Chief

by Lesli Richardson

  He shakes his head. “You’ve heard wrongly, or just wishful thinking from some people. Besides, my personal life has taken enough of a hit over the past eight-plus years. I’m ready to be out of the spotlight, and so is my partner.”

  I silently groan.

  I really wish he hadn’t said that. I mean, I get why, because Samuels is single and reportedly a man-eater, and Owen’s trying to nip any potential shit in the bud now.

  She scowls. “I didn’t realize you had a…partner.”

  “I do. And they didn’t ask to be in the spotlight. So I’ve literally moved Heaven and Hell to keep them out of the spotlight.”

  “She’s a very lucky woman. Or he’s a lucky fellow?”

  Owen laughs. “Nice try, Senator, but no. I won’t divulge even that much. I made a promise to them that I intend to keep.”

  Now she focuses on me, even though her comments are for Owen. “I haven’t heard any rumors about you being attached.”

  “That’s because Carter is the best there is at his job. He keeps our ship running smoothly and leak-free.”

  Her gaze narrows just a hair, and I sense the calculations spinning through her mind at warp speed. “You want a job?” she asks. “I’m going to need comms, and a campaign manager. Either one could be yours. Could mean chief of staff once we’re in, or press secretary. Your choice.”

  It’s…intriguing. I won’t lie that, for just a second, I could see myself standing in the Oval Office and running through the morning briefing with her as POTUS.

  But without taking my focus off her, I can see Owen in my peripheral vision. My boy will say yes to whatever I ask of him, no matter at what cost to himself.

  He’s proven that time and again.

  I’ve asked enough of him for one lifetime, and we still have—most likely—eight more years to go.

  At least.

  Because once we’re done in Tallahassee, I’m sure Susa’s going to go gunning for this woman’s job.

  No matter my own aspirations, my first priority has always been Owen.

  Always.

  Promises to keep.

  And there’s my answer, right there. “That’s very flattering, Senator, but I’m afraid I must decline. If my wife wins her election, which I have no reason to believe she won’t, then I’m going to have my hands full being a full-time dad, and with my own job. I miss practicing law.”

  I toss in a little bit of radar chaff to deflect potential problems. “One of the deals we made when we started this was that Owen got to borrow Susa for eight years, and then I’d get to borrow him during the next eight to help me out while Susa’s busy with her job.”

  She’s still fixated on me. “And his partner is okay with this?”

  I nod. “They are.”

  Boy, are they.

  I didn’t even have to lie.

  She sighs, relaxing, and I realize we’re off the hook. She’s probably not going to try again. “Well, that is disappointing. I was really hoping to come out of this little tête-à-tête with a running mate and a campaign manager.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Senator,” Owen says. “We’re not your guys.”

  “Although,” I add, to throw her a bone, “I would be happy to discuss potential staffing decisions with you, and point you in a few helpful directions. I’m not sure a Florida running mate would be the best decision for you, anyway.”

  She settles back in her chair, reappraising me. “Why not?”

  “Well, exactly what you said—demographics. You’d be better off with someone from the Midwest, a moderate candidate who can reach a wider audience. Flyover state-friendly.”

  “Hmm. I don’t suppose your father-in-law would be willing to sit down with me to talk shop, would he?”

  “I can call him and ask, but he doesn’t travel much anymore because of his health.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll be back in Tallahassee on Monday morning, and can be in Tampa on Monday evening. I would consider it a personal favor if you could talk to him. I can clear my schedule for any time between next Monday and Friday to talk to him.”

  I nod. “I’ll do that.”

  She stands, and so do Owen and I. “Thank you very much for your time today, Governor Taylor. Mr. Wilson.” She shakes hands with me and Owen rounds his desk to shake with her, as well as to go open the door for her.

  My boy remembers his lessons well.

  There’s a Secret Service agent standing just outside Owen’s office door, and he turns when Owen opens it. Guy’s good, but I don’t miss how his gaze quickly sweeps Owen, then me, before a hard, thick wall descends.

  Well, then.

  Guy’s hot. Even with his suit—or maybe because of it—I can tell from the way his stance shifts just a little that he’s dying to adjust things in his slacks. We apparently rev his motor.

  Fair enough. He can eat his heart out, but that’s all he can do.

  And he can rest easy that neither I nor Owen will be his competition for the senator’s affections or attention.

  Because if the rumors I’ve heard whispered are correct, this is very likely Special Agent Christopher Bruunt, head of the senator’s security detail.

  And, most likely, a guy she’s been fucking.

  Getting wrapped up in that personal disaster waiting to happen isn’t anywhere on my bucket list, thank you very much. I’m perfectly happy with the two pets I have.

  Even if I wasn’t, there’s already a previous claim on my soul.

  I nod to Bruunt and he nods in reply, falling into step behind the senator as they leave, and speaking into his mic to someone about bringing the car around.

  I glance around the office just to make sure everything’s okay, then speak with Julia.

  “Hold the governor’s calls, please, unless it’s Mrs. Evans or Draymond.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I close the door and quietly snap the lock shut, watching Owen as I do.

  At the sound, Owen freezes for a second before he turns, his gaze on me.

