Chapter Sixteen
Elizabeth stared down at the mob of reporters in front of her apartment building. The landlord had requested police officers, who did prevent the press from harassing most residents. However, if Elizabeth were to set a foot outside the door, it would be like waving a steak in front of a pack of hungry dogs. Even when she just pushed her curtains aside to gaze out the window, cameras pointed up, shooting her with telephoto lenses. Trapped in her apartment, she felt like an out-of-favor queen fearing that the peasants would seize her and drag her to the guillotine.
Surely the visit to Pemberley had taken place more than a week ago; it felt like months. Time dragged when you were a media sensation.
Everyone in the world wanted to speak with her. Her voicemail was so full of interview requests that she had stopped using her landline. Yet there was no word from the one person whose voice she most needed to hear.
Allowing the curtains to fall over the window, Elizabeth reflected that she could hardly blame him for not calling. Lydia’s interview had spawned a whirlwind of consequences, including nonstop coverage by every cable station in the country. As a result, Elizabeth had stopped watching television altogether and avoided using her laptop.
Elizabeth wiped away the moisture at the corner of her eye. Without communication from Will, she had no idea what he was thinking. Did he know that Elizabeth had no hand in fostering Lydia’s accusations? That watching the video had ripped her apart? That she had screamed at her sister over the phone until she was hoarse, and they were no longer speaking?
The familiar queasiness roiled her stomach. Elizabeth had told Bing that Lydia had reached her own conclusions—or Wickham’s conclusions—without any encouragement from her. But that didn’t mean Bing—or Will—believed her. If only I could get a message to him. Of course, I’d probably mess that up, too. She slumped onto her sofa and stared at the darkened television screen.
It was painful to realize that Will’s first impulse had been right: her family was ill-mannered and nouveau riche. He would have been better off if he had steered clear of the Bennets altogether. His wariness of them had been proven to be prescient while Elizabeth had been a fool to think she could escape that family legacy. Her one consolation was that the rest of her family had closed ranks and refused to speak with the press about her. Every time someone shoved a microphone in her father’s face, he regarded it as an opportunity to promote jerky on-a-stick; after a while, the reporters had left him alone.
It shouldn’t matter what he thought of her. She’d never see him or speak to him or breathe the same air as him ever again. Being subpoenaed to testify in front of Congress was the closest she might ever come. God forbid. Another tear rolled down her cheek, and she dashed it away impatiently with her palm. Hadn’t she done enough crying over him?
She sat on the sofa for several long minutes, unable to summon the energy to move—or even care.
Although she was anticipating it, the knock at the door still startled her. Elizabeth trudged across the living room to admit Jane and Kitty. Before Elizabeth could blink, Kitty shot through the doorway and plastered herself against the adjacent wall as if fearing enemy fire. Charlotte and Bill Collins swept into the apartment after her. Jane, with a hood around her face, was last, and Elizabeth locked the door behind them.
Elizabeth got her first good look at Kitty and gaped. Her sister was wearing an oversized men’s blazer over a turtleneck and black jeans. Her hair was stuffed under a bowler hat, and an enormous black mustache was plastered on her upper lip.
Elizabeth laughed, gesturing to Kitty. “What’s with the getup?”
Busily scanning the room, Kitty didn’t bother to glance at Elizabeth. “It’s a disguise. Duh.”
“I understand that it’s a disguise,” Elizabeth said patiently. “My question is: why?”
“The press knows what your sisters look like,” Kitty answered in hushed tones. “They’d be merciless if they recognized us.”
Elizabeth blinked at her. “And you think that dressing like Charlie Chaplin is less noticeable?”
Charlotte stifled a giggled.
“Well, nobody asked me about you,” Kitty said tartly, “so it must have worked.”
Pulling down her hood, Jane brandished a 7-Eleven bag. “I got Chunky Monkey, Cookie Dough, and a couple other flavors.”
