Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2)

by Lesli Richardson

  Hell, New Hampshire made a serious effort to ban the tactic, and there’s a good chance it could happen in the future.

  Especially if bullshit like this gets out.

  I shake the paper. “This is a joke, right? Tell me this is a joke.”

  He puffs up. “We’ve worked really hard on those! They’re designed to highlight faults in the vice president’s opponents.”

  “It’s bullshit.”

  His face reddens. “My opinion is we are being too tentative, too conservative in our approach. We need to be aggressive, because the Republicans won’t hesitate to go negative. We need to expose his opponents in a way that builds the vice president’s gravitas.”

  The doe-eyed wunderkind has crawled onto my very last nerve and started doing the Macarena. I give him a withering glare I learned from Kevin Markos. “If I want your opinion, I’ll overnight you via FedEx to a mall test group in Des Moines.”

  He starts to laugh, until he realizes he’s the only one laughing. Everyone else apparently senses my mood and stares at him with shut up looks in their eyes.

  But I’m not done. Not even close. “The vice president has a degree in economics, a Purple Heart, a military jacket full of service awards and commendations, spent three terms in the US House, years before that in state leadership, and has nearly seven years working in the White House, among other notations on his résumé. I think we’ve got the ‘gravitas’ well in hand, thank you very much.”

  I reach over to my campaign laptop and tap into the batch of poll numbers I received last night, along with my notes. They display on the wall. “Did you even look at these?”

  Doe Eyes’ face reddens. “Well, not yet. We’ve been busy working on this.”

  “You don’t let poll numbers sit and get stale. What the hell is wrong with you? You should’ve been up all night crunching these numbers!” I point at the wall. “Notice that nowhere in those responses are there any concerns about the vice president’s statesmanship, low confidence in his ability to keep citizens safe, or doubts about his intellectual fitness.” I turn on the staffer. “And were you planning on running your poll in New Hampshire?”

  He doesn’t look nearly as certain of himself as he did only moments ago, which gives me way too much personal satisfaction. Maybe there’s more sadist in me than I realized.

  “Um, y-yes, sir. One of the targeted areas.”

  “You do realize New Hampshire takes an especially harsh view of push-polling, don’t you?”

  “I—”

  “As in we do not want this campaign linked to the same kind of dirty tactics the GOP dark-money groups use to smear candidates.” My voice rises in anger and I smack the table, making everyone jump. “Come on, this is Poli-Sci 101 bullshit, and I don’t even have a Poli-Sci degree! Are you seriously telling me you’ve wasted the better part of three days on developing this?”

  I ball up the paper and shoot a three-pointer at the garbage can by the door. “We are almost one hundred days out from Iowa, and you’re bringing me twenty-year-old recycled garbage tactics?” Yes, I’m practically screaming those last few words.

  His face reddens even more. “Sir, I—”

  “Yeah, no.” I turn to the rest of them, my hands on my hips and all of them now wary and silent. “I’ll make this easy on you. Call Singh and Roscoe. Tell them we want a five-question sampling from registered and potential voters, nationwide, including demographics info.”

  I hold up my pinky to start with. “Does Vice President Woodley’s record as a decorated combat veteran positively or negatively influence how you feel he would approach foreign policy?”

  I hold up my ring finger. “Does Vice President Woodley’s economics degree and reliable congressional voting record in favor of strengthening the US economy positively or negatively influence how you feel he would approach dealing with the country’s global trade partners?”

  I hold up my middle finger. “Does Vice President Woodley’s initiatives to improve middle- and high-school STEM programs across the country positively or negatively influence how you feel he would once again make American schoolchildren competitive in a global economy?”

  I hold up my index finger. “Who are you planning on voting for in the November presidential election?” My thumb goes up. “What political party are you registered to vote with?”

  Seriously? This is the best polling staff we can come up with?

