Moss felt his heart fluttering in his chest. He fought to take a clear deep breath. “Where did you get this phone number, Ms. Spritzer? There are very few people who know it.” He didn’t realize how tight he had clenched his jaw until he felt the pain ricochet down his neck.

“I’m a reporter, Mr. Moss. As you know, a reporter never reveals his or her sources. So, can we schedule an interview?”

Moss’s gut instinct warned him not to make an issue of the phone number. It would be a simple matter to have it changed within the hour and notify those who had it. “I’m afraid not, Ms. Spritzer. My calendar is full for the next six weeks. Thank you for the nomination, however. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for a meeting.”

Maggie was, if nothing else, a dog with a bone. “Well then, perhaps you could find a few minutes on Saturday night at the First Lady’s gala at the Four Seasons. The Post bought a table, and I understand it is right next to yours. That way, we can also interview your beautiful wife at the same time.”

Who in the damn hell is this woman? Then he remembered. She’d done so many exposés along with that guy Ted something or other who was a Pulitzer Prize winner that her name was almost a household word. He felt his stomach tighten. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible either. I never do interviews, especially at social occasions. I think the First Lady might frown on that.”

“Well then, is there any truth to the rumor that your wife had facial surgery to alter her appearance and that no one has seen her in five years?”

Lincoln Moss broke the connection. He was blind with fury, the veins in his neck twice their normal size. He could feel the blood rushing through his body. He knew he’d just screwed up, but he didn’t give a good rat’s ass. He dropped his head between his knees and struggled to take deep breaths.

Moss looked at the beautiful orchids, the crystal, his delicate china, and the Bavarian lace place mat that was handmade. With one sweep of his arm, he sent the whole mess sailing across the room. He got up, didn’t look back, and strode out of the room. His destination—the White House.