Chapter One
My name is Declan Ronald Howard. I’m twenty-nine years old, have a law degree, and my official job title and duties for most of the past two years are deputy chief of staff to the governor of Tennessee, George Samson Forrester.
My unofficial job can basically be summed up as fucktoy for both the governor and for his long-time friend and chief of staff, Casey-Marie Blaine.
By day, I’m quickly mastering how to work my way through the machinations of our state government’s particular—some would say peculiar—way of doing things.
By night, I’m either on my knees—or hands and knees, or back—doing peculiar things for George. That is, when I’m not doing them for Casey-Marie—who’s also my direct-report boss—and doing my best to keep her satisfied.
Relationship status?
Complicated.
Which is amassivefricking understatement.
Workplace harassment? Sexual harassment?
Oh, we’re waaay beyond that. We left that in the dust about a hundred miles behind us.
That wasnota complaint, if you were wondering.
I don’t honestly knowwhatI’m feeling about it all.
That I’m not fighting any of this, and that I’m even craving some of it—okay,mostof it—confuses the hell out of me.
For starters, I’m straight.
At least, before all this started, I would have insisted I’m straight.
So how did I get…here?
I can’t answer that, because it wasn’t a straight line.
No pun intended.
But the turning point was the night a few weeks ago when Casey decided to take me in hand in her office instead of waiting to go someplace private, and George walked in on us.
Want to know something else?
I’m nearly certain she did it deliberately. That she staged it that way. There’s some sort of weird emotional dance going on between the two of them, George and Casey. Like neither of them can admit their feelings to the other and, somehow, I’ve become the chew toy between these two Alpha dogs. A chew toy that they use to make love through.
Okay, maybe not making love, because it’d be more like rage sex.
They leave angry, secret love notes to each other in my flesh.
Everything tells me this is a dangerous rocket sled heading straight for disaster—personally, professionally, and politically.
Yet every time I’ve been offered the opportunity to get off the ride…
I’ve chosen to stay.
Beggedto stay.
What does that say aboutme? That I won’t give in or give up?
For most of my life, especially my adult life, I’ve felt like an imposter. A faker. Growing up, people told me I’d never be anyone, never do anything worthwhile with my life. Never amount to anything.
That people like me weren’t worthy.