  Always on me.

  Damn, now I need to adjust myself.

  I do just that as I grin and shake my head, walking over to pull him into my arms. “My boy’s popular.”

  “Not with her security.”

  I snort. “You noticed that, huh?”

  “Yep. Kind of obvious. To me, anyway.”

  “I’ve trained you well.”

  “Yes you have, Sir.” Pride fills me at the playful smirk he gives me.

  I lay a kiss on him, reminding him of all the sweet, loving things I can’t wait to do to him once we can sleep in on weekends anytime we want. I’m ready for a break.

  I want to take Owen and the boys on vacation.

  Susa’s dying to take over this office and get to work.

  Me?

  I’m ready to stand back and let my wife be the gloriously beautiful political beast she was raised and longs to be.

  She doesn’t need me hovering over her. In this way, she actually prefers I’m not hovering. She doesn’t need me in the same ways Owen needs me, and I’m fine with that.

  We have a very small window of time left before the boys start school. I want to make memories with them before then, Owen and I. They’ll always have Mommy, and they know that.

  Owen needs this time with them. Especially since we have to be careful how we spend it.

  His very heart and soul need it.

  I can’t deny it to him. Hell, I can’t deny my boy anything. I never have been able to deny my boy anything, even if he doesn’t realize it. I might torture him for our mutual amusement from time to time, but, in the end, whatever he asks of me, I try to move the universe to make it happen, by whatever means I have to.

  He wanted unconditional love, to feel wanted—done.

  He wanted children—done.

  He wanted to be governor—done.

  He wanted Susa—done.

  He wanted to be able to truly live serving someone who could appreciate all facets of who he is
—done, and doing.

  He wants the rest of his life to be as peaceful as possible, able to go on and enjoy himself, taking satisfaction that he worked hard and made good changes, helped people—in progress.

  I lean against his desk, my hands dropping to his ass to pull his body tightly against mine.

  Yep, he’s hard, too, but unfortunately we don’t have time for me to fuck him over his desk today.

  Maybe tomorrow.

  Or even tonight. We’ll see.

  He stares down into my eyes, his smile fading. “You really don’t want to work on a national campaign like that?”

  “No.”

  Clouds fill his sweet green eyes. “I…I mean, if you wanted to—”

  I kiss him. Not just a peck or a brush of lips. I usually try not to kiss him like this at work, because we both end up with pink in our cheeks from stubble rubbing, our lips red and swollen. Only when I feel his entire body trying to sink into mine do I finally end the kiss.

  I cup his face in my hands. “Owen,” I gently say, wanting him to know how serious I am, “I love you. Do I enjoy the game of politics? Sure. But what I’m going to enjoy even more is sitting at the breakfast table with you and reading the morning paper, or kicking back on the couch with you and the boys and watching movies. Or taking a school day off and after we drop the boys off, taking you home, and we fuck each other over every piece of furniture we own.”

  He sweetly smiles, but I’m not done.

  “I follow you,” I say, trying not to get choked up. “If you told me you wanted to run for the Senate, or the House, or for POTUS, then yeah, we’d be doing it. We’re dads now. I’m with you that I can’t wait to be a full-time dad. You know as well as I do that we don’t have to go back to work, if we don’t want to. We can sell your house and quit pretending.”

  “What about Susa? The campaign?”

  I shrug. “We wait to sell the house until after she’s re-elected. Doesn’t matter, because you have the townhouse, and we technically will be living in Tallahassee. If anyone asks, we say you didn’t like having to do the upkeep of a home, and you stay in one of our spare bedrooms when you need to be in Tampa. You’re the former governor at that point. No one will care.”

  In my mind is a photo-shoot from a couple of weeks ago. I haven’t shown him the proofs yet, but they’re heartbreakingly adorable. Some formal shots, of course, but a few of me and Susa in the background, with Owen rolling around on the grass at the mansion with Tom and Pete, his sleeves rolled up and tie off, all three of them laughing.

  They’ve also sent me the proof of the article that will accompany it, and the headline is He’s Florida’s Most Eligible and Adorable Godfather.

  I’m sure that will make Owen a little uncomfortable, the eligible part, but that’s on me. I asked the writer to drop subtle hints that Owen’s single, despite what we told the senator. I also told the writer why, that Owen does have a partner—and again I didn’t hint one way or the other regarding gender—and intimated that they could lose their sensitive job in a very specialized sector if public scrutiny is turned their way at this time.

  Technically, none of that is a lie.

  In return, I promised the writer an exclusive with Susa and I ahead of the election, a candid sit-down and photos, the whole nine yards, as well as another after the election, win or lose.

  They were happy to agree to those terms.

  It’s not like this is a Pulitzer kind of article, either. This isn’t deep background for Woodward and Bernstein. This is little more than a PR puff piece, and both the writer and I know it. It’s designed to sell issues on the newsstand, to catch the eyes of people standing in line with their Publix chicken dinners on their way home from work. Period.

  But having an exclusive with Susa and I would help focus extra eyeballs on their cover, and they know it. They’re not stupid.

  Hands wash hands.

  It also means Owen will grumble in private about all the renewed love letters he’ll start receiving.

