“Jordan Walsh from Vice President Woodley’s office. You and Grace Martin—only you two—may have dinner with the vice president tonight at nine p.m.” Then I give her the details.
She starts to protest and I interrupt. “If you say no, there are no other options for a meeting with him for at least four months or longer. This is a one-time deal, because he had a meeting cancellation. Take it or leave it. You two have been wanting to meet with him? Well, this is your only chance. Secret Service will not admit anyone other than the two of you, and the restaurant’s reservation list is now closed to further reservations.” Well, it’s closed because I asked them to close it, and, again, it’s VPOTUS. They won’t say no.
That way, Grace and Stella can’t try to sneak someone in who “just happens” to stop by the table.
“Fine,” she finally says. “We’ll be there.”
“You’re welcome.” I hang up on her. Now that all of this is arranged, only then do I tell Elliot. It’s not uncommon for him to have zero knowledge of his schedule more than an hour or two in advance. He trusts me and has learned not to ask, only to focus on the immediate task or meeting or briefing book or whatever I have put before him. He doesn’t need to know details. I literally run his entire freaking life for him and meticulously curate every minute of his daily schedule. There is more than enough on his plate, and this is a burden I can take off his shoulders.
I will never betray the trust he has in me, either.
I close and lock his office door behind me before I break the news. Letting out a groan, he sits back in his chair and takes off his glasses so he can rub his eyes.
“We can’t schedule me a colonoscopy or something tonight instead? How about an emergency root canal? I’ve heard those are fun. Spinal tap? Emergency gallbladder removal?”
My poor boy. “You need to do this. You’ll receive a phone call early in the dinner, one you’ll have to take, which will require you to leave the restaurant. The detail will transport you home and I’ll follow you there after dinner.”
“What about my dinner?”
I laugh. “Detail will make sure it’s boxed up and sent with you.”
“All right. Because you know I love their veal.” He gives me a weary smile.
I walk around his desk to brush a kiss across his lips. “I will even bring dessert home for you.”
“Oooh.” He grins up at me. “Now that sounds like fun.”
With all the components in place, I can finish my afternoon’s work. When we arrive at the restaurant, the congresswoman and Stella are already seated at the table I requested, which is in a far corner without close neighbors. As per my instructions, the women are seated on one side, myself and Elliot on the other, and pre-positioned Secret Service agents have been standing watch since the women’s arrival to keep them where I want them seated.
At least the two of them have the decency to remember protocols and stand as we approach. Elliot forces himself to hug Stella and shakes with Grace. When it’s obvious I’m dining with them, Stella frowns.
“I didn’t know you were joining us.”
Elliot pauses mid-sit. “You start with me now, I’ll leave. I asked him to join us. He’s my best friend. Suck it up and deal, sis.”
Grace Martin is good, I’ll give her that. She smiles and touches Stella’s arm. “It’s fine, hon. Chill.” I’m seated across from Stella. She shoots daggers at me with her eyes, but also pastes on a smile.
We sit, and the waiter immediately steps in to take our beverage orders. With Elliot’s burner held below the table, I send a quick text to Leo. Seconds later, I receive a confirmation from him that he received it, and I can tuck the burner away. I won’t need it now.
I gave the restaurant Elliot’s order when I made the reservation, because Secret Service has to be on-site to personally supervise. I also gave the restaurant a firm timetable of when each course was to be served to us, that Elliot’s main dish was to be packed to go, and that the server was not to mention that fact in front of our two dining companions.
Again, when you’re VPOTUS, you can politely ask for little things like that and they’ll happily accommodate you.
Throughout the entrée and salad courses, I remain mostly silent, only speaking to divert the conversational topic when it looks like Grace wants to pitch something to Elliot. We’re almost finished with our salads when Stella speaks up.
“Don’t you have papers or something to file, Jordan?”
“Stella,” Elliot warns. “Zip it.”
