Friday morning after my meeting finally concludes, I return to my office. I still don’t know what my weekend plans are.
Or, should I say, I haven’t beentoldwhat they are. Officially, tonight, George’s schedule is clear. To the best of my knowledge, there’s nothing on the unofficial schedule, either.
Including me, I’m guessing, from my lack of contact with him.
It’d be nice to know that, though. Neither Casey nor George have so much as responded to my customary good-morning texts I sent to their personal cells via Signal.
I know George has a Saturday morning appearance with Aussie at the local children’s hospital, an organization Aussie’s sorority does fundraising for. It’s a feel-good grip-and-grin photo op, and he’s supposed to read to some kids. Not just George, but members of the Tennessee Titans football team will also attend, and their cheerleaders. After, George, Aussie, members of her sorority, and the Titan team reps will have lunch with the kids and their families.
I’m not part of that event, but Casey is slated to attend with George.
Unfortunately, I don’t have the ability to freely drop by George’s office this morning. His official calendar is filled with meetings with cabinet officials, and with Senate and House aides, and I haven’t been asked to attend.
Shit. When it was only me and Casey, I used to be an expert at this, at feigning professional indifference and doing my job.
That was before my world upended.
I don’t bother seeking Casey out when I go grab lunch and bring it back to my office. I close and lock my office door and try to tune out the world for a little while.
The night Casey razed our foundations—and raised the stakes—is indelibly etched in my mind. That night wasn’t the first time we’d fooled around in the office. Somehow, I doubt she innocently overlooked letting me orgasm for two weeks.
Casey knew George would be working late that night.
She never “accidentally” leaves her office door unlocked when we get frisky here. Plus, I know damn wellIlocked the fucking thing behind me. Meaning she must have unlocked it at some point.
She probably knew from her conversations with Ellen that George never let her go to bed unsatisfied.
She knew George is a soft-hearted sadist, in some ways. The emotional ways.
She knew exactly which strings to pull in my brain to wind me up and drive me nearly insane with need, to the point that I’d totally forget common sense and basic precautions.
She knew how to shove me so hard and deep into subspace that I’d damn near agree to anything she asked of me.
And that just happened to be the perfect confluence of events that takes place when she brings me and George together?
Yeah, not buying it.
Except…
I can’t be completely angry about it, either. Not the way it all worked out. Ishouldfeel played.
I should feel indignant, at the very least.
Right?
How am I supposed to feel about all of this? About being handed over to the man like I’m a registered poodle?
No, not a poodle. I guess the better analogy would be a stud horse, huh? Well, in Casey’s case, but I guess maybe I’m more of a brood mare for George.
How am I supposed to feel about myself that I rolled over and went along with everything, and now I’m in love with a man I can’t publicly acknowledge owns me, heart and soul? Who if I do acknowledge, it’ll nuke my career and his? And negatively impact his children.
I went from one deeply secret relationship to another that makes the first one look damn near reality-show public in comparison.
Am I so filled with self-loathing, and have so little self-respect, that Iwillinglyput myself into these kinds of positions?
To the point that I stupidly turn down more money than I’ve ever made in my life just for the privilege of staying two people’s dirty secret? Money that probably would have made it stupid-easy for me to figure out how to get my revenge on Junior?
Revenge that’s appeared to slip off my radar, and thatdefinitelymakes me feel ashamed of myself. Emma deserves to have her justice, yet the focus of my days has become my public work for the Great State of Tennessee, my campaign work for Governor George Samson Forrester, and, behind closed doors, debasing myself in increasingly needy ways for the governor and his chief of staff’s pleasure.