The thought of food made Elizabeth slightly nauseated. “You can eat it. I’m not hungry,” she sighed as she flopped onto the sofa. Company had sounded appealing when Jane had called, but now that her visitors were here, talking with them seemed to demand more energy than she possessed.
“Elizabeth Bennet turns down Ben and Jerry’s? Alert the media!” Jane laughed, but it failed to elicit a smile from her sister. “Did you have lunch? Or dinner?”
Did I? Elizabeth couldn’t remember.
“We’re not going to let you do this to yourself.” Marching over to the coffee table, Jane plunked several containers of ice cream in front of Elizabeth.
Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest, not caring that she resembled a sulky teenager. “This isn’t your business.”
Kitty took a position next to Jane, and they eyed Elizabeth with identical glares. “Of course, this is our business! This is an interruption!”
A what?
“An intervention,” Jane hissed at Kitty.
“An intervention!” Kitty corrected herself.
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “The point is that you’ve been holed up in this apartment for three days in your pajamas. It’s not healthy! You need to put on real clothes tomorrow and go into work. Working at home isn’t good for you.”
“I can’t,” Elizabeth said flatly.
Jane sank onto the sofa beside her sister and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “You can! I know it’ll be tough getting through the crowd of reporters, but you’re a strong, confident woman.” Jane’s grin was so energetic it was practically manic.
Elizabeth brushed bits of hair from her eyes. “I’ve been suspended from work.”
“Oh.” The smile slid off Jane’s face.
Charlotte slid into a chair opposite them. “Was it too much for them—the media and everything?” Every time the story about Elizabeth and Will had died down, George Wickham had appeared on a cable news show to toss around more accusations. He had been extremely effective at keeping the scandal—and his name—in the news.
Elizabeth hunched her shoulders, staring at the carpet. “No. It was the notification that their latest grant is being reviewed by the inspector general over allegations of impropriety.”
“Shit!” Jane immediately clapped her hand over her mouth. Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. Jane never cursed.
“They think the Red Cross got the grant because of you and the president?” Charlotte asked.
Elizabeth nodded. “I didn’t even like him back when the grant was awarded,” she said with a laugh that sounded bitter even to her ears. “I just hope the staff can convince the inspector that the Red Cross won it fair and square. If not, my job is toast.” A familiar sensation burned behind her eyes, but she blinked it back. She’d shed enough tears today.
“That’s so unfair,” Jane said.
The awkward silence following Jane’s declaration provided Bill with an opportunity; he planted himself on Elizabeth’s other side. “I would encourage you to give up all hopes of winning the president’s affection,” he said earnestly.
“Oh?”
He grinned broadly as if delivering good news. “His aunt does not view your acquaintance favorably.”
He actually believed she should concede any hopes of a relationship with Will because of Mrs. de Bourgh’s opinion. “I don’t particularly care what his aunt thinks.”
Bill drew back, a horrified look on his face. “You don’t?” She might as well have confessed to murdering kittens.
Charlotte perched on the arm of the sofa and patted Bill’s shoulder soothingly. “Lizzy has always been a bit of a free spirit.”
Elizabeth didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Bill shook his head disapprovingly. “I live my life by the motto ‘What would Mrs. de Bourgh do?’ It does simplify things.”
“You should put that on a bracelet,” Kitty said.
Charlotte continued speaking as she absently stroked Bill’s hair. “Elizabeth knows that there are many other reasons not to date the president.” She gave Elizabeth a meaningful look.
Elizabeth sighed, unsure if she was more irritated at Charlotte or herself. She had known that dating Will would be difficult and likely end in heartbreak, but they hadn’t even gotten to the dating part. They’d had one night, and she was left with nothing except a bruised heart and wall-to-wall media coverage of every trip to buy shampoo.
“You need to get out of the apartment,” Jane said. “You can at least go to a coffee shop or the mall or something.”