  They’ll ease up. They always flood in after one of these kinds of articles, and ease up after several weeks.

  Besides, in three months, he gets to change jobs and do what he really wants to do—

  Be a full-time dad.

  It’ll be so good having my boy back.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Election Night

  We are, not-so-coincidentally, occupying the same set of suites we have on all of Owen’s election nights. We’re also surrounded by many of the same people who were here for us on most of Owen’s campaigns.

  Owen is too focused on taking care of Tommy and Petey to feel nervous tonight, thankfully. It also helps that it’s not his head on the block. He can actually enjoy tonight, because either way, his job ends in January, and the next chapter of his life starts.

  Being a full-time dad, even if no one knows that but the three of us.

  Well, and Dray and Gregory and Ethan.

  Susa stands in front of the TV in the suite’s living room and stares at WFLA’s early election results rolling in when most of the state’s polls close at seven. I watch her from the side, and she’s focused, intent, a stoked boiler close to exploding. Without thinking about it, she starts nervously chewing on her right thumbnail.

  At this point I know there’s nothing more I can do. Unlike Owen, she doesn’t need me dropping her into pet mode to cope with the stress. She thrives on this adrenaline spike.

  God help us if she loses.

  God help everyone else if she wins.

  Benchley walks over to me and nudges my shoulder, then silently points toward Susa with his glass. A glass I hope contains iced tea and not bourbon, or Michelle will take it out on me for him drinking.

  “She’s fine,” I say after glancing around to make sure no one’s close enough to hear.

  He leans in. “Contingency plan if she loses?”

  “Not really, no.”

  That’s a lie. Of course I have one, but it’s none of his fucking business, Susa’s father or not.

  How I run my family and take care of my spouses is none of his business, even if he thinks it is.

  Benchley stares at me for a long moment with the blue eyes he gave his daughter. “Take care of my baby, Carter,” he hoarsely whispers. “Don’t let her burn out, please. Don’t let her become me.”

  My irritation at him evaporates. I had completely misread him. To be fair, Benchley has never directly expressed this kind of vulnerable emotion to me, not even during those raw, desperate days when we didn’t know if she was alive or not. Days when we suspected she was already dead, even though we prayed and hoped and refused to give up.

  I pat his shoulder and gently squeeze. “I’ll always take care of her. You have my word.”

  Ethan, Dray, Gregory, and a few others who rightfully count themselves part of Susa’s trusted inner circle, have gathered around her now in front of the TV. Dray drapes an arm over her shoulders and one over Ethan’s. On Ethan’s other side, Gregory slips his arm around Ethan’s waist.

  It reminds me that the three of us—myself, Susa, and Owen—aren’t the only ones in this room with secrets to protect.

  That this is one of the few safe places there are in our world right now.

  The cycle repeats.

  It also reminds me how grateful I am to be alive, that I didn’t die in the desert that day, and to have found people who will fight almost as hard for my wife as Owen and I will.

  It reminds me how grateful I am that Susa survived the plane crash and being shipwrecked. It would have crushed me to lose her, but it would have destroyed Owen in ways I likely couldn’t have helped him heal.

  Ever.

  I might have lost him, too.

  Not now, though. He’s a father, has other reasons to live besides myself and Susa. He’s a damned good father, too. I know he’s looking forward to moving back home with me and the boys.

  It also eases, in some small ways, my regrets about someone who’s not her
e and never can be. Someone who has to remain in my past, and I have to remain in his.

  If I hadn’t made certain choices, none of us would be here tonight. I might not have my sons.

  Susa might not be alive.

  Owen might be miserable and unable to escape his mother for a life of his own where he discovered joy and made his dreams come true.

  We’ve all had dreams come true. I suppose the price I pay for my part of that will forever remain entwined with memories of the sound of Eddie’s sobs in a dark room, and the nightmares I might never completely rid myself of.

  Susa will be happy having the governor’s mansion mostly to herself, because she’ll be too busy to even notice those times when we’re not with her. We’ll make sure we have frequent photo ops so the general public doesn’t realize what’s going on. Besides, having our townhouse so close to the mansion, and the boys being so young, means that no insiders will gossip too much about us wanting to keep them in the only home they’ve ever known, away from the harsh political spotlight.

  Susa’s sons will not grow up the way she did, and that’s by her choice, not mine, not Owen’s.

  She wants the family business to die with her.

  They’ll be in middle school at the end of two terms, if she’s elected to both.

  They’ll barely know her.

  Hell, I’ll be pushing sixty by then.

  I’m going to have my hands full making her take family time, and don’t think I don’t know that. She did, however, promise me that she would take off four to six years after her second term, before running for the Senate. By then, the boys will be close to heading to college.

  Like I could really tell her no.

  If she does decide to do that, to run for the Senate, then I’ll be her campaign manager and Owen her chief of staff, which is only fair. It’ll give us a chance to not need to make excuses being around each other all the time on the campaign trail, or why Owen spends time alone with her, or travels with her. Once she’s elected, I’ll handle comms, while Owen can be COS.

  If he wants to.

  If not, once she’s elected, the two of us will focus on supporting her on the home front and staying out of her way.