The playful smirk returns. “Glad to be stuck with you, Sir.”
I suppose we’ll find out what Leo thinks of it when he eventually finds out.
Don’t know if the thought of that fills me with dread or hope.
Maybe both.
We’ve cleaned up and Elliot’s fully dressed, including his tie and blazer, before I unlock the suite’s door and go in search of a flight attendant to get us something to drink.
Non-alcoholic, obvs.
Although I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on some booze later, once we’re safely locked inside Elliot’s house. I could damn sure use a drink.
I leave the suite door open so when the flight attendant brings our drinks the man can see Elliot stretched out in one of the single recliners with his eyes closed.
Looking like he’s still working on a migraine.
What Elliot’s really doing is enjoying his post-orgasm coma and struggling not to fall asleep. Which I told him he could take a nap, if he wanted. He looks fucking exhausted and admitted to me he’s not sleeping well.
I can totally sympathize.
At least now I know Elliot’s feeling steadier. Our encounter wasn’t much, but it was a start in the right direction to getting his ship fully righted again.
If only it were so easy to right my own.
Chapter Nineteen
Aside from our mental and emotional turbulence, it’s an otherwise smooth flight to DC. When we exit the plane, I’m doubly glad I opted to don a suit and keep my heavy coat out before leaving Tallahassee. It’s a clear, cold night, well beyond the “crisp” range, and a steady breeze makes it damn biting. I thought sixty-two was cold in Tallahassee—it’s thirty-nine here, which is sub-arctic to me. When I first moved to Florida in high school, it didn’t take long for me to acclimate and my blood to “thin,” as people told me it would. I just thought, back then, that Floridians were wimps.
Now, I totally get it. The only thing I had trouble getting used to when I lived in DC before was the cold, which is stupid because I grew up in New York.
Luckily, it only takes them five minutes to load all my shit into the back of the armored limo that’ll ferry us to Elliot’s residence. I’ve once again donned my mask of cool and collected advisor, the experienced politico.
Command and control mode, as Leo calls it.
It’s not the real me, though. As long as everyone else thinks it is, I’ll call it a success.
We’re driving back from Andrews tonight because of the late hour, meaning little traffic to contend with. Plus, with the president out of town, several of the Marine choppers used to move POTUS and VPOTUS back and forth are on the road with her. Elliot’s not fond of choppers, which I think is part of his PTSD from the military. Any opportunity where he can opt to ride in a land vehicle instead of flying in a helicopter, he gladly takes it.
While I’ve been to Elliot’s residence many times before, it takes on a much different and graver significance as we make our way through the night. Normally, the drive’s around thirty-five to forty minutes. Tonight, with the motorcade and full escort, and lack of traffic due to the hour, it only takes us twenty.
As we zip past the mansions on the south end of Embassy Row on our way up Massachusetts Avenue, I barely have time to reflect upon the fact that I’ve been silently promoted into a shadowy position that quite literally could make me the second most powerful man in the world in a couple of years simply by the fact that I’ll be controlling the most powerful man in the world.
If he’s elected.
It’s nearly enough to make me puke up the sandwich I ate earlier.
Take that, Dad.
Maybe I really do have more of a sadistic streak in me than I thought, because the idea occurs to me to call my parents from Air Force Two next time we’re on it.
I’d love to see their faces when the air operator tells them they have a call.
Yes, there will definitely be some showing of my metaphorical ass in the future, making damned sure people who know my parents learn about my new job.
Elliot and I don’t speak during the ride to Number One Observatory Circle—the vice president’s official residence.
A lot of people, who apparently don’t know how to use Google and who weren’t paying attention in their high school social studies classes, mistakenly think the vice president also lives in the White House.
No, he doesn’t. He has an office there, but he has his own residence, with his own staff. For starters, it’d be horrible security protocol to have them living together in the same residence all the time. One attack could, theoretically, take them both out. Secondly, the White House, the residence portion of it, is far smaller than most people understand. Seeing it filling a TV screen doesn’t give you the full or even halfway accurate sense of scale. That was something that struck me the first time I saw it in person when I was originally hired to handle the interior design plans and went there to make my evaluation.
Hell, Air Force One is bigger than the White House—not counting the East and West Wings—which blows many people’s minds when they learn that. The wingspan on that plane is longer than the White House, and the body of the plane itself is longer than the White House by approximately seventy feet.
Elliot would have more household staff on hand than he currently does were it left to government wonks. Early on, he pared them down, especially at night and on the weekends. Most of them were moved over to the White House or other positions, and are brought in for special occasions, such as if he’s hosting a dinner for a head of state or other dignitary, or some sort of special event is being held there.
He prefers minimal household staff inside during the day when he’s home, and none on nights or weekends, if he’s alone.
Or, I guess, now with me around, I’ll be included in that. Since it was just him before, and he doesn’t have a family, there really isn’t a lot of work to be done, other than laundry, dusting, cleaning his master bathroom, and taking care of the kitchen and shopping.