Elizabeth slouched further into the sofa. “I went to the grocery store a couple of days ago. So many reporters followed me that the manager eventually asked me to leave.”
“No shit!” Kitty’s eyes went wide.
Jane patted Elizabeth’s hand. “I’m sure it won’t always be that way.” Kitty pulled a pint of ice cream out of the bag and peeled off the lid before handing it to Jane. “In the meantime, you need to eat,” Jane continued. “You’re losing weight.” She waved the container under Elizabeth’s nose. “I brought Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. Doesn’t it smell divine?”
Elizabeth groaned. “Jane…”
Jane’s tone would have been best suited to a cheerleader. “Eat something, take a shower, and then we can go to Mom and Dad’s. At least it’ll get you out of the house.”
Elizabeth pushed the container away. “I’m not hungry, and I’m not inflicting the press on Mom and Dad again—especially now that the reporters are finally leaving them alone. I’ve caused them enough trouble.” She cringed at the memory of reporters trampling her mother’s flower beds and harassing Mary as she left for work.
Jane smiled even more broadly. “They’re doing better, Lizzy. Mom is a lot calmer; she’s resting a lot.”
“Thank God for Xanax,” Kitty interjected.
Jane glared at Kitty for a moment before continuing. “Dad’s buried himself in work. You know how he is.”
“His lawyers are trying to get the USDA to reinstitute the contract,” Kitty added. “On-a-Stick already manufactured a lot of the food. If the government doesn’t proceed with the contract, it could bankrupt us.”
Elizabeth ground her teeth. Not only had she ruined her life but also her family’s business. Maybe for an encore she could set fire to the White House.
“Kitty,” Jane whispered, “Lizzy doesn’t need to hear that now.”
“I’m being the bad cop,” Kitty explained. “You’re the good cop.”
“This isn’t an interrogation,” Jane said.
“Damn it!” Elizabeth’s exclamation cut short the debate. She pushed off the sofa and walked the length of the room, wishing she could jog or jump, anything to absorb her excess of energy. “I’m ruining everybody’s lives.” Tears threatened to return.
“It’s not your fault!” Charlotte said fiercely. “If anything, it’s Lydia’s.”
Elizabeth rubbed her face. “I guess.” Although she was hardly blameless.
Bill cleared his throat. “On the drive over here, Charlotte and I were debating the nature of Lydia’s evil…er…nature.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. Was Bill actually saying what she thought he was saying?
Bill continued, “Charlotte was inclined to believe it was the result of your parents’ lax oversight as Lydia matured, but I think she must be naturally bad.”
Jane’s mouth fell open while Charlotte turned bright red. “Bill,” she murmured out of the side of her mouth, “you know how we talked about keeping some things private between the two of us…?”
Bill was perplexed. “But this isn’t about sex.”
Just pretend that didn’t happen, Elizabeth told herself. “I don’t think Lydia’s evil,” she said. “Misguided perhaps. George Wickham is using her, although I told her not to trust him.”
Kitty shook her head. “Nobody’s been able to reach her for the past week. She hasn’t been at her apartment.”
“It would be best if Lydia were silenced,” Bill said meaningfully.
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Have you ever tried to ‘silence’ Lydia? The girl talks like there’s a two-for-one special on words.”
Bill drew himself up to his full height—which wasn’t very full. “No, I mean, silenced.” He drew his finger across his neck.
“Bill!” Charlotte laughed nervously as if it were all a joke.
“Oh my God,” Jane said faintly.
“Maybe I can sell the story of my life to Hollywood,” Kitty thought aloud.
“You’re not serious!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
Bill regarded her disdainfully. “I assure you I am. The office products business is very rough and tumble.”
Elizabeth screwed her eyes shut, deciding that it was best not to pursue that line of inquiry. “I don’t want Lydia ‘silenced.’ She’s my sister, and I love her.”
“The president would probably prefer to have the Secret Service do it anyway.” Bill nodded sagaciously.