“What’s wrong with me wanting time alone with my brother?”
He points at Grace Martin. “Then why’d you bring her?”
“I—” Her mouth snaps shut. Yeah, she’s definitely not as smart as she thinks she is. “She’s my best friend, that’s why!”
Elliot smiles and holds out a hand, indicating me. I smile and waggle my fingers at her in a wave that makes Elliot chuckle.
Fuming, Stella stabs a piece of tomato with her fork.
That’s it, bitch. Stuff your pie hole.
Under the table, where Elliot’s official phone is tucked between my thighs, I feel it start to vibrate.
I reach down with one hand while I reach for my water glass with the other. “Actually, I believe Grace has something she wishes to discuss with you, Mister Vice President. I thought it best she asks you directly.” I sip my water and watch Grace Martin’s reaction.
The congresswoman’s cold blue eyes immediately brighten and she focuses on Elliot. “Yes! I do. Elliot, I have a few key people I’d like you to sit down and talk with ahead of the convention. They are very interested in financing a couple of PACs that are supporting you, and…”
Meanwhile, I find the ringer switch on the side of the phone and flip it from silent to ring. It immediately bleats its distinctive tone, and I pretend I’m retrieving it from my blazer’s inner pocket so I can answer it.
“Vice President Woodley’s phone. Jordan Walsh speaking.”
“Good evening, Jordan,” President Samuels says. “Is Elliot handy? I need to speak with him. It’s rather urgent.” I can hear her smile. Whatever excuse Leo gave her has amused her. Then again, I know she’s not a fan of Grace Martin, either. Maybe this is purely a fun exercise for her.
“Good evening, Madam President. Yes, ma’am. He’s right here.” I turn. “Excuse me, Mister Vice President. It’s President Samuels. She says it’s urgent.”
He takes the phone from me, his gaze barely pausing on mine as I spot the laughter he’s desperately trying to contain. “Yes, Madam President?”
I stay focused on Elliot, but out of the corner of my eye I see the two women sit back, both of them looking irritatedly awe-struck.
Yeah, exactly. Quite the combo of emotions.
After a moment of Elliot making appropriate noises, he says, “I’m sorry, Madam President. Please give me just a moment.” He looks at me. “I need to deal with this right now. My apologies, but I have to leave. Please, all three of you, stay and finish dinner. I insist. Grace, whatever it is you were saying, please tell Jordan. Jordan, you can fill me in later.”
I nod, and we all stand as he stands. “Certainly, Vice President Woodley,” I say. Before the women can react, Elliot’s gone, still on the phone, and I ask one of the agents to have his dinner packed and sent after him.
Which is an act, because Elliot’s meal should already be in a take-out container and waiting for him in the SUV in a thermal bag to keep it hot. I prearranged with the agents to have his main course transported, instead of being brought to the table. They also know the call is a ruse to get VPOTUS out of there. They’ll leave two agents behind with me, one inside, and a driver in a car, to transport me once I’m finished.
God, I love the Secret Service.
Elliot’s departure leaves me standing there with the two women.
“Now, where were we?” I say as our meals are brought out to us exactly on schedule, and we retake our seats.
They exchange a
n irritated expression, but Grace Martin speaks first once the waiter leaves us. Her smile doesn’t fool me in the slightest. “Can we get a do-over? I’d rather talk to him in person about this.”
“I’m sorry, no. As I told Stella this afternoon, his schedule isn’t open.” I make a show of glancing around before I lean in and change my tone from official to conspiratorial and hold my hand up to my mouth. “Look, I’m sorry about this. It’s really the only time he had on the schedule, and it only opened up by chance. I gave you two first crack at it because I know you’ve been wanting to talk to him. I thought he’d be able to have a few uninterrupted hours with you. Just tell me, okay? I promise I’ll take it to him.”
Stella looks dubious. I can see from the way Grace Martin’s gaze narrows that she’s not sure she trusts me.
