his teeth together as she moved closer to Humphrey. He knew why she did it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hate it. He’d heard the rumors about how she got this job because she was sleeping with him. It wasn’t like he could stand up and tell them the truth. So he let her walk away.

She was beautiful in a sapphire-blue sequined gown tonight. Birch felt almost primal in his need to publicly claim her as his, but as president he couldn’t. He was hampered by rules, public opinion, and responsibility to his party unless. . . Birch looked around at the people filing onto the portico. A thought nagged at him, and he put it away for later. Right now, he was going to fight the tradition of backing away from scandal for image’s sake and stand by the woman he was quickly falling in love with.

Humphrey was standing next to Tate at a baluster and Birch stepped behind them. He was close enough for Tate’s bottom to brush his hip. He smiled as she stiffened.

“Birch, people will talk,” she whispered up to him.

Birch leaned down, putting his lips to her ear. “Sweetheart, they’re already talking.”

The phone in his pocket vibrated, and he saw that Humphrey similarly pulled his phone out. Birch looked down at the secure message. It was from a number he didn’t recognize so it had to be Jason’s.

Humphrey turned to talk to them. “Jason found out the man is from South Africa. He has links to a large bank there.”

“Which one?” Birch asked, putting away his phone.

“Davenport Bank.”

Tate whistled. “I did a story on them. That isn’t a normal bank. It’s based out of England, but South Africa is where a lot of questionable activity goes on. Bribes, illegal loans, improper investment . . . all to make the bank richer. I did a story on it for BBN. A story that Claudia stole and sanitized.”

“Strange link to Claudia, don’t you think?” Birch asked.

“I see conspiracy everywhere,” Tate admitted.

“Did Jason learn anything else?” Birch asked Humphrey as the first firework exploded.

“Not yet.”

Birch leaned forward again. “Did you meet with Kerra Ruby?”

Tate shook her head.

Humphrey held up his phone again, and Birch leaned forward. Kerra had posted a picture of her and him. Underneath, Birch read where they had a great talk about turning the slumping economy around. However, she felt he still wasn’t invested in saving people’s jobs.

“What the fu—”

“Shh!” Tate cut him off as Birch lowered his voice.

“That never happened. She just said ‘selfie’ and that was it. I was hoping you could rule her out of Mollia Domini, but this. . . Tate cocked her head. “What?”

“I’ve heard that exact language before.” Tate almost jumped as another firework lit the sky. “I need to get to my office. Now.”

“Take Brock with you,” Birch said, feeling Tate’s sense of urgency.

Tate nodded and took off. Humphrey shrugged. “We need to resolve the Fitz issue. Now may be a good time.”

Birch looked around and found Fitz at the other end of the portico. “Bring him over.”

Humphrey meandered off as to not draw attention. Birch took a deep breath. Tate didn’t love Fitz anymore. Birch knew that. She had told him it was casual, and he believed her. It still didn’t mean he liked the idea of this asshole being with her.

A minute later, Fitz stood arrogantly next to Birch. “You requested an audience?”

Birch rethought his stance on making a scene by punching Fitz. Instead, he smiled the smile he held for terrorists when he knew he’d broken them. “I don’t request anything. I’m the president. I order.”

Fitz looked amused. “What, are you going to throw me in jail because I don’t come kiss the ring?”

Birch shook his head and slapped Fitz on the back. “No, but it would be a shame if the IRS had to freeze your accounts while they investigated you for tax fraud.”

Fitz’s amused look faded. Instead, he looked pissed. “And if I follow your orders, what do I get?”

“Aren’t you going to ask what I want?” Birch asked with a hint of his own smirk.

“It’s irrelevant, isn’t it? The important thing is Fitz. What does Fitz get?”

“What does Fitz want?” Birch tried not to laugh as they both spoke about the man standing in front of him in the third person.

“I want a contract with you signed—in perpetuity—naming me as your agent.”

“No.”

“Then no deal,” Fitz shrugged.

“How about this?” Birch turned to face Fitz fully. “You smile and pose with Tate for some of those photographers. You don’t upset her. You treat her with respect. You pretend you’re old friends having a laugh. And then I won’t turn you over to the IRS . . . or worse.”

Fitz’s jaw worked as he ground his teeth. “Fine. After all, maybe we can renew our relationship. Tate was always good in bed.” Tate appeared and Fitz seemed to smile even bigger. “There’s my girl.”

“Stuff it up your ass, Fitz,” Tate said, holding a piece of paper. “Or better yet, Brock, can I borrow your gun?”

Birch chuckled. “You have some kind of effect on women, Fitz. Humphrey, go find a photographer or two and casually point them this direction if they aren’t already. Tate, smile and pretend it’s nice to see Fitz.”

Birch saw a couple of other photographers move in and snap some pictures as Tate laughed. Birch stepped out of the frame, and he had to give it to Fitz. He knew how to spin a picture. He had his hand on her arm, and they laughed as if sharing a private joke.

“Mr. Houlihan, are you upset about your picture with Miss Carlisle being released?” a reporter asked.

“Of course. It’s a complete invasion of privacy. Tate and I shared a beautiful relationship and are still friends.”

Tate and Fitz posed for a couple more photos and suddenly the pop star was there. It was like a moth attracted to an electric blue zapper. She saw the lights and couldn’t stop herself from going to them. Tate politely excused herself and rejoined Birch and Humphrey.

“I know why the post sounded familiar. Look, these are the talking points Harriet gave me on my first day.”

Birch looked down at the paper and, there in bold, read about a slumping economy and saving jobs. The only difference is Kerra added one word—not—before the jobs language. “She’s part of it.”

Humphrey stared at the paper and back to Kerra. “Does that mean it’s not Claudia? Trip said—”

“Shit, Trip probably doesn’t even remember what he said. But this proves it’s Kerra,” Tate said excitedly. “I can’t wait to tell Lizzy.”

“Wait,” Birch said as he paused to think. “Claudia is still an issue. We’ve seen the videos. We know she’s spinning the stories. We need to pull her stories and compare her reports to the talking points Harriet gave you. I can guarantee I’ve never seen those before.”

“Me either,” Humphrey said, reading over her shoulder.

Tate nodded. She would take care of that. People started to head back into the White House. Birch took the paper and handed it to Humphrey. “Can you hold this while we dance?”

“Dance?” Tate said as she suddenly stopped walking.

“Yes. We have to open the ball.”

“Then dance with someone else. They’ll talk.”

Birch shook his head. “I don’t care, Tate. I want to dance with you, so I am. For the next three minutes, I am no longer the president. I’m just a man who is dancing with the woman he loves.”

Tate opened and then closed her mouth. He saw her eyes grow wet as she blinked quickly. “I love you, too, Birch.”

His heart pounded, and the guilt he expected to feel was absent. His wife would have loved Tate, and something about that made Birch know the risk of putting himself first over public opinion was worth it. There would be no polls asking what the people thought of the President of the United States dating. There would be no questions to focus groups to see what their response was, as so many did while playing the game of politics. Tate was more important than politics.

Birch walked into the ballroom as the band started the opening song. The dance floor cleared as he slipped his hand around Tate’s waist, and she put her hand in his. The music claimed him as he looked down at her smiling face. Her violet eyes were dark with emotion. There was nothing in his touch that told the world he loved the woman in his arms. It was all in their eyes and hearts. The room fell away, and for a few brief moments, he was just a man taking a chance on love.