Chapter Thirteen
It was a good-morning text from Declan. I quickly respond and set my phone aside. I maybe have twenty minutes, if that.
I hurriedly put together a morning agenda for the staff meeting, along with a separate list of bullet points I want to make sure George gets for his morning briefing, print them both, grab my shit, and leave the papers on Declan’s desk on my way out.
Apparently, George doesn’t notice I’m leaving, because he’s head-down over his laptop and doesn’t even look up.
My heart’s racing, pounding in a nearly painful way as I ride the elevator downstairs. When the door slides opens for me in the parking garage, you’d better believe this bitch runs, full-speed, in heels. When I pull out of the garage, I turn the other direction.
Behind me, about half a block back, I spot Declan’s SUV turning in to the garage entrance.
I’m about five blocks away when I pull over into a parking spot along the street and the shakes hit me. I sit there crying like an idiot.
Ihatethis.
I hate that thinking about sitting down and settling this with them fills me with terror.
Because can either of themreallylove me if they don’tknowme?
Informed consent, right?
Ellen knew my darkest secrets and still loved me. But she had secrets of her own I damn well know she never told George.
About me, for starters.
And about her own dark deeds.
It’s not just a matter of worry about them loving me. They’rebothofficers of the court. Mandatory reporters. George is the damnedgovernor.
Some crimes have no statute of limitation. No matter how much they love me, technically they’d be obligated to report me. And it’s not like George could pardon me, because he’s not the governor of motherfucking Kentucky.
But what Ellen did was here, in Tennessee.
I think Declan might be more okay with it than George, considering our long game. But can I handle that extra pain of George looking at me in disgust? The public disgrace I’d bring raining down on him, that his own chief of staff and her best friend were guilty of crimes?
Can I handle losing him as a friend?
Can I handle losing the kids?
They’re the only family I have.
And what about Declan? Even if I didn’t disgust him, he’d have to distance himself from me, regardless. Even then, still, he might not be able to professionally recover from the blowback of being associated with me as a friend, much less if it ever came out we were romantically linked.
No.
I need…
A fucking time machine.
Unfortunately, since one doesn’t appear in front of me on the street, I’m guessing they’ve never been invented. At least, not in my lifetime.
* * * *
I text Declan from my work phone that I’m taking a PTO day and have left papers for him on his desk. I instruct him to run the morning staff meeting and the governor’s daily briefing, and to please only call me for emergencies. To handle everything else through text or e-mail.
I receive Declan’s text acknowledging that almost immediately.
Seconds later, I hear a softdingfrom my Signal app on my personal phone.