Elizabeth threw her hands up in the air. The idea was so absurd that it wasn’t worth debating.
“The real problem is the press,” Jane interjected somewhat desperately.
No, the real problem is my sister screwed over the man I love. But there was no point in debating that. “They’re not going to leave me alone even if I ask nicely,” Elizabeth sighed.
“You could do an interview or a prepared statement or a press conference. Or even strategic leaks,” Charlotte suggested. The gears of a seasoned PR pro were practically visible as they turned in her head.
Why didn’t I ask Charlotte for advice earlier? Because I thought nothing could be done.
“That’s a good idea,” Jane said. “The media is waiting for you to say something. Then some of them might leave you alone.”
Elizabeth considered this for a moment, chewing on her lip. What would be most helpful to Will? No, it was too risky. “I might say something that makes this worse—that hurts Will’s presidency.”
“Screw Darcy!” Charlotte said viciously.
“I’m not sure Mrs. de Bourgh would like that,” Bill said slowly.
Charlotte ignored him. “The president has left you twisting in the wind even though he professes to care for you. This happens all the time in Washington: allies turn on each other when someone runs afoul of the media. Don’t think he has your back. You’re on your own, honey.”
Elizabeth shuddered; Charlotte had expressed the thoughts she hadn’t allowed herself to think all week. She wanted to deny Charlotte’s assertion but couldn’t find the words.
When Bing had hustled Elizabeth and the Gardiners out of Pemberley—with a rushed and garbled explanation about Lydia and negative press coverage—he had assured her that Will would call. But it had been a week, and Elizabeth had heard nothing.
Elizabeth cleared her throat, finally finding her voice. “It’s a shit storm out there. He’s really busy.”
Charlotte snorted. “You still think you’re going to hear from him?”
“Char, I think he really cares about Lizzy,” Jane said. At Charlotte’s glare, she shrugged apologetically. “Well…it’s possible he cares…maybe.”
Kitty made a dubious face. “It kind of sounds like a one-night thing to me. The media just blew it up into this big thing.”
Elizabeth pounded her fist against the wall, startling Kitty. “A one-night stand? I wouldn’t do that. Especially with the president.”
Kitty withstood her narrow-eyed stare for seconds before shrugging and glancing away. “I would. Especially with the president.”
He wanted a relationship with me. He did. Even if a relationship was now impossible, it was important that she cling to that conviction.
Charlotte dismissed it all with a wave. “Maybe he did intend for it to be more than a one-night thing.” Her expression showed how likely she thought that was. “But Lydia’s interview torpedoed any chance of something more.” Elizabeth forced herself not to shrink away from Charlotte’s words. “He can’t call you. Can’t be seen with you,” Charlotte continued. “You’re the third rail right now. Touch you and he dies.”
Jane gasped. “That’s a little harsh.”
“I know how PR works, and image is everything to a president.” As Charlotte gazed at Elizabeth, her eyes softened a bit. “He’s not going to call you,” she said regretfully.
Elizabeth stared down at her hands with a self-deprecating laugh. “He said he would call and then he didn’t. It’s the oldest story in the world. I was just too thick to get the message.” Her eyes burned with unshed tears.
Jane turned to Charlotte, her hands on her hips. “He defended Lizzy in that statement to the press and in the interview with NBC.”
“He has to defend her. He doesn’t want to give any weight to the accusations,” Charlotte pointed out. Why did Charlotte need to voice Elizabeth’s worst fears? Her shoulders slumped as she suddenly felt weighed down by the whole discussion.
Kitty looked chagrined. “I hate to say it, but I think Charlotte’s right.”
Bill puffed out his chest. “Well, I’m happy to say I think Charlotte is right.” His expression clouded. “Although I’m not sure if Mrs. de Bourgh would approve.”
