CHAPTER ONE
TWO MORE DAYS until it happens.
Just two measly days. Forty-eight hours. Two thousand, eight hundred, eighty minutes…
And then I would be in the presence of the man who was both my personal hero and my vagina’s.
With an exasperated sigh, I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. Jesus, Selah, would you get over yourself and the theatrics? He’s just a man. Never forget that you are an accomplished, modern woman who shouldn’t be acting like a prepubescent girl with her first crush. So what if he gave you the best sex ever? Get over it!
There’s also the pesky little fact that he saved your life. It’s kinda hard to forget that one.
I guess you could say mine was a tale as old as time. After all, the hero who saves the damsel in distress has been a staple of fairy tales for centuries. Trust me when I say that Stuart Issacson could’ve walked right out of the pages of an epic romance. He was six three, dark-haired, broad-shouldered, had cast-iron pecs, and thighs that could choke a bear…
Sorry, where was I?
Right. My fractured fairy tale. After we’d both looked death in the eye, we’d lost ourselves in a bottle of expensive tequila and then a night of mind-altering sexual healing. In a way, one of those fairy-tale tropes had come to bite us both in the ass, because it was our fucking honor that had done us in. And therefore, mine hadn’t ended with us riding off into the sunset together.
However, somehow I fell just the teensiest bit in love with Stuart.
You see, we weren’t two random ships passing in the night brought together by tragic circumstance. Stuart was Agent Issacson of the United States Secret Service. He was assigned to my best friend and boss, Caroline Callahan, whose father just happened to be the leader of the free world.
As a member of Caroline’s protection team, I’d even been in Stuart’s presence multiple times. He and the agents of her protection team had an apartment just down the hall in Caroline’s and my apartment building.
Sure, I’d found him attractive, but he wasn’t my type. Maybe it was because he was at least a decade older than me. Or maybe it was he always seemed to be acting like an overprotective big brother. I’d probably even called him a killjoy from time to time, because he was always putting the kibosh on any plans Caroline and I might’ve had out on the town. But that was before…
At the knock on my dressing room door, I paused my thoughts. Normally, I didn’t find myself outfitted in a designer evening gown in the middle of a Thursday afternoon. Usually, I would be holed up in our Charleston office, but that morning, I’d left on an early flight to DC.
“Is there a problem with the dress, Ms. Macallister?” a snooty voice questioned.
“Um, no, sorry.” I threw open the door and met the pretentious stare of a designer I’d never heard of until a month ago. In fact, it was my first time even being inside a fancy-schmancy boutique. I’d always bought my clothing off the rack. Growing up in Jersey, I’d often bought off clearance racks.
For my original fitting, the designer’s assistant had come to Caroline’s apartment in Charleston, but today I had to face the music with the designer. When the pins hadn’t strained too much against my skin, I was relieved that the last few weeks of stress eating and emotional wine bingeing at the prospect of seeing Stuart hadn’t affected the sizing.
I’d originally imagined the designer being French or Italian, but I’d forgotten how Caroline and her family always wore American designers’ dresses to domestic events. Harrison Dellinger had worked with the First Lady for many events. With the flick of his wrist, he pretentiously commanded, “Stand over there.”
As I made my way in front of an enormous tri-fold mirror, a squeal of delight erupted from Caroline as she rushed into the room. “Oh, Selah, you look positively stunning,” she gushed.
Normally, I would’ve agreed with her, but I found myself out of my element. “Isn’t it a little much?” I asked, to which Harrison grunted.
“You’re attending a formal reception at the White House, are you not?” he asked.
“Well, yes.”
“I can assure you it’s not too much.”
I wanted to tell him that my wallet said it was extremely too much. Not that Caroline didn’t pay well. I just wasn’t used to shelling out thousands for an article of clothing, even if it would be on display to potentially millions of people. While I had originally planned on just grabbing something off the rack, Caroline insisted on the VIP treatment. I bit my tongue from saying with equal snootiness to Harrison that I had been to the White House before, so I knew what everything entailed. Of course, if I mentioned that, then I would have to admit that I’d worn some of Caroline’s designer dresses to both the inauguration and the balls, rather than my own.
“I just don’t want to draw too much attention to myself,” I stated diplomatically.
With a snort, Caroline replied, “Since when have you ever not wanted to have all the eyes in the room on you?”
So, she had me there. When it came to social situations, I was no wallflower. I loved dressing to the nines with my hair professionally done and the best makeup. But for this social engagement, I wanted to fade into the crowd. Moreover, I didn’t want to seem like I was trying too hard for him.
“Maybe because it’s an award ceremony where I’m guaranteed not to come home with any trophies,” I teased.
Caroline stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “Seriously, Selah? That ceremony is for Ty and Stuart, and the other agents who saved our lives. Of course you would be included.”
Fuck. She had said his name. For months, she had said his name, and it hadn’t had any effect on me whatsoever. But today was a different story. Because of two thousand, eight hundred, seventy-five minutes.
“But you were the target of the gunman, not me,” I protested.
As someone who enjoyed True Crime podcasts, I was well versed in stories about stalkers. I just never thought I would actually know someone who was being stalked, least of all that that person would be my best friend.
Back in undergrad, Caroline had just been a senator’s daughter. After graduation, I’d started my job in public relations in New York City, and she’d headed to London for graduate school. The distance hadn’t hurt our friendship, nor had the fact she had been thrust into the world’s view when her father became the first Independent candidate to win the presidency. Caroline didn’t let the fact she was the First Daughter go to her head. When she decided to start a non-profit, Read 4 Life, to piggyback on the First Lady’s, aka her mom’s, literacy initiative, Caroline had asked me to go with her to Charleston, West Virginia as her right hand.
At first, it had been quite a culture shock leaving my job and my life in New York City. I mean, we got our groceries at a place called The Piggly Wiggly for goodness sake, not to mention not having a Starbucks on every corner. Don’t even get me started on the dating scene there. But in spite of all its deficits, there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for Caroline. Especially considering the fucked-up situation she currently found herself in.
After she returned to the States, though, Caroline began receiving threatening letters and packages. Determined to keep her as safe as possible, President Callahan had moved one of his agents, Ty Fraser, from protecting his son, Thorn, to protecting Caroline. Ty not only had five years of service in the British Army, but he’d spent his early days working for a major security company in London.