Fair enough. She shouldn’t trust me, and I absolutely do not trust her.
“I want to discuss his future,” she says. “And I want him to meet these people. They’re eager to talk to him. Alone. Not exactly something I can pass through a third-party.”
“Tsk.” I sit back and pick up my fork and let the official tone return to my voice. “I can’t take something to him if I don’t know what it is. Depending on what happens in November, I might be able to clear some time on his calendar then, or maybe not until after January. You’ll have to give me details. If you sell me, I’ll sell him.”
Stella practically growls. “You son of a—”
Grace touches her arm. “Stop,” she whispers, glancing around. Once she realizes no one’s paying any attention to us now that the vice president has literally left the building, she lowers her voice to a dark whisper. “You may not understand this, but there are large, quiet, old groups of people who have common purposes and who want what’s best for this country. They can propel him to the presidency with hardly any effort at all. All they want is a seat at the table.”
I lean in, also whispering. “Then start talking and convince me.”
She finally gives me a few names and hints around at the “issues” they want Elliot’s assurances about. The standard Republican hot-button topics: abortion, conservative judges, deregulation, military expansion—you know the drill. They’re hoping that Elliot, a veteran and a former Republican who’s now a moderate Democrat from a relatively conservative region, will help them in exchange for their backing.
I hear her out and pretend to be listening. Meanwhile, I’m recording this whole conversation with my personal cell, which is in my shirt pocket. It’s been recording since we arrived at the restaurant. No, I can’t legally release the recording, but if I have it, at least I’ll have proof, if I ever need it.
By the time she finishes her pitch, we’re nearly done eating and she sits back. “What do you think?”
I nod. “I’ll take it to him.”
Stella looks shocked. “You will?”
“Yeah. I can’t guarantee anything other than that. You also know how he feels about campaign finance sources. Don’t be shocked if he says no. But, I promise I will tell him I don’t see any reason why he can’t meet a few people and listen. Understand that he’s going to want me in the room, though, at the very least. He’s already told me that he will never take meetings that aren’t NatSec in nature without at least me in there with him.”
Can I brag about how my own inner sadist giggles when both women’s hopes obviously deflate?
Irritation once again makes Grace snappish. “We can’t have time alone with him?”
“Look, I don’t know what special powers you think I have, but the vice president gets final say over who he talks to. Absolutely, if I think something’s wrong, I will advise him not to take the meeting or call. But I cannot force him to take one I recommend, no matter how strongly I believe in it.”
Grace Martin tosses her napkin onto the table in disgust and stands. “Well, this was a wasted evening then, wasn’t it?”
I sit back, offering her a conciliatory smile as I hold up both hands. “My apologies. Again, as you can see, I’m not omnipotent. I have dozens of people far more important than either of you who would have happily shanked you both for a chance to have dinner with him like this. Yet despite knowing neither of you are fond of me, I still gave it to you. Just keep that in mind.”
She snatches her purse from the floor as Stella rises to join her. “Send the bill to my office.”
“No need, Congresswoman. The vice president is paying for dinner tonight. His sister and her friend. Personal expense.”
Grace Martin shoots me a sneering smile. “Tell him I’m ever so grateful for his fleeting attention.”
I think Stella wants to flip me a bird as she follows Grace, but somehow restrains herself. Smiling, I lift my glass of iced tea in salute as they storm off.
That went well.
Of course the president was in on it and happy to help.
I finish my meal and order dessert to go. Thirty minutes later, a driver has dropped me at the residence, and I’m letting myself in with my key. “Honey, I’m home,” I call out as I reset the alarm.
“Better have my damn dessert,” Elliot calls back from the den.
“Oh, I do.” I head straight for the den, where the empty take-out carton and his cutlery sit on the coffee table. I hand him the bag holding our bread puddings. “I’ll go get us some spoons.”
“Hey.”
I turn back. “What?”
He tips his jaw up and points to his lips. Laughing, I lean in and kiss him hello.
“That’s better.” He opens the bag as I head for the kitchen while I loosen my tie. Little moments like this give me hope maybe he’ll leave his closet sooner rather than later. He’s not nearly as tightly wound as he was before.
We enjoy our desserts and head to bed after I corral all our phones to put on their chargers. That’s when I find a text from Leo on the burner.
Well?
Smiling, I reply.
Mission accomplished. Please tell her it was greatly appreciated.
He sends me a smiley face in reply.
Elliot and I go to bed and make love. Long after Elliot’s asleep in my arms, I lie awake with my mind spinning as I replay the evening’s conversation. I can handle the Grace-Stella duo, that’s not my worry.
The deepening interest of Stella’s “friends” in Elliot is concerning. But there’s still another vital decision to make, and that’s selecting Elliot’s running mate. Someone who isn’t beholden to the same people Grace and Stella want to enlist to back Elliot.
We won’t announce our choice until the convention in July, but we need to have our top three choices narrowed down long before then so we can do thorough oppo research on them and properly vet them.
Kev, Chris, and Shae will be vital helping me and Leo narrow the choices.
Because, make no mistake, it’ll be our final decision—me and Leo. We want someone who will work with us as much as they’ll work with Elliot. I’m sure the DNC chair thinks he’s going to push Elliot into picking who they want, but Kev told me not to worry about it. That Shae has them in hand.
Grace’s dogged efforts obviously concern me beyond the obvious. I’m reasonably certain who her donor “friends” are.
Rather, what they have in common.
Leo and I don’t want any of those assholes from The Family slipping a VP candidate under our radar, someone who will end up working against Elliot in ways we can’t predict. We need an Elliot for Elliot.
Preferably someone without the attached closet.
I wonder if that’s what Grace Martin thinks she’s going to accomplish in her ham-handed attempts to get close to Elliot. Getting herself named to the ticket in exchange for delivering big donors, maybe?
God, I hate Stella and her friends more with each passing day, and with every stray bit of oppo research that Leo curates about them. He still hasn’t told me everything he has on them, but the hints he’s given me don’t bode well.
The next day, I stall Grace Martin by cal
ling her from my personal phone and lying to her, telling her Elliot’s going to take it under advisement and think about it for a couple of weeks before getting back to her with an answer, as long as Stella backs off. Otherwise, it’ll be a hard no. Which, considering Elliot’s campaign schedule, the delay is believable.
But it’s not an outright no, meaning hopefully Stella and Grace both will chill the hell out.
Hey, a guy can dream, right?
* * * *
By the middle of April, Elliot’s poll numbers are higher than ever when one of the three remaining GOP candidates drops out after a marital infidelity scandal breaks wide open, along with the fact that the man apparently cheated in several of his college classes during his senior year, and committed plagiarism on research papers.
The mistress had video of him drunk and bragging about it to her.
Never piss off the mistress.
She turned on him when he short-changed her on a payout he’d agreed to give her to ensure her silence.
And then there were two.
That’s also when I tell Grace Martin that Elliot says thanks ever so much, but no, thank you.
Stella phones me twenty minutes later, demanding to speak to Elliot.
Do I look stupid? Of course I back him up.
I let her talk to him on speaker phone with me standing right there, and he shuts her down himself when she begins to rant at him. “Stella, stop it. You’re up to something, and I’m not screwing around and getting involved with your scheme. For the last time, knock it the hell off, or you can forget about ever setting foot on White House property, or going to the Inauguration, or anything else. I’ll leave word that any friends of yours will also be banned. You’ll become a persona non grata overnight in DC. You’ll be so toxic not even Grace Martin will want anything to do with you. Just try me if you think I won’t.”
She lets out an angry, frustrated shriek and hangs up on him.
Laughing, he sits back. “How was that, Sir?”
Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2) Page 49