“When the press asks Will if we’re dating, he won’t answer. And Hilliard just says, ‘the president’s private life is private,’” Elizabeth said slowly as she sank into her blue recliner. “Charlotte is right. The White House wants to avoid the perception of a one-night stand, but a relationship would be career suicide at this point—if that’s what Will ever wanted.”
Maybe he never intended to pursue a relationship; maybe all those words were meant to get her into bed, and the media storm was a convenient reason to cut her loose. The very thought was like pressing on a bruise. At Pemberley she had believed him with a deep visceral understanding, but could she trust that sensation? Maybe it was just a combination of hope, willful blindness, and afterglow.
“He might be trying to avoid throwing you under the bus, but that’s about all he can do.” Charlotte’s mouth was a thin, white line. “His hands are tied.”
Any affection Will had felt for Elizabeth had undoubtedly been killed by Lydia’s betrayal. There was nothing left to salvage; Elizabeth could only hope to repair the damage to his presidency. She owed him that much. Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together. I will fall apart later; not here in front of everyone.
Everyone’s expressions were so full of sympathy that Elizabeth had to lower her eyes. “How could talking to the media help me?” she asked Charlotte.
Charlotte tapped a finger to her lips thoughtfully. “Your story will lend the president’s account credibility. If nobody hears from you, it’ll be easier to believe the idea of coercion.”
Elizabeth nodded. “And that hurts Will.”
Charlotte shrugged. “If that’s your chief concern. His poll numbers have taken a hit, and it’s just the beginning of the scandal.”
Scandal. Great. I’ve become a Washington scandal; what a proud legacy.
“This is just the beginning?” Jane asked incredulously, no doubt wondering how much worse it could get.
“They’re talking about congressional hearings,” Charlotte said. “Lizzy would have to testify about whether the president coerced her.”
Elizabeth shuddered. She couldn’t think of anything more humiliating than testifying about her intimate relationships in front of twenty hostile congressmen and a roomful of reporters.
If a statement might help prevent that, it was probably the best strategy. “Okay,” she said to Charlotte, “I’d like to write a statement. Will you read it to the press for me?”
***
Hilliard burst into the Oval Office, not even apologizing for interrupting Darcy’s strategy session with Bing and Secretary of Energy Kurt Abbott over the renewable energy bill. Darcy’s heart plummeted into his stomach. Nothing good ever came from Hilliard’s unexpected appearances.
“Excuse me, sir.” Hilliard didn’t sound very apologetic. “We have a situation.” Without missing a beat, he strode to the television in the corner of the room and switched it on. Darcy’s stomach roiled. Another public relations nightmare. It had to be.
Everyone stood hastily. Darcy shook Abbott’s hand. “Kurt, we’ll have to finish this another time. See if you can get some room on my schedule next week.”
“Sure,” Abbott said. “Thank you, Mr. President.”
But Darcy’s attention was already riveted on Hilliard and the television, which was on a commercial break. “What is it?” he asked once the door closed softly behind Abbott.
“ZNN announced that Elizabeth Bennet has released a statement,” Hilliard said curtly.
Darcy’s heart went into overdrive, crashing against his ribs like it was trying to escape. His mouth opened, but no words emerged. What will Elizabeth say? Is she angry? Vindictive?
“Do we think it’s authentic?” Bing asked.
“I’m assuming ZNN vetted the statement. It’s coming from Walter Lucas’s PR firm.” Hilliard’s expression was grim.
Bing nodded. “The Lucases are family friends of the Bennets.”
Hilliard focused on Darcy with laser-like intensity. “What did Ms. Bennet say when you spoke to her? What was her frame of mind?”
Darcy hesitated. “Darce?” Bing asked.
“I…um…didn’t call her yet,” he mumbled, suddenly finding the carpet very interesting.
“I told her you would!” Bing said sharply.
