Old attorney trick. When someone asks you the time, you don’t tell them how to build a fricking clock.
“Is-isn’t he coming today?”
“He’ll be here before we leave. You need to shave and get your shower, George. Your coffee’s there.”
He finally releases me and I take a deep breath as I head to his closet and turn on the light. It’s a fricking disaster in here, and I can’t believe in barely two days he’s devolved this much.
That’s something else that hasn’t been done this week—usually Declan gathers his suits and drops them at the dry cleaner on Friday mornings on his way to the office.
In the bedroom, I hear him get up and move into the bathroom.
Working quickly, I sort clothes and make a pile to take down to the utility room. Stuff he washes himself, like T-shirts, underwear, casual clothes. I gather everything to take to the cleaners into another pile, and then finally find the suit, shirt, tie, and shoes I want him in today and lay them out on the bed for him, along with socks, briefs, and a clean undershirt.
After I finally hear the shower start, I run the load for the cleaners down to my car and dump it in the trunk. They’re open on the weekends, so I can take it by tomorrow. He’s got enough to get him through until Tuesday or Wednesday.
Back upstairs, he’s still in the shower. I prep spare clothes, just in case—jeans, sneakers, a chambray button-up with the state logo embroidered on the upper left chest, and a windbreaker. Along with a spare suit and tie.
I learned my lesson during his first campaign for State Senate. He accidentally spilled a cup of coffee on himself. Fortunately, the event was in Nashville, and Declan was at the office, where George and I both always kept a spare set of court-ready clothes. He raced through traffic to bring it to us and from that point on, I knew I always had to have spare clothes on hand for him. Especially when traveling.
With that staged in a garment bag and hanging on a coat hook in the front entry, I gather his laptop and materials he brought home with him last night and stage them next to the door.
I return to the bedroom, listening as the shower finally shuts off.
I knock on the bathroom door and walk in. “Did you shave?”
“Yes.”
“Let me see.”
He pulls the shower curtain aside and I run my fingers over his face, checking for anything he missed. This is part of Declan’s unofficial job when he’s living with George, making sure the man looks put-together before he walks out of the house. If he doesn’t wear his glasses when he shaves, George is prone to missing spots.
Especially if he’s upset.
Today, he passes. “I’ll have breakfast waiting for you.” I turn to leave.
“Case.”
I glance back. “Yes, Governor?”
I know, cheap shot, but he practically wilts.
Taking a deep breath, I turn and approach, but not close enough he can grab my arm. “Tonight, George,” I gently say. “You and I will hash shit out. I need Governor Forrester in fighting mode today.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think I can.”
“You don’t think you can what?”
“Have it in me today.”
“We’renotcancelling this event. If you’re serious about wanting to work this out, nut up and focus. This is Ellen’s agenda we’re talking about. If you’re not willing to fight for that, why would I think you’re willing to fight for me and Declan?”
He looks like I slapped him, but it works. He nods and I see him straighten, shift, shoulders back.
Meanwhile, I’m doing my best not to stare at his damn cock. Even flaccid he’s got nothing to be ashamed of.
I nod. “Good. See you downstairs. Your clothes are on the bed.”
At least he’s got food in the fridge, again thanks to Declan shopping for him this past week. I quickly scramble him a couple of eggs and heat up frozen but pre-cooked sausage. A piece of toast. He might fight me eating it, but if he doesn’t, he’ll be worse of a mess later.
