"I'll make sure she gets the message, ma'am," Francis said with a smile on his weathered face. He seemed to be past retirement age, but he was still working here. His smile felt genuine, so maybe he loved it so much he'd stayed?
Rhett hardly dared to touch the delicate gold-lined soup bowl a butler had placed in front of him. This was the finest china he had ever laid his eyes on, let alone eaten from. Both ears and the edge lined with gold, the bowl sat on a matching plate with a golden, curved edge. A pattern of gold flowers and ornamental designs lined both the bowl and the plate. This, he actually liked, though if he had the choice, he'd never use dinnerware as elegant as this.
"It's ten mushrooms velouté," the president told Rhett, who blushed instantly. Did the president think he didn't trust it? Oh god, what must they think of him, staring at his soup?
"I was admiring the beautiful china," he said.
"It's gorgeous," Mrs. Shafer said. "I have to admit the china we use here is a bit intimidating. I've been told Betty Ford purchased this set."
Rhett swallowed. He really wished the first lady hadn't told him that. What if he accidentally broke it?
"I hope you guys have good insurance, then," Milan said.
Everyone laughed. "This house survived several presidents with younger children, so I'm sure we'll be fine," the president said.
"The expensive collections are all downstairs in the china room. Some pieces date back to the late-eighteenth century," Mrs. Shafer said.
At least they were safe, then. Thank god for small favors.
Rhett checked if it was okay to start. The president was already eating, and he gave Rhett an encouraging nod, so Rhett picked up his spoon and took a careful sip of the soup. He could barely hold back a moan of pleasure. Oh god, that was amazing. Creamy, rich, velvety, and bursting with flavor.
"It's good, right?" Mrs. Shafer asked.
"It's amazing. Unbelievable how much flavor is packed in each spoonful."
"Maybe you'll get inspiration for some recipes of your own," Calix said. Every head at the table turned toward him, and Rhett winced. Was Calix aware he was giving away he knew Rhett much better than as just a member of the West Wing staff? "Rhett loves cooking, don't you?"
Rhett could do little else but nod. "But obviously I wouldn't dare compare myself to Chef Morgan."
"Your turkey was delicious," Calix said, and Rhett's heart skipped a beat. "I've eaten turkey that was super dry, but yours was wonderfully moist."
Rhett swallowed. "Thank you." His voice only trembled a little, thank goodness.
He peeked around the table from beneath his lashes. Everyone's attention was still on Calix, who took a sip of water, then dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "I invited Rhett over for Thanksgiving yesterday so neither of us would be alone," he finally said, and Rhett was impressed how calm his voice sounded.
His worry that Calix had accidentally shared too much eased. Apparently, it had been his intention to casually mention it.
"I cooked," Rhett said. "I like to make Thanksgiving dinner."
Okay, high-level conversation, it wasn't, but he deserved points for even managing words right now. Talk about an intimidating environment.
"You must share your secret with me sometime," Mrs. Shafer said. "I've never been able to get the turkey right. Luckily, it wasn't an issue this year, since our amazing chef cooked it for us, but at some point, I'll have to do it myself again."
"I'd be happy to, ma'am."
"I'm glad to hear you weren't alone," the president said, but he looked pointedly at Calix. Yeah, Rhett would bet good money on the president taking this up with Calix later, but that wasn't his problem. No way was he getting into that particular conversation.
As conversation flowed easily, he mostly observed. Milan Bradbury, the first lady's brother, was an interesting character: loud, sharp, and funny. He kept them entertained with stories about his work as an NYPD detective. He and his sister seemed to be close, and Kenn clearly admired him, often looking at his uncle with adoration. Rhett couldn't fault him. The man was handsome for sure, although he wasn't as hot as Calix or the president. His face was too hard, as if he'd seen too much. But the man had a presence that cut into Rhett's soul. This was not a man who liked to hear the word no.
The food was scrumptious. The soup had been fantastic, and it had only been the first course in the whole dinner, which had mushrooms as a theme. The veal with mushroom sauce—although Rhett was pretty sure it had a fancier name—had been amazing, and all the sides were equally delicious.
The first lady had requested a half-hour break before dessert so the food could settle a little. What could they make for dessert with mushrooms? The White House didn't seem like the type of place that would serve experimental dishes, like mushroom ice cream, but one never knew.
"Excuse me, Mr. President." Francis handed the president a folded note.
"Thank you." The president unfolded the note. "Goddamn it all to hell."
Calix put his glass down so hard the water sloshed over his hand. "What happened?"
The president crumpled the note with one hand, balling it into a fist. "It's from the CIA director. Muhammed Bhat was found dead in Islamabad. Clean shot to the temple. Local authorities are ruling it a suicide. And CNN has contacted them already with requests for confirmation on who he is. They have rudimentary details on his role."
Muhammed Bhat… Who was that again? Oh, right. He’d picked up enough in conversations to make the connection. Bhat was the one who had wanted to take Shafer out in Annapolis but had gotten away.
"No way in hell is that a suicide," Calix said, worry painted all over his face.
"Can you discuss this?" Milan asked with a subtle nod in Rhett's direction.
"I can leave," Rhett said immediately.
“No,” Calix said, shooting an irritated glance at Milan, and the president’s answer echoed a second later. “You have full clearance. Besides, if CNN has it, it’s not classified anymore.”
“My apologies,” Milan told Rhett, meeting his gaze open and honest. “I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome or uncomfortable.”
Uncomfortable? That ship had sailed about half an hour earlier, but Rhett kept that part to himself. “I completely understand.”
“But I agree with Calix. This wasn’t a suicide,” the president said.
“Didn’t you guys have eyes on him?” Milan asked.
The president shook his head. “We suspected he was in Islamabad, but we hadn’t confirmed it yet.”
“I thought you had an agent on the ground.”
“I can’t comment on that.” The president sounded firm and not even a little bit apologetic. “The fewer people know about the details, the better.”
Milan held up his hands. “I’m sorry. Of course. I wasn’t thinking, Del, and I’d never ask you to compromise national security, obviously. I’m just… I’m worried.”
Calix leaned forward. “As a detective who has worked on plenty of complicated organized crime cases, what does this look like to you?”