Darcy didn’t meet his friend’s eyes. “I didn’t know what to say.” He’d lain awake nights staring at the canopy of his bed and trying to find words to apologize for having her unceremoniously removed from Pemberley. To express his regret for throwing her life into chaos. Wondering if she could forgive him for ruining her life after just one night…
Then he’d chastise himself for not calling her earlier. Of course, the longer he delayed, the more he had to apologize for and the harder it was to imagine facing her.
“You didn’t call her?” Hilliard gasped. “After she experienced the world’s worst morning after, you didn’t even call?”
Things were bad when Hilliard was lecturing him on how to treat a woman. Of course, he was right; Darcy should have called Elizabeth. But what if she said she never wanted to see him again? She’d said that once; Darcy was certain that she was capable of saying it again.
And then there was the fact that he was responsible for bringing Wickham into her family’s life. The man was probably debauching Elizabeth’s youngest sister and had brought media scrutiny to every corner of the Bennet family’s lives. They’d even interviewed Elizabeth’s senior prom date. He massaged the back of his neck. They must hate him. And to think he’d once been convinced that he was such a better person than the Bennets.
“Are you trying to make me lose my remaining hair?” A muscle twitched under Hilliard’s eye.
“This isn’t about you, Bob,” Darcy growled.
Hilliard ignored him. “So we have no insight into Ms. Bennet’s state of mind except that she’s been ghosted by the guy who thrust her life into complete chaos?”
“The guy who spent one night with her and then didn’t call her,” Bing added helpfully.
Darcy flopped onto one of the sofas, making himself as small as possible as though it could keep him from becoming a target. “When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not good!” Hilliard hissed. “We don’t have a fucking clue what this statement will say. What if Elizabeth supports her sister’s account? She might say that from spite alone. The Republicans are speculating that you used government funds to get a woman in your bed. That’s an impeachable offense!”
What is wrong with me? Darcy wondered. Hilliard is right. I could be impeached, and all I can think about is Elizabeth—and whether she’ll forgive me. Why the hell didn’t I call her?
He pushed away the persistent fear that she did feel coerced by him. She had turned him down once. What had prompted her change of heart? Undoubtedly, she knew about the USDA deal. Maybe she’d believed he expected a quid pro quo? Such thoughts gnawed at him in the dark and the silence of the empty Residence.
With his eyes riveted to the television, Bing shushed them. “It’s on!” Darcy clutched the arm of the sofa until his fingers turned white. In the still moments before the press conference started, his own ragged breaths were inordinately loud.
A woman Darcy vaguely recognized as Charlotte Lucas was walking to a podium in a small room crammed with reporters and photographers. There must have been at least one hundred people pressed together in the space. When she reached the podium, a hush fell over the room like a cloak.
Darcy was accustomed to his life’s frequent ventures into the surreal, but a press conference about his love life was a level of grotesque he had never reached before. Anxiety prickled all over his body. The next few minutes would determine his fate.
Although Ms. Lucas couldn’t be much older than Elizabeth, she was quite self-possessed, wearing a high-end designer suit as she gazed unflinchingly at the reporters. “I will read a prepared statement from Elizabeth Bennet,” she said crisply. “I will take no questions afterward.” Opening a piece of paper, she placed it on the podium.
Realizing he was holding his breath, Darcy released it, reeling with sudden dizziness.
Ms. Lucas read, “‘I am aware that there have been many rumors circulating regarding my relationship with President Darcy and the contract given to my family’s business. I would like to lay out the facts as I know them.
“‘My family received the USDA contract through the regular bidding process. I am not part of the family business and played no part in procuring the contract. I do not believe the president knew that On-a-Stick, Inc. was bidding for the contract, but at no time did he discuss the matter with me or with any member of my family.
“‘At no time did the president state or imply that the contract or any other matter relied on a romantic or sexual relationship with him. We were and are friends—a relationship based on similar interests and mutual admiration. The time I have spent with him has been solely for the purpose of enjoying his company.
“‘I ask that the media respect my privacy and the privacy of my family during this time. I have nothing further to add. Signed, Elizabeth Bennet.’”
