At all.
Not even after reading more of Ellen’s favorite books and jerking off twice while picturing Declan’s O-face in place of the bottoms in the stories.
I’m grumpy as fuck when I reach the office Friday morning, and even grumpier when it’s Casey and several staffers handling the morning meeting, but no Declan.
“Where’s Dec?” I snap.
Casey arches aneyebrow at me. “Meeting with a couple of House aides this morning about stuff we covered at the budget meetings last night,governor.”
The subtle emphasis she places on that word is a crystal-clear warning to me—knock it the fuck off, George.
She continues without missing a beat. “Let’s start with today’s schedule…”
I have meetings this morning, both in my office and over at the State Assembly,phone calls to deal with, and it’s either Case or one of the other aides with me for all of that.
I want it to be Declan.
Yes, last year Dec took point on the budget talks, too, so this isn’t exactly unexpected. It’s his fuckingjob. He knows the damn thing inside and out.
I try to shut down the humming in my brain, dark voices whispering that Casey’s deliberately trying to keep him away fromme. I know that’s not the truth, that it’s pain and confusion and a lot of intangible anxiety chewing at my common sense and gaslighting the logical part of my brain.
Still doesn’t help, even knowing all of that.
Tomorrow, I have to be at a barbecue at one, a GOP fundraiser. I only have to stay for about an hour, though, and Case has already arranged to have a driver pick me up at noon.
She’sgoing to ride separately so she can stay longer and schmooze donors.
By one o’clock that afternoon I’m practically climbing the walls again. I still haven’t seen Declan, even though I actually walked down to his office once on the pretense of needing to ask him a question.
He wasn’t there.
Neither was Casey, and that…boils me, for some reason.
When I check their schedules, I realize they’reout at a working lunch, meeting with the House Speaker’s staff—about the budget—which finally calms me a little.
Then I see on the schedule that Casey is attending a charity event at the Country Music Hall of Fame tonight.
Declan has nothing listed.
The sound of the screaming claws against my mental bulwarks. Somehow, I’ve lost the ability to dampen it the way I used to. I force myself notto go hunt down Declan and lock us in the closest office so I can fuck his brains out.
Adding to my stress is the fact that Casey hasn’t made any attempt to have a private discussion with me. I mean, I know she said no to any of this happening at or around work, but you’d think she’d lambaste me about it, at least.
Nothing.
I mean…she knows it happened, doesn’t she? Did she not ask Declan aboutit? Or did he not volunteer it?
Or maybe they haven’t even…talked?
Or—and this one simultaneously conflicts me and makes me victoriously hard—maybe he lied to her because he does want to be mine as much as I want him to be mine.
At two o’clock, I pull out my personal cell and call up Declan’s contact. I have to makesureI send this to his personal cell.
I don’t want an official record ofany of this, duh.
I compose a text.
My house. 9 tonight. All night.