Partially because Elliot’s not comfortable with the trappings of such a high office, and I admire him for that. But it’s also because he’s terrified of his secret getting out, and he didn’t want anyone around to witness Leo’s visits. He knows Secret Service won’t tell, but even then he risks as little as possible around them. The story is that he and Leo are good friends, or that Leo’s there on business for POTUS.
I have to talk to Kev.
As Shae’s chief of staff, I know Kev will keep our secrets. By all rights, I can’t have a landmine like this left sitting there without telling Kev. Common courtesy, if nothing else. If something ever comes of it, he can’t be caught flat-footed. Plus, I’ll need his advice on how to avoid doing anything on paper that can trip Elliot during the election.
My to-do list is growing a mile a minute right now.
When we finally pull up to the mansion about a quarter ’til three, the front lights are on outside and in the reception hall, visible through the windows in the door. I suspect Secret Service already unlocked the door and disarmed the alarm, since there’s an agent standing on the porch.
Guess I’m getting a new set of keys and an alarm code.
I think about Leo’s keys on my keyring and wonder if he changed his locks or took my code off his alarm system.
No, I’m not going over there uninvited. I’m not stupid.
Even if the thought of climbing into his bed and shoving my face into his pillow to smell him is a very tempting proposition. But even if I could do that, the alarm being disarmed will send him a text alert and he’ll know it’s me.
I grab as much as the agents will let me carry, and I’m not shocked to see Elliot gets one of his own bags, in addition to his laptop case, despite Secret Service trying to help him. He glances back at me and I follow him inside, leaving the agents to finish unloading for us.
Elliot heads upstairs immediately, and I follow. On his way past the doorway of the guest room, Elliot casually r
eaches inside and flips on the light.
“There you go, Jordan.”
“Thanks.”
Our gazes briefly meet and I know damned well I’ll likely never sleep in this bed.
Note to self—mess up the bed every night.
That way, it looks like I made it in the morning after sleeping in it, instead of the way the housekeeper will remake it every day.
The other two rooms upstairs are used for his home office, and house his workout equipment.
Meanwhile, Elliot’s things are brought inside, and some are taken to his bedroom—like his walker, crutches, and other supplies—and some, like his back-up wheelchair, are left downstairs. The head of his detail arrives with my new ID badge, keys, and walks me through the alarm panel. There will be more to do, like filling out paperwork and other HR bullshit, but I’ll do that when we head to the White House tomorrow.
Which…I just realized I don’t know what Elliot’s schedule is for tomorrow, or if we’ll even be at the White House.
Add that to the list.
Twenty minutes later, we’re alone in the house, locked in, the alarm’s on, the outside lights are off, all the curtains are drawn, and it’s time for me to do things properly.
Without undressing, I grab a couple of items from my carryon bag, stick them in my blazer pockets, and head down the hall to Elliot’s bedroom. I should unpack tonight despite my exhaustion, but I have a boy to take care of.
He comes first.
He will always come first, because that’s the only way this works.
Not sure how Leo will feel about that, but it’s the new world order, whether Leo likes it or not.
Maybe he should’ve thought about that before not fighting harder for me.
Or before he practically ignored Elliot over the past several months.
I find Elliot standing in front of the bench at the end of the bed, where his suitcase now lays, and starting to unzip his bag. He’s already removed his glasses and I spot them on one of the nightstands.
Without a word, I close and lock the bedroom door behind me before I cross the room, snap my fingers, and point at the floor in front of me.
There’s no hesitation. He turns and sinks to the floor. Force of habit, I realize, has me holding out my left hand the way Leo always did, not grabbing him or assuming he needs the help, but just in case he wobbles a little too far and loses his balance. But once I see he’s fine, I shove my hands into my trouser pockets and stare down at him for a long moment.
Note to self—figure out the music situation.
I have a Bluetooth speaker in one of my bags. I’ll need to make sure it’s in here for us. I don’t see the Bluetooth speaker that I remember being in here.
I keep my voice down. Despite being alone in the house, it feels right to keep things quiet. “Well, here we are, boy.”
I can honestly say this is not how I thought my Thursday night would end, or my Friday morning would begin.
He blinks as he stares up at me. I see the way his eyes are already too bright, dangerously close to tears again. “Yes, Sir.”
He’s an absolute wreck. What I did for him earlier must have barely scratched the surface. I find myself shoving back another wave of irritation at Leo for letting him get this bad. That’s just common decency in a situation like this. He knows how much Elliot needs him.
Why the hell did I rip my heart out of my chest so Leo could focus on Elliot if he wasn’t doing that one damn thing?
I can unpack all those conflicting feelings later.
“Has anything happened since I left that I need to know about tonight? Any developments between you and Leo? Or between Leo and anyone else?” I hate asking that last question and fear the answer to it.
“No, Sir. Just what I told you earlier.”
Relief swirls through me as I reach out and stroke his hair. “Stress about declaring getting to you?”
He nuzzles my hand. “Yes, Sir.” His stubble warmly rasps against my palm.
I won’t bother reminding him tonight that there’s no law that says he has to declare and run. That there’s no shame in not running for POTUS, returning to Nebraska, and running for the House again, or Senate, or even governor. Or entering the private sector, if he wishes.