True to her word, Charlotte Lucas folded up the statement and walked from the room, ignoring the reporters shouting questions at her. Hilliard used the remote to switch off the set.
Darcy expelled a long breath as Hilliard jumped from his seat and high-fived Bing. “Yes!” he exulted. “You were right about her,” Hilliard told Darcy.
“You’re not out of the woods, but at least she confirmed your story.” Bing sagged against the fireplace mantel. “Thank God!”
Darcy nodded, unsure why he didn’t share their sense of relief.
“Now we’ll have to see if the press believes her assertions, or if they think you coerced her into making the statement,” Hilliard said as he made notes on a legal pad.
Leaning forward in his seat, Darcy dropped his head into his hands. “Why did she say we were friends?” he asked nobody in particular. When he lifted his head, the others were staring at him.
“Sorry?” Hilliard asked. “Did you want her to say you were enemies?”
“No.” Darcy laughed without mirth. “But friends—gah!” Perhaps that was how she viewed their relationship now, but the word just felt wrong.
“Actually,” Hilliard said, “if you notice, she didn’t deny you had a romantic relationship.” Both Bing and Darcy looked at him. “She said you were friends, but she never said you were just friends. She left a lot of wiggle room there.”
Darcy’s heart leapt. “So you think there’s hope?”
Hilliard nodded. “Yeah, as long as she sticks to that statement, we might be able to avoid congressional hearings.”
There was a long pause during which Darcy said nothing.
Hilliard jerked his head up. “Oh, that wasn’t the kind of hope you meant.” He sat up straighter and cleared his throat. “Well, of course there’s hope. Isn’t there always hope? Unless she marries someone else. But what do I know? I’ve been married three times. More importantly…”
Darcy tuned Hilliard out. Elizabeth had defended him; she seemed to care about him. Maybe he should call her, but what if that muddied the waters? What if she hung up on him?
Darcy’s phone rang. Everyone’s eyes were drawn to the pocket where he kept it. Few people had his private cell phone number, but the group included the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Secretary of State. Darcy always answered it. He pulled it from his pocket, and his eyes widened at the name on the screen. “Georgie? What’s up?”
“I just saw Elizabeth’s statement,” his sister said. “Have you called her, or are you foxholing?”
“Sort of the latter,” Darcy mumbled.
Georgiana groaned in frustration. “You left her twisting in the wind? She’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Call her. Call her now!”
Georgie was right. Darcy had never felt like this with any other woman. Elizabeth’s statement had signaled that she didn’t blame him for the fiasco. Maybe there was something to salvage.
“All right,” he sighed.
“Good,” Georgiana grunted and hung up.
Darcy stood, striding toward his desk. “I’m calling Elizabeth.”
Hilliard jumped to his feet. “But first we must organize our press strategy—well, re-organize it.”
Darcy waved his hand. “You can do it. I’ve got a phone call to make.”
“But—”
“Bob, line up some media training for her. I’ll pay for it. So she can prepare to speak with the press and go on talk shows if…needed.”
Hilliard scribbled in his notebook. “You mean, if she agrees to talk to you…”
Bing frowned and stroked his chin. “Darce, are you sure about this? Being seen with her will stir up more rumors and accusations—and make congressional hearings more likely.”
“Did you hear what she said?” Darcy gestured toward the television. “I’m not giving up hope without talking to her first.”
Bing leaned over the desk, getting right in Darcy’s face. “You could be setting yourself up for more heartbreak. And it’s not like you have a lot of time to devote to a relationship, with the big push for the renewable energy bill—”
“I can do both,” Darcy snapped at his friend. Then he turned to Hilliard. “I want you to work up a media strategy to help us avoid congressional hearings.”
“Yes, sir,” Hilliard said. “But—”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to make a call.” He gave the two men pointed looks until they both hurried toward the door. After taking a deep breath, he picked up his phone.