  We are absolutely fucked, if that’s the case. “This campaign will not engage in negative push-polling. If you want to ensure positive chatter about our candidate and start skewing polls in his favor, that is how you do it, not by throwing in bullshit Q-anon-esque conspiracy theory questions. The whole point of us heavily campaigning in Iowa without a primary opponent is to scatter the opposition and create infighting so they cannibalize each other.

  “And here’s the other issue. If you start running polls that make it look like the vice president has a party primary opponent in Iowa, rest assured some dumbass first-term congressional member from the middle of Nowheresville will think they can make a name for themselves by running the political equivalent of a suicide bombing mission to earn column inches for themselves in local op-ed sections as a leg up in their re-election campaign on their way to running for governor in the next election cycle.”

  I let my gaze sweep the room and raise my voice. “Next person who ever dares to bring me something like this again can also hand me their campaign ID badge and phone when they do, because they’re gone. Do I make myself clear?” I finally take a breath as they all nod. “Good.”

  They stand there, Doe Eyes at the head of the herd, all of them staring at me like I just pooped a golden egg or something. I raise my voice. “Did I stutter? I just gave you the poll questions. You’re welcome. Go call Singh and Roscoe. Now.”

  The herd realizes they’ve been given their orders and scatters.

  Fuck. Me.

  I turn and trudge my way down the hall to Camden’s office and walk in without knocking, closing the door behind me.

  Do I get brownie points for not slamming it?

  Totes should.

  He’s on the phone but I must be wearing a “look,” because he sits up. “Um, I need to call you back.” He hangs up. “What happened?”

  “We have a bunch of idiots in the polling bullpen, that’s what happened. Did you buy them by the bulk from a manufacturer’s defect bin at Big Lots?”

  “Why?”

  I tell Camden what happened and, from the look on his face, I can tell he had no clue what they were up to. “Oh, fuck me.” He slumps back in his seat. “Are you shitting me? They wasted time on that?”

  I point at my face. “Would I be this pissed off if I was joking? Who hired them?”

  “Ed Lester brought them in.”

  “He knows better than that. At least, I thought he did. Where is he? And why isn’t he the one in there chewing them out?” Maybe we’ll need to rethink the man’s contract.

  “He’s out on the West Coast. Doing a post-mortem for the DCCC for the California 42nd special election. He’ll be back on Monday.”

  “We won the 42nd. Why do they need a post-mortem?”

  “I don’t know. I think they’re still trying to figure out how they won it.” It’s gone red far more often than not over the years.

  Dumbasses. “I can tell you how they won it—stupid, blind luck. Get him on the phone. Right now. Speaker phone.” I drop into one of the chairs in front of Cam’s desk while he makes the call. I mentally call up Ed’s contract and how much we’re paying him. “That’s the better part of five grand blown in consulting fees that he’s damn well going to credit back to the campaign.”

  “Agreed.”

  I wonder if we’re going to get the man’s voice mail, but he answers. “Ed Lester.”

  We’re going to good cop/bad cop this. I’m the bad cop, and Cam knows it.

  “Ed, Camden Bruno—”

  “Hey, Cam. What’s up?”

 
; “My blood pressure, Ed,” I say. “That’s what’s up. Jordan Walsh.”

  Cam and I exchange a glance as the line goes silent. Cam looks and I guess the call hasn’t dropped.

  Ed finally speaks. “Um, hey, Jordan. What’s going on?”

  Guess I have developed a reputation.

  Excellent. I’ll take it. “We need to have a little chat about your polling staffing choices…”

  Ten minutes later, Ed’s booking a red-eye back to DC, he’s apologized profusely, and I’ve not only got him to agree that he’s going to credit what the staffers wasted back to the campaign, but he’s going to personally plant his ass in this office and run the team himself from this point forward.

  Once we’re off the call, Cam sits back in his chair and studies me.

  “What?”

  Slowly shaking his head, a smile quirks his mouth. “You know, I heard a lot of things about you over the past few years.”

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  “Stuff I didn’t believe, until now. Like that you’re probably Kevin Markos’ younger, hotter twin brother, for starters.”

  It takes me a moment to register he just hit on me. “Thanks. I think.”

  His smile widens. “Care to have a drink with me tonight?”

  He’s hot, smart, and nearly as sarcastic as I am. If I wasn’t already doubly taken, yeah, I’d gladly have a drink with him.

  I glance at my watch and, yay, I have the perfect excuse. “Sorry, I can’t. We’re going wheels-up from Andrews in two hours, and I need to stop by the residence and make sure everything’s packed and ready to go.”

  I stand, pull my phone out, and check my schedule. I don’t want to totally blow him off, because he is a nice guy. But this is also a great way to throw up a smokescreen and hide my relationship with Elliot. “How about Thursday night? I’ve got about an hour while the vice president is having dinner?”

  He checks his phone. “No, I can’t. I’m heading to Iowa Thursday morning for a week at headquarters out there.”

  “I guess I’ll take a rain-check, then.” Whew.

  “What do you do for fun, Jordan? When you’re not working?”

  I head toward the door. “Who says I’m not having fun?”

  “You work for VPOTUS, and when you aren’t, you’re here. You must have a hobby or something.”

  “Well, you know what they say. Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life, right?”

  “What are your plans after the election?”

  He’s really not letting up on this. “Rumor has it I might be in the running to be the personal aide to POTUS. I kinda know a guy. Shh. It’s a secret.” I smile.

  Now he’s not smiling. “You know you could easily be making a half mil a year as a campaign consultant. Right? Say the word, and I could hook you up with at least five firms who’d readily shank each other for a chance to hire you.”

  I drop the act and turn back to him. “Look, I appreciate it. Really. But Vice President Woodley’s my best friend. He’s…family. Him, and President Samuels and her family. There will always be consulting firms I can talk to, especially if he wins re-election. That’d make three campaigns I fought my way through. But I only get eight more years, at the most, to work in the White House where I am right now. Besides, I genuinely enjoy what I’m doing. And you know, if after he’s out of office he asks me to keep working for him as his chief of staff or something, I’ll do that, too.”

  “Think of all the money you’re walking away from.”

  “I’ve got a savings account. The money’s still sitting there, waiting for me to finish my master’s degree. My biggest regret is that my grandmother didn’t live to see me accomplish what I have. My second biggest regret is leaving DC for six months and missing my adopted family. There’s not enough money in the world to make me walk away from everyone again. Especially before we’ve finished what we started.”

  He smiles as he slowly shakes his head. “You are a rare one, Jordan. Especially in this city.”

  I reach for the door. “Not the first one to tell me that.” I gather my things and let the detail know I’m ready to leave. The car’s waiting for me downstairs.

  As I ride back to the residence, I think about Elliot’s blue eyes staring up at me as he swallows my cock.

  I think about the hunger in Leo’s brown gaze as he watches us together from across a room.

  The pride also there.

  Yeah, like hell will I ever walk away from either of them again.

  Like Leo himself said, I might be a dumbass, but I rarely make the same mistake twice.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  December 2nd

  “A little higher, boy.” I’m enjoying the hell out of this. Sitting back on the sofa and sipping my Macallan while Elliot decorates our “personal” tree that’s set up in the den.

  He’s naked, natch.

  Well, except for Duck, his day collar, and his leather collar.

  He holds the ornament up against the tree. “There, Sir?”

  “That’s perfect.” They’re mostly my ornaments, which I brought over from the storage unit. Ornaments Mimi and I put up for years, along with ornaments I added during my years with Leo. I feel badly that Leo’s not decorating his apartment this year, but that’s okay. We’re flying out to visit his parents for a long weekend while Elliot entertains his family here.

  Not here-here, of course. They’re attending a Christmas Eve mass at the National Cathedral, and then they’ll be here in the residence only for Christmas Day dinner. Which will be prepared by staff.