Except if he did that, where would that leave me?
Which is a stupid-ass thought to have right now, I know, but there it is.
The Senate’s currently in session, but with the existing ratios, there’s about as much chance of him needing to break a tie vote as there is of me sprouting wings and singing like Freddie Mercury in the National Cathedral.
“What’s tomorrow’s schedule? I mean, today’s schedule.”
His eyes drop closed as he presses his cheek more firmly into my hand. “I’m here until two in the afternoon. I asked the household staff not to come in until after I leave. To the White House to work for several hours, then I have dinner and a speech at eight at the National Press Club. Return to the residence probably between eleven and midnight.”
Shit. “Tux?” I have a basic tux, but I don’t know what kind of shape it’s in. I don’t think I had it cleaned after the last time I wore it. I honestly can’t remember. I dumped it, garment bag and all, into one of the suitcases. Thank god I grabbed all my shoes.
Finally, the hint of a smile. “No, Sir. You won’t need a tux for a couple of weeks.”
A little relief fills me. “Okay, good.” I scratch his head and watch the way he leans toward me.
I step closer so he can relax against my thighs. In the still of the house, I can hear the stubble on his cheeks softly rasping against the fabric of my slacks.
“Is getting me into the event tomorrow night going to be a problem?”
“No, Sir. I had them account for a plus-one.”
“Ahh. A little cocky, huh?”
“Hopeful, Sir.” He opens his eyes and tips his head back enough he can look me in the eyes. “I was very hopeful.”
Yeah, I gotta admit, that tweaks those lonely points in my soul even harder. “How long have you been planning this?”
“A few weeks. The trip was already planned. I just…modified the itinerary a little.”
“And yet you didn’t talk to Leo about it. Interesting. Why?”
“I wasn’t sure if he’d tell me no or not. This way, I’m not disobeying him.”
That spawns a lump in my throat, that Elliot would risk pissing off Leo and alienating him to bring me on board.
I struggle to keep my tone light. “Forgiveness instead of permission, boy?”
“He’s always told me that I need to own our relationship. Him and me.” Elliot seems at a loss for words, but I don’t interrupt or break the silence. “That he has no interest in forcing me to be with him. That I have to tell him what I want from him. I want him to be happy. I don’t know how to make him happy anymore doing what we’re doing.
“You made him happy. I honestly believe if I let go and trust you, you’ll make me happy, too, because he’ll be happy.” He sighs. “Or, maybe you’ll make me happy the way you made him happy. I don’t know.”
I sense we’re in dangerous territory. “People can’t make other people happy, boy.”
“But they can do things that make other people unhappy. I know you’re an honest man, a man of integrity. A trustworthy man. I was terrified when you left. Whether or not you’d talk. But when I realized you weren’t going to sell your story to the highest bidder, I felt relieved. Then I felt ashamed that here Leo stayed because of me, and I still wasn’t giving anything to him in return. I admit I’ve got a lot of fear, and this is my first step toward trying to overcome that fear. I trust Leo, and I trust you. I have to start working on this somewhere. I want this to work.”
Fear of my own flitters through my soul. “So, what happens if, at the end of ten years, you’ve overcome your fear and you’ve learned how to be happy? Does that mean no room for me?”
He looks me dead in the eyes. “It means that,
hopefully, we’ve long since mastered fooling the public so they don’t know we’re a poly triad and that I belong to you, Sir.”
I let the sound of his words die off in the still of the room. I let them swirl through the velvety silence and sink into the rug that I picked out for him six years earlier. I let them settle and coat the furniture and bed that I struggled to carefully select for him, the dying sound of those words as much a part of the furnishings as a fine patina of dust.
I cup his face in my hands and keep him looking up at me. “I’ve only ever been with Leo, and now you. You realize that, right? Do you understand what that means to me?”
He nods as much as he can without losing contact with my hands. “I do, Sir. We’re a lot alike in that way, too.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Not quite. I never slept with a woman.”
“I don’t recommend it, Sir.” Now he’s smirking.
“Like you’d let me.”
His smirk widens, playful. “Leo has told me I’m territorial, Sir.”
“Seems like I remember that. You have a habit of marking your territory.” I also don’t miss he called Leo by his name and yet called me Sir.
The thrill that tickles in my possessive side can be unpacked later.
For now…
I tighten my grip on his head. “Don’t know what it’ll be yet, but you will wear a day collar of some sort for me. I know Leo didn’t push the issue, but you asked me to do this. That means you do what I say when it comes to taking care of you.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Oh…shit.
Elliot asked me.
Elliot planned this.
Stupidly, it’s just now hitting me the severity of the situation I am in.
Elliot’s doing something with me he’s never done with Leo.
He’s finally admitting he needs someone.
He’s finally owning a relationship…whatever the hell this is.
Holy fuck.
Honestly? I’m not sure how Leo’s going to take that. Especially after all the years he sat back and patiently waited for Elliot to de-ass his head, as Leo calls it.
Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2) Page 19
