“I’ll meet you back in our office in twenty minutes to go over next week’s schedule,” she said, because as hard as she’d been trying, she really needed a cigarette right now.

Nathaniel gathered his notes following his presentation, but he glanced at the two secretaries as they left the room. The manner in which Mr. Cortelyou and Miss Delacroix embraced the new policies would set the example the rest of the staff would follow. As the people with the closest access to the president and first lady, he needed to recruit them to his side.

He stuffed his notes into his bag and hustled after them. By the time he got out into the staff hallway, Miss Delacroix was already gone, but the clicking of her heels could still be heard echoing up the eastside stairwell. There wasn’t much up there, but he filed it away for future reference as he chased down the president’s secretary.

“I hope I can count on your cooperation, Mr. Cortelyou.”

“Call me George,” the president’s secretary said, offering a handshake. “Whatever you need, don’t hesitate to ask. We’re glad to have you aboard.”

The strength of the handshake, the steady gaze, the slight lean forward—all of it added up to a man who was telling the truth.

“I’ve been charged with creating a comprehensive plan for White House security,” Nathaniel said. “I’d like to meet with you to discuss the president’s typical schedule and the nature of his activities outside the White House.”

“Let’s set up an appointment,” George replied agreeably.

Nathaniel followed him back to a cramped office, set up an appointment for later in the day, then wasted no time heading up the east wing stairwell in search of Miss Delacroix. The stairs led to an unused corridor and the roof, so it was hard to imagine why she’d gone up there. His nose prickled at the dust in the corridor, which seemed to have become a dumping ground for leftover construction materials and coils of electrical wire. The White House had been under almost constant renovation as electrical wiring and telephone lines were haphazardly installed over the years.

He was still staring at the abandoned materials when the door from the roof opened and Miss Delacroix stepped inside, spritzing herself with cologne. She startled at seeing him, clutching her reticule as a blush stained her cheeks. By heaven, she was even more dazzling up close, with golden blond hair and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. He’d never been the sort to fall for a pretty face, but it was hard not to stare. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a Gainsborough portrait . . . except for the guilty flush.

She wiggled the bottle of cologne back into her bag. “What are you doing up here?”