A Conflict of Interest. Barbara Dunlop

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      “Cola or beer?” she asked, coming to the top of the stairs and padding across the smooth floor to the kitchen area.

      “Beer,” Max decided, shrugging out of his tux jacket and releasing his bow tie.

      He moved to the furniture grouping of two low, hunter-green leather couches, a pair of matching armchairs and low tables with lamps, all tastefully accented by a rust, gold and brown patterned rug. Her view of the city was expansive. The night had turned clear, with a new blanket of snow freshening up the buildings and the trees, reflecting the lights in the park across the street.

      Cara returned with a can of beer for him and a cola for her. She handed the can to Max and then curled into one of the armchairs, popping the top on her own drink.

      “Four minutes,” she warned him.

      He opened his beer and eased onto the corner of a couch. He pulled off his wristwatch and set it on the coffee table, faceup where he could see it.

      He caught her slight, involuntary smile at the gesture.

      “You okay?” he asked in a soft voice.

      “I’m fine,” she assured him one more time.

      “Did you know?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

      “You know I can’t answer that.”

      “Yeah,” he agreed. “I was counting on being able to read your expression when you told me to back off.”

      She lifted her brows. “And did you?”

      “You’re as inscrutable as ever.”

      “Thank you. It helps in my business.” She took a sip.

      He followed suit. Then he set the can down on a coaster. “You know I’ll have to go after the story.”

      “I know you will.”

      “I don’t want to hurt you. And I respect the hell out of this president. But a secret daughter?”

      “We don’t know for sure she’s his daughter.”

      Max stilled. He was surprised Cara had offered even that much insight. “We will soon enough.”

      She nodded.

      “Have you talked to Ariella?” He knew the two women were friends. Cara had casually introduced Max to Ariella at a fundraising event right before the election.

      Cara set her cola down on a table beside her. “Do you honestly think that would be in anyone’s best interest?”

      “That’s neither a yes nor a no.”

      Cara’s expression remained completely neutral.

      “You’re very good,” he allowed.

      She sat forward. “I know you have to go after this, Max. But can you at least be fair about it? Can you please take into account all the facts before you help ramp up the public hysteria?”

      Max leaned forward, bringing them close enough that he could feel her faint breath, inhale the coconut scent of her shampoo, close enough that it was hard to keep from kissing her.

      “I always take all the facts into account.”

      “You know what I mean.”

      He reached for her hand.

      But at his faintest touch, she snapped it away. “This is going to get ugly.”

      He knew that was an understatement. The press, not to mention the opposition, smelled blood in the water, and they were already circling. “Are you going back to work tonight?”

      “Lynn’s taking the night shift. I’ll go in early tomorrow morning.”

      “It’s going to be a long haul,” Max noted, wishing there was something he could do to help her. But he had a very different job from Cara, a job that was certain to be at odds with hers.

      “Yes, it is.” She sounded tired already.

      “I’ll be fair, Cara.”

      “Thank you.” There was a wistful note to her voice. For a moment, her blue eyes went soft and her expression became less guarded.

      He reached for her hand again, this time squeezing before she had a chance to pull away.

      She glanced at their joined hands. Her voice turned to a strained whisper. “You know all the reasons.”

      “I disagree with them.”

      “I can’t date you, Max.”

      “I can’t stop wanting you, Cara.”

      She lifted her long lashes, and her crystal-blue eyes looked directly into his. “Try, Max. Summon up some of your famous fortitude and try.”

      He couldn’t help but smile at that. “I’m not here for inside information. I was genuinely concerned about you.”

      “As I said—”

      “You’re fine. I get it.”

      That was her story, and she was sticking to it.

      Her skin was creamy and smooth, her lips dark, soft and slightly parted. He imagined their feel, her taste, her scent, and instinct took over. He tipped his head, leaning in.

      But she pulled abruptly away, turning and dipping her head before he could kiss her. “Your five minutes are up.”

      He heaved a sigh, giving up, letting her small hand slip from between his fingers. “Yeah. I guess they are.”

      Max had left his watch behind in Cara’s apartment. She had no way to know if he’d done it on purpose. It was a Rolex—platinum, with baguette-cut emeralds on the face. She couldn’t even imagine the price. Being a popular television personality definitely had its perks.

      When she’d gone to bed, Cara had set the watch on the table beside her. She’d used its alarm as a backup, since she’d had to get up at three-thirty.

      Then she’d put it in her purse before heading for her West Wing office at the White House. If Max called about it, she’d drop it off for him on her way home. She had no intention of letting him use it as an excuse to come back to her apartment again.

      She flashed her ID tag through the scanner in the White House lobby, and passed through security in the predawn hours. A cleaner was vacuuming, while deliverymen made their way along the main hall. It was quiet out front, but closer to the press office, the activity level increased. Movers were lugging furniture and boxes into the newly appointed offices. She passed several people on her way to her small office.

      “Morning, Cara.” Her boss, Lynn, fell into step with her.

      Cara СКАЧАТЬ