“How did I know you were going to say that?” she quipped.

He simply shrugged. “Our world is made of rule-breakers and rule-followers. I think we both know our designated roles.”

She grabbed the cigarette case and emptied the contents into her palm. Then she leaned forward and plunked the pre-rolled cigarettes onto the mattress at the foot of the bed, a hint of challenge in her eyes. “Take those with you. As you can see, I don’t need them.”

He slipped them into his suit pocket and stood to leave.

“Don’t let me catch you smoking them,” Caroline called after him. “My good opinion of you will be shattered if you let me down.”

He battled a smile the entire walk back to his office.

After that day, Caroline began submitting official visitor lists to Nathaniel’s office. The lists were an extra burden on her overfilled day, but it wasn’t a completely unreasonable request.

What was unreasonable was the way Nathaniel began haunting the East Room each day during visitors’ hours. The grandiose room looked like something straight out of Versailles. It featured lavish artwork and huge chandeliers that twinkled with thousands of crystals. It was a favorite among the tourists, who gaped at the coffered ceilings, velvet drapes, and gilded mirrors.

Nathaniel Trask perched on a chair in the corner, scrutinizing the visitors like a cat waiting to pounce. He did it for an hour every day. The only time he tore his gaze off the visitors was to scribble in a little notebook. Caroline itched to know what he wrote, for his concentration was fascinating. Something about a man completely absorbed in his professional duties was inexplicably attractive.

One morning she simply couldn’t stand it another moment. He watched an elderly woman waddle past with a cane, huffing and out of breath as she admired a pair of marble lions flanking the fireplace. Nathaniel was almost holding his breath as he watched her, his stare disconcerting.

She slid up beside his chair and leaned down to whisper, “What do you think, arsonist or assassin?”

A smile fought to emerge, but he killed it quickly. “Sorry to disappoint. I think she’s an ordinary tourist. One who hails from the Midwest, if her accent is any indication.” He closed his notebook and slipped it inside his suit jacket. “I’ve got what I need for today. Let’s go outside.”

She followed him out to the southern portico, the semi-circular balcony framed by the iconic white columns. She snapped open her fan, for the August heat was sweltering. “No one will think poorly of you if you shed that suit jacket.”

His lips curved into one of those slow, closed-mouth smiles. “Somehow it doesn’t seem right to be on White House grounds without a suit jacket.”