a commercial jet big enough to accommodate his entire team and anyone else wanting to hitch a ride to those designated states where he needed to nab more votes.
I glanced at my Rolex, my impatience rising.
Where the hell was Pandora?
We’d driven here together, though admittedly in silence. She was meant to be right behind me. I’d gone on ahead so I could chat with Andrew Holt, the co-pilot. We’d even managed a pre-flight check while waiting for Her Highness to board.
Bardot finally appeared in the cabin looking as irritatingly gorgeous as ever as she brushed blonde locks out of her face. Her cream pantsuit and jacket had been designed for an older woman, but she wore it well. A pair of shades rested on top of her head—she was ready for the sun.
She looked around. “Just us?”
“Obviously.”
“Where would you like me to sit?”
“On the floor. Where you belong.”
“Let’s keep it to ourselves that we’re the only passengers. Carbon footprints and all that.”
My jaw flexed. “When the plane lands in Florida, it will pick up a hundred Gulf War veterans and bring them to D.C. They will then be provided with a tour of the White House.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“Why do you suddenly care about the environment, Bardot?” I said tersely. “Usually you only care about yourself.”
She plopped down beside me. “My chat with Theo was enlightening.”
I glared at her, and then softened my expression as Becca our flight attendant brought us both tall-stemmed glasses of white wine.
“Drinking so soon?” Pandora chastised me.
“Got to drown my sorrows somehow,” I mumbled, reaching for the glasses on the tray, and handing one to Pandora. “Thank you, Becca.” I gave her a grateful smile.
She headed back up the aisle.
I set my wine on the tray table next to me and pushed to my feet. “Excuse me.”
Pandora looked panicked. “You better be staying on this plane.”
“Where else would I be going?”
“I don’t know. You seem extra pissed off today, that’s all.”
“This is what you get when you slap a man in front of the world. At the Vice President’s residence, no less.”
“Speaking of Vice President Palmer,” she continued brightly, “we were having a lovely conversation before it was interrupted. He was telling me how much he’d enjoyed reading my opinion piece in the Washington Post—”
“You wrote an opinion piece?”
“Yes, please follow along.”
“It’s hard when I’m trying to avoid boredom.”
“The VP invited me to go work for him.”
My expression reflected my disbelief. I mean, that man was more cautious than the President. Pandora was far more progressive. Not to mention, he was on the wrong fucking team.
She continued with flushed cheeks. “Just as we were discussing the details of my new role in the White House—”
“You wouldn’t have taken the job.”
“Maybe I would have. Maybe I’m ready to do the opposite of what everyone expects. But that’s not the point.”
“What is?”
She raised her index finger with indignance. “While we were discussing the details, you set off a firestorm inside my pussy. You timed it for that exact moment when I was talking with him.”
“I didn’t have the controller.”
“You asked me why I slapped you.” She glared up at me. “It’s because you used that despicable word.”
I blinked as though confused.
“You know which one,” she snapped.
“Cunt?” I grabbed her pointing finger and gave it a waggle. “I recall elegantly describing it as a famous debutante’s cu—”
“No!” She pulled her hand away. “No more of that in front of me.”
Her response sparked my amusement; I kind of liked this version of her. “What did you and Theo talk about?”
“Vanguard.” She threw me a triumphant look.
“That’s not something he would discuss.”
She tapped her necklace. “This gets me in.”
Glancing at my wristwatch, I feigned disinterest.
“From your reaction, Mr. Godman, you’ve considered taking me.”
I smiled. “You’re not ready. I doubt you’ll ever be. For starters, you have to be able to lean into the word cunt.”
“I want separate rooms when we get to the hotel.”
My jaw tightened. “We have to pretend that we more than just like each other. After the New York Times printed a front-page photo of you slapping my face this morning we’ve had to fine-tune our public persona.” I threw up my hands in frustration. “The headline was Trouble in Camelot?”
“I thought my father’s scandal was about to hit the press.” She casually took a sip of her wine. “Which meant you and I would never see each other again.”
I studied her face. “Is that what you want?”
Becca appeared and got my attention. “Sir, Andrew’s ready.”
I gave a