He headed to the lounge located in the West Wing, directly beneath the Oval Office, to formulate a plan—preferably one that didn’t involve his damn dimples.
* * *
Marin rushed up the spiral steps to the pastry kitchen. She’d spent most of the day in the small White House chocolate shop, tucked away on the mansion’s basement floor. By concentrating on the delicate task of creating edible birds’ nests for Diego’s marzipan figures, she’d been able to avoid focusing on her cousin’s wedding date ultimatum. Now, she had to hurry to get the kitchen ready to make cookies with Arabelle. She was looking forward to spending time with the little girl.
Unfortunately, when Marin stepped into the narrow workspace, she found her sanctuary invaded yet again. One of the main kitchen’s assistant chefs, Lillie, loaded a tray of sticky buns into the oven at the far end of the room while she chatted animatedly with a man Marin didn’t recognize. And she would definitely remember this guy had she seen him before.
Broad shoulders and a tall, athletic body perfectly filled out the gray suit he was wearing. The pin in his lapel identified him as a Secret Service agent, but the dark stubble along his jaw and the thick sable hair curling past his collar gave him a roguish demeanor so unlike the military look of the men who protected the first family. He murmured something to Lillie, and the rich, gravelly timbre of his voice brought goose bumps to Marin’s skin. Then he did the unexpected and grinned—so slowly, it was mesmerizing. Two devastating dimples formed at either side of his lips. Marin swallowed a sigh just as the agent’s gaze settled on her. Eyes that couldn’t decide whether they were blue or green quickly sized Marin up before he murmured something soft to the other chef. Lillie’s laugh was like a machine gun, piercing the room in small staccato bursts, startling Marin from her enthralled stance.
She ducked into the pantry, telling herself it was to grab the plastic cookie cutters she’d brought from home, but she spent a long moment trying to get rid of the disappointment that Agent Hottie wasn’t flirting withher. Not that she could blame the guy for his interest in Lillie. She was a petite, Asian woman with alluring eyes and delicate features. The total opposite of Marin whose daily runs were the only thing keeping her from being a plus-sized pastry chef. Glancing at herself in the small mirror that hung on the wall, she swiped at the hair that had escaped her ponytail and tucked it under her toque.
“Get real, Marin,” she admonished herself. Guys like Agent Hottie didn’t give Amazons like Marin the time of day. But it wouldn’t be the first time that she wished they would.
“Have you heard?” Diego’s quietly asked question startled Marin once again. Framed by the doorway of the pantry, his face was inexplicably drawn. His knuckles were white where his fingers gripped the doorjamb.
“About Wes?” she asked.
Diego nodded solemnly.
The chief usher’s office had sent out an email an hour earlier announcing that the White House curator had died suddenly that morning. Marin was as shocked as Diego appeared to be when she read the news. Wes was—or had been—a jovial man with an inordinate amount of patience and knowledge. Since arriving at the White House, she’d enjoyed many afternoons strolling with the curator and listening to his enthusiastic descriptions of the artifacts displayed within the mansion.
“It’s so sad,” Marin said. “Folks downstairs were whispering that it was a suicide. Wes was such a sweet man. I just can’t imagine him taking his life. He didn’t seem the type.”
“Not sure there is a type,” Diego murmured. With a weary sigh, he dropped his hands and looked over his shoulder. “Hey, what are you doing hiding in here when there’s a potential wedding date candidate hanging out in your kitchen? A very hot one, if I do say so myself.”
“I think Lillie already has dibs,” Marin mumbled as she dug through her backpack looking for the cookie cutters. “But I’m sure you can take him if you’re that interested.”
Diego’s head snapped back around to stare at her disapprovingly. “Snarky doesn’t suit you, Boss. First of all, that guy out there is not gay.”
“How do you know this? Is there some secret code I’m missing?”
“And secondly,” Diego continued, ignoring her question, “I have it on good authority that Lillie is very happily involved with one of the assistant ushers. So, stop hiding in the pantry and making excuses.”
Marin wanted to argue that she was doing neither, but they’d both know she’d be lying. “Or we could make my life easier and you could come with me to the wedding?” she asked, a hint of pleading in her voice.
Reaching over to adjust her toque, Diego smiled softly. “This isn’t a Lifetime movie, Marin, where the gay friend rides to the rescue. You have two choices here. Either stand up to your bridezilla cousin or find a date.” He shook his head when Marin pointed at him. “A straight date.”
Standing up to Ava required more stamina than Marin possessed at the moment—or any other moment in her twenty-seven years. She blew out a pained breath. “Or, I could always go with option number three and hire an escort. That worked out in a movie once.”
Diego groaned in exasperation. “You don’t need to hire a guy. Not when there are plenty to choose from here. Starting with the hot dude in the kitchen.”
“That’s just the point,” Marin whispered. “That guy’s a hottie. And I’m…” she gestured to herself “…a nottie. Men like that aren’t interested in women like me.”
“What do you mean ‘women like me’?” Diego asked.
“You know.” She shot the sous chef an exasperated glare, angry she had to point out the obvious. “They prefer their women smaller. Like size zero smaller.”
“Zero isnota size,” Diego scoffed.
“Amen to that,” Marin replied. “But guys like Agent Hottie out there don’t go for big-boned girls with childbearing hips.”
Diego threw his head back and mumbled something at the ceiling in Spanish. She steeled herself for more arguments, but when his eyes met hers again, they were wide with surprise. “Do you smell smoke?”
The scent reached her nose just as his words registered in her ears and they were both clamoring out of the pantry when the smoke detectors began screeching. Black smoke was billowing from the oven where Lillie had put the sticky buns in to bake minutes before. Agent Hottie yanked the oven door open just as flames began to fan to life inside of it.
“Shit!” Diego managed to yell before the word was swallowed up in a flurry of coughs. He gestured for Marin to get out of the kitchen, but she wasn’t leaving her friend behind.
Heart racing, she snatched up a dish towel to use to beat the flames down when the entire oven suddenly erupted into a ball of fire. Agent Hottie jumped out of the way of the flames just in time, ducking onto his hands and knees. Diego grabbed the fire extinguisher and pulled its pin. Foam spewed all over Lillie’s sticky buns, dousing the flames, but not before the thick smoke had engulfed the narrow, low-ceilinged room. Breathable air vanished. Marin began to gasp frantically.