“You’re going to think it’s silly.”
“No, I won’t, pet. I swear.”
He nuzzles me again, like he’s having trouble believing I’m really here.
Or maybe he’s having trouble believing he’s here. “I always said I’d run for president one day. The longer I’m here, though, in DC, I’m not sure if that’s what I really want.”
“No rush to decide that.”
“I know.” He closes his eyes and presses his lips to my flesh. “I’ll run for re-election next year, and if they send me back, I’ll work my butt off. Lather, rinse, repeat. I’m only thirty-one, so it’s not like I can run for president yet. I’ll see what happens over the next several terms. At some point, maybe I’ll run for the Senate. Once I’ve served one or two terms there, that’s when I’ll seriously think about whether I should try to run for president.”
“A test run first?”
He nods. “At least one. Maybe. If I decide to do that. Hardly anyone ever wins the first time out. Especially if they don’t know who you are. I’m a white guy from the Midwest. Like anyone’s going to really notice me the first time around.”
He’s wrong, though. He’s gorgeous, he’s brilliant, he’s got an economics degree, he’s a decorated combat veteran with a missing leg, and he’s a man of integrity.
Absolutely, people will notice him the first time around.
That simultaneously fills me with excitement…and fear.
Excitement, because my pet might very likely be POTUS, one day.
And fear…because unless he finds the nerve to come out before then, he probably won’t bemypet anymore when he runs.
That might very well break my heart.
Chapter Twelve
Now
As we ride over to Capitol Hill with a couple of his staff, I peruse the day’s White House mess menu. “Mr. Woodley, here are today’s lunch choices.” Yes, he could order whatever he wants from the kitchen, but he prefers to order from the daily menu instead of asking for special treatment.
It’s one of the things I love about him. His years in Washington haven’t turned him jaded or conceited. He’s still a sweet guy, a common man uncomfortable with special attention paid to him.
I list several choices, starting with the one I want him to eat. He’s horrible about eating right when he’s stressed and I’m not around to make him eat, and I want to get some healthy food in him today. He’ll need it. He’s probably defaulted to cereal for dinner several nights over the past week, if I know him.
And Idoknow him.
This is another of our secret dances. He is well aware that the first menu item I list is whatI’llorder for him, whether he asks for it or not. He has the chance to shake his head when I say that, if he really doesn’t want it, but that rarely happens.
He nods. “A salad and the meatloaf, please, Leo.”
“Yes, sir.” I send the kitchen a text for his order and mine, an approximate time to deliver it to Elliot’s office, and that I’ll confirm the timing with them right before he’s ready to leave the Senate to return to the White House.
He’ll prefer to eat in private instead of at the Capitol, although I’m sure he’ll receive several lunch invitations today. At least he can use today’s trip as an easy excuse for not staying and eating there.
Preparations to make, you know. Things to do before he leaves. Busy, busy, busy.
After we arrive, I drop back so staff can talk to him and I follow, peeling off to wait once he’s in the Senate chamber. I’m an expert at blending in with the wallpaper. Part of my job is to focus solely on Shae—or on Elliot, in this case—and not be noticed by anyone else.
Which allows me the chance to observe and gather intelligence I can pass on to Elliot or Shae, or sometimes even to Kev, depending on the situation.
One of my jobs as Elliot’s body man is to mind his phones. Which, today, leaves me juggling four phones, mine and his work and personal cells, because I’ve left our burners locked in his desk. Obviously, we don’t need them if we’re together.
He’s not on the Senate floor more than ten minutes when I feel his personal phone buzz in my right pocket. I quietly excuse myself and step out to the cloakroom, where I can check it.
Thanks to Caller ID, I know it’s his sister, Stella.
