So I do what I can—I stick my hand out to him and drop my voice. “El.”
He smiles and shakes my hand, but I don’t let go immediately. I squeeze twice, and he squeezes back.
Then all I can do is watch from our vantage point as he’s sworn in first, per tradition, then Shae is sworn in.
And…that’s that.
The country now owns a chunk of my boy.
I feel a tug at my arm and lean in so Jordan can speak into my ear. “I’ll see you later, Sir. I need to get back. We’re starting.”
Again, I can’t kiss him. Not here. Not where we’re not anonymous. I squeeze his hand, where it’s on my arm, and give him a nod.
As the day progresses, I’m nearly ready to kill Stella. Their mom, Norah, says something to Stella at the luncheon when Stella gets snippy with one of the servers. I’m not close enough to hear but the dark glare the Woodley women exchange tells me there’s trouble.
Elliot’s father, Oliver, in also rare form today. He’s sullen and barely civil, and also earns his fair share of scolding from Elliot’s mom.
I know his father’s not happy their son is a Democrat, but you’d think the man would at least be happy for his son on this important day.
It leads me to think Elliot’s never going to earn the man’s admiration.
I can only hope he figures that out sooner than in sixteen years.
* * * *
The day spins past almost too quickly. Before we return to Blair House to prep for the balls, Shae, Chris, and Kev want to stop by the White House so she can check out the Oval.
I have a feeling that’s not all they want to do but we’re on a tight schedule.
“Madam President,” I say, “just a reminder that we need to keep an eye on the schedule.”
“Duly noted, Leo,” she says.
Kev leans in. “Keep everyone distracted for us for a few minutes, okay? Including the photographer.”
I nod. “Yes, Mr. Markos.” They might be my friends, but now that she’s sworn in, I damn sure will adhere to protocols.
The photographer is a little put out that I won’t let him into the Oval, but I take him on a tour of the West Wing, showing him where everyone’s offices will be. When we spin back by the Oval, the door’s still shut, so I herd him upstairs, to the residence. While the Oval Office and Shae’s private study were finished early, there’s still an anthill of activity elsewhere in the building, including the residence.
Elliot’s not here, unfortunately. He’s spending time with his parents and sister. At least he won’t be going to his residence until after the balls. That was a promise I extracted from him yesterday.
I want to be there when he sees it for the first time.
The photographer is a nice guy, but he’s understandably irritated at me right now. “This is interesting, but when can I get pictures of President Samuels in the Oval Office?”
“Eh, should be soon.”
I spot Jordan in consultation with one of the White House staff and take the photographer over to him. I lean in close. “Keep him busy for at least ten,” I whisper, and Jordan nods, immediately taking over while I slip away and head back down.
I break into a jog, and as I hit the outer office, the door to the Oval opens, and there stand the triad, who burst into laughter upon seeing my approach.
Yep. They absolutely were fucking. I can tell from the flush on her cheeks and the all-too-pleased matching grins Chris and Kev are wearing.
Can’t blame them. I plan on fucking Elliot over his desk as soon as possible on the day he’s sworn in as POTUS.
“Madam President,” I say. “Can I have the photographer come down before we leave for Blair House? He wants a few shots of you in the Oval.”
“Sure, Leo.”
