“That looked like it felt good,” Agent Shaw muses, approaching me and Cal once the room has cleared out. “I take it there’s history there?”
Cal lets out a low whistle. “That’s an understatement.”
“Former boss,” I explain. “He’s the asshole who was in charge of Selene’s detail during the campaign.”
“I thought he looked familiar,” she says, shaking her head. “It must have been so frustrating to have to take orders from someone like him. Is it true he didn’t take any of your assessments about the online threats and Marsh’s connection to them seriously?”
“Unfortunately,” I confirm with a grimace. My blood always starts to boil every time I think about how differently things could have gone if Hicks had listened to me and Cal all those months ago. We could have gotten to Jacob sooner. We could have avoided bringing Charlie in for intel. We could have had backup when we went into that factory. Cal wouldn’t have walked away with a head injury, and I wouldn’t have come out of there with blood on my hands.
Shaw’s eyes harden, her gaze turning serious but sincere. “I want you to know I’m not like that. I investigate every piece of information I get regarding Mrs. Taylor’s safety no matter where it comes from or what it might lead to.”
“So we can assume you looked into Conlon?” Cal asks, taking advantage of the opening she’s just given us to follow up on the intel we shared with her about the reporter who interviewed Leland.
“Absolutely,” Shaw says. “Morgan and I paid him a visit.”
My interest is immediately piqued. “And?”
“And we determined he doesn’t pose a threat to the First Lady. He doesn’t even seem to believe in all that right wing propaganda he’s platforming on his site. I think he’s in it for the views.”
Cal and I share a look, the question of whether to trust Agent Shaw’s judgment passing between us in an invisible wave of tension and fear. I want to push for more information, to ask Shaw for her notes and have her walk us through the entire meeting with Conlon so I can analyze it thoroughly. Cal looks ready to seek the man out and question him himself. Neither of us are in a position to do any of those things, so we do the only thing we can: thank Agent Shaw for pursuing the lead and rest easy in the knowledge that no one will protect a Black woman more than another Black woman.
9
SELENE
Tedious.
That’s the only word that can be used to describe the evening thus far. Though I’m sure I’m the only person who would refer to it that way because everyone else seems to be having a lovely time. Laughter is constant interruption in the flow of conversation and tinkling of silverware as the hundreds of people—politicians, celebrities and titans of industry—in the tent erected on the South Lawn enjoy course after course of lavish dishes inspired by our guests’ home country.
The food has been the highlight of my night, and I’ve found myself mentally deconstructing every dish placed in front of me while Aubrey and President Tao bounce from subject to subject with little to no input from anyone at the table besides Aubrey’s VP, Torrance Belford, and Cordelia. Currently, they’re discussing how the war in Iraq impacted Singapore’s economy while I try to determine what exactly Chef Bloom used in the sticky glaze coating the succulent meat of the mud crab I’ve just devoured.
“Kecap manis,” a soft voice says from across the table.
I look up to find First Lady Hana Tao watching me. Heat sweeps across my cheeks, and I wonder if it’s bad form for me to have left the responsibility of starting a conversation in the hands of a guest. “I’m sorry?”
“Kecap manis,” she repeats, gesturing to her plate. “It’s a soy sauce sweetened with palm sugar. That’s what makes the glaze so good.”
“Oh!” I force a smile, searching for more to say. “I’m sure the chef will be happy to hear you’ve enjoyed his version of the dish.”
“It was a little spicy for my taste,” Anne Belford adds, sliding her plate over to her husband. Torrance spares her a sidelong glance but doesn’t engage, continuing to give his attention to the world leaders who are giving him a rare bit of space to voice his thoughts on President Tao’s reluctance to commit to a formal alliance with the U.S. Anne’s unwelcome contribution to the conversation kills the First Lady’s desire to continue engaging, which is just as well because I had nothing more to say.
The rest of dinner passes in a silence that’s not exactly comfortable but is definitely preferable to the alternative, and I’m glad when we all have to move to the less formal portion of the evening even though the shift means having to dance with Aubrey. Every eye in the building is on us as he moves me around the parquet wood that makes up the dance floor in front of the stage where moments ago he gave a welcome speech. Flashes of lights from numerous cameras throughout the room blind me, but I know better than to blink, than to do anything but smile.
“You look beautiful tonight,” Aubrey whispers, his lips too close to my ear and his breath too warm. “I’ve always loved you in red.”
“Don’t talk to me.”
His hands travel down my back, stopping just above my ass. “It’s a simple compliment, Selene. I know you’re not well versedin the art of social interactions, but when someone pays you a compliment, you’re supposed to say thank you.”
My spine stiffens. “Your first mistake is assuming I want to hear you speak at all let alone desire a compliment from you.”
He laughs, playing it up for the cameras and the crowd by tossing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. When he’s done, he presses his temple back to mine.
“Would you rather hear it fromthem?” he purrs, condescension coating the words.
“Absolutely because unlike you they never say anything they don’t mean.”
Feeling the weight of that truth, I force myself to focus on something other than the way my gut is churning because of Aubrey’s proximity, finding Cordelia in the crowd with a phone to her ear and her face screwed up into a mask of frustration.