  I offered to stay and cook for everyone, but Elliot gently said no. That he wanted me and Leo to have this holiday together.

  Partly because I know he feels badly that I was alone last year.

  Partly because I know it’ll make him nervous as fuck if I’m around his family.

  I don’t like leaving him alone with his parents, and especially with Stella, but I agreed to let Leo make the final call in this situation. After talking to Elliot about it, he thought it over for a day then reluctantly sided with Elliot.

  Stella isn’t happy she’s not being allowed to bring a guest, though. She’s been hammering me to add someone to the list and I started ignoring her about two weeks ago after giving her an unyielding no.

  Probably another reason Elliot said no to me staying, because he’s reasonably sure she’ll pick a fight with me, trying to get me fired—which obviously won’t happen—and he’ll already feel tense enough as it is.

  He prepares to hang another ornament, glancing my way to see if I approve of the placement before he hooks it on a branch. This is an artificial tree—one Mimi and I had. It’s an eight-footer, and needs to be beefy because of the sheer weight of the ornaments.

  I have to say, this method of tree decorating is a lot more…interesting than it was when I did it with Mimi.

  Elliot is the one who suggested it.

  Can I say that it warmed my heart more than a little when he did? That it means so much to him for us to have things to do together as a couple?

  I decorated the rest of his residence myself. Well, with help from staff. And I once again oversaw the White House Christmas decorations, something I missed doing last year.

  Call me Mr. Multi-Tasker.

  What I wish I was doing i planning a presidential wedding.

  Except Elliot’s obvious anxiety over his family converging on him for Christmas is additional proof he’s not yet ready to take that step. Trying to coax him to come out and publicly own his relationship with Leo?

  Not a chance right now. In fact, I would go so far as to gouge out my own pancreas and sacrifice a Nubian goat with my bare hands to keep from using the words Leo and press release in the same sentence when talking to Elliot right now. He’s stressed out enough as it is over the campaign.

  Adding a coming out and wedding to that stress would quite possibly break him.

  I have Elliot’s robe draped over the end of the couch i
n case I need to put it on him. But I’ve got all the curtains closed downstairs so no one can see inside, and the front door’s locked. Leo’s due to arrive soon and will let himself in with his key. He’ll spend tonight with us because the president is taking tomorrow off.

  I take another sip of my drink and set it aside so I can join Elliot at the tree. The ornament in his hand is a blown-glass mermaid, with bluish green sparkles all over her scales.

  “This is adorable,” he says.

  “This is my favorite ornament,” I tell him. “Mimi gave it to me the first Christmas I lived with her full-time. I saw it in a store and loved it, and she bought it for me. My parents never would have given me a mermaid ornament. Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have even been able to say how much I liked it in the store without them berating me about it.”

  I learned that lesson early on and folded it in with the rest of my disguise. Anything “girly” couldn’t be commented on in a way to make my parents think I wanted it. There was a rainbow unicorn ornament I once saw when at the store with my mom. It was a dollar store, and the ornament was only four dollars. I had that much in my pocket and was going to pay for it with my own money. But when I turned and showed it to her, before I could even get the words out, she made a disgusted sound.

  “Ugh. Yeah, those are ridiculous. Too bad they don’t have more boy ornaments.”

  She thought I was about to make fun of it.

  I remember laughing it off, as if she was exactly right that I’d been about to ridicule it, and then I sadly put it back.

  Message received, loud and clear.

  Elliot smiles as he hangs my mermaid dead center in the front of the tree, where anyone can see it. “Then it belongs there. Place of honor.” He drapes an arm around me and nuzzles the top of my head. “Thank you, Sir.”

  I look up into those gorgeous eyes of his. “For what?”

  “Coming back.” He kisses me. “I can’t do this without you.”

  Aww. “Yeah, well, if I’m so valuable, how about slipping me a hint of what Leo’s got planned for me for his ‘surprise.’”

  He laughs. “Do I look stupid? Even if I knew, Master would have sworn me to secrecy.”