Chapter Thirty-Four
I almost expect to see Leo standing in the outer office when I unlock and open Elliot’s door nearly thirty minutes later, but only Suzanne is there, working at her desk.
“Please tell Doug that Elliot’s all his for a while.” I glance at my watch on my right wrist and realize I’ve been reflexively shaking my right hand all morning, something I haven’t done in weeks. “I’m going to put in the vice president’s lunch order.” I turn on my work cell, almost expecting to see a flurry of messages from Leo, but it’s just work stuff. “I’ll be back in a few. Call me if I’m needed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Truth is, Ineeda walk.
I duck around the Cabinet Room and avoid the president’s secretary’s office just outside the Oval Office.
Where Leo has a desk, too.
Yes, I’m a chickenshit.
Besides, I like going down to the kitchen and talking to their staff. I used to work with them on a regular basis when I was in the East Wing. They’re awesome, and have hooked me up with some delicious food over the years. The artist and creative part of me loves watching them work, the presentations. Especially the artisans in the bakery and the chocolate shop. It’s stunning.
Once that chore’s completed, I duck outside and head over to the West Wing, where I hang out under the far end of the portico and respond to e-mails on my phone.
Most of Elliot’s staff—and most of the president’s and West Wing staff—is located across the street from the White House at the EEOB. People don’t understand how small the White House complex truly is.
That means most of our communication happens via phone or e-mail, or internal chat, when I’m on my laptop. We have to keep records of communications. Preservation of records. Or else we have to walk back and forth to talk in person.
As I stand there, I suck in deep breaths and try not to think about what I witnessed earlier. I was never into gory horror movies growing up. Couldn’t stomach the brutality. There was too much real-world horror out there for me to want to watch slasher flicks.
“Jordan!” My head snaps up at the woman’s voice, and I see a reporter from a national magazine heading my way up the drive. “How are you? I thought you returned to Florida. Are you back?”
I finally recall her name’s Alexa something or other as we hug. “Yeah, I’m back for good. I’m Vice President Woodley’s body man now.” She’s about my age, maybe a little older, and has long, raven-black hair and skin paler than mine, with large, brown eyes.
We chat for a few minutes, catching up. She’s single now and blatantly hinting she’d like to go out to dinner with me.
I’m reasonably sure she has no idea I’m gay. Again, around work, Leo and I never made a big deal about it, even though it wasn’t a secret for either of us. A lot of people didn’t even know we were roommates, just that we were really good friends.
Inspiration strikes. “Hey, I do have an opening in my schedule tonight, if you’d like to grab a bite to eat with me? My treat.” I offer her a smile. “I’d like a night out with a quiet, sit-down dinner before I get slammed with nonstop campaign travel and crappy food for the next year and a half.”
She brightens. “I’d love to! Absolutely. What time, and where?”
We make arrangements to meet at an Italian restaurant I’ve always adored and missed like hell since leaving DC, agree to meet at five, and chat some more. When we look up a few minutes later, my pulse spikes when I spot Leo standing at the other end of the portico and watching us with a dark and unhappy expression. He wasn’t there a few minutes ago.
Fortunately, his phone goes off. A look of frustration fills his face before he answers and heads inside.
Relief.
This dinner with Alexa will provide me with two things—an adequate start on my cover when it comes to me and Elliot cohabitating…
And an excuse why I’m not there tonight when Leo likely shows up at Elliot’s.
Bok bok.
I’ll own it.
Because there’s still