Chapter Thirty-Two
With the crazy schedule Shae has, and the time difference, Leo doesn’t get to call Elliot again, although they text more often. I make a point of ensuring Elliot resumes sending Leo his routine morning and nighttime texts, and responds as promptly as possible to Leo’s texts.
As a result, it would seem Leo’s fears about Elliot ease, at least a little.
Leo’s still panicking aboutme, though. He slows down on the e-mails and texting, but he’s still trying to call my phone several times a day.
I know this by looking at my cell account online. I’m certain my voice mail must be full by now, but since anyone needing to get in touch with me can and would call my new work phone—or my campaign phone—I leave it be.
I amsucha bitch. Because I set up a dinner meeting for Elliot with campaign staff the evening that the president returns from their trip.Air Force Oneis scheduled to go wheels-down at Andrews around seven Wednesday evening. And Leo will likely feel exhausted and want to go straight home and to bed if Elliot isn’t readily available for him to visit.
I donotneed Leo dropping by Elliot’s residence on the way home. I know he’ll check Elliot’s schedule, if not already have a copy of it when they land, to see where he’s at and what he’s doing.
Here’s my rationale—I need my initial confrontation with Leo and the revelation to him of how long I’ve been back to happen at the White House.
Yes, I know that sounds contradictory to what I’ve said about not dragging my personal drama into the office, but hear me out.
Leo is a professional. There’s no way in hell he’ll blow up at me or Elliotthere. Handling it there means he has time to process and calm himself down before we see him in private.
I…hope.
That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it, dammit.
If he should prove me wrong… Well, there’s a hell of a lot of well-armed men standing around in the White House, whose literal jobs are to do nothing but make sure bad shit doesn’t go down while they’re standing around, and who can step in to help me out.
Besides, Elliot’s campaign staff really has wanted a meeting like this with him. They need to extract a final decision from him about the official campaign headquarters, for starters, as well as where to locate key headquarters in other states. We have an infrastructure to rapidly build out. And there are some hires they want to make which really need his go-ahead. Donations are already pouring in through the campaign website, meaning staff wants to start filming ads. There’s a lot to take care of, and Elliot refuses to have any of them to the White House for those kinds of discussions for fear of any hint of impropriety.
I also want to brainstorm ideas for social media posts, which will be free advertising in terms of shares, retweets, and other exposure that won’t cost us anything except the time and effort to post them. And if they take off, we can promote the posts already getting organic traction.
Which posts do better organically will also give us ideas about how to proceed when we start filming ads. Everything from what outfit Elliot’s wearing, to the message itself, tohowhe delivers it.
Don’t laugh. If I find organic reach is better for him standing in front of the camera in his shirtsleeves with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows instead of in a suit, guess how I’m dressing him in a big-money ad that will be blasted across prime television real estate markets?
It’ll also give us valuable demographics info, based on how people click on ads. A/B testing that might make or break the campaign budget and which will help us squeeze every last penny we can out of our ad buys.
I’m sitting in on that meeting Wednesday night when I feel the burner phone vibrate in my pocket with a text message.
My throat nearly seizes, but I don’t react. When we take a break, I pull the phone out and check the message.
I’m finally home, pet. Missed you. How late will your meeting run?
I show it to Elliot even as I relax. Because if Leo’s at home, that means he’s probably not planning on coming over to Elliot’s on his own.
He nods and returns the phone to me. “Respond when we get home?”
I nod and pocket it. “Yes, sir.”
I mean, Elliot wasn’t telling me to respond, he wasaskingme. But we do have people around us right now, so that’s how I’m responding to Elliot, as if it was an order and not a question.
It’s nearly eleven when we finally return to the residence. Once we’re in bed, Elliot asks for the burner, and I hand it over.
He lets me watch as he composes the message, and pauses once it’s completed.
Welcome home, Master. I just got home, and I’m exhausted. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.
I study him. “The other option is I turn on the heat upstairs and quietly camp out up there until he leaves. Your call, boy.”
He shakes his head and hits send. “No, Sir. I don’t have the energy to deal with him tonight, and I won’t have you do that.” He hitssendand returns the phone to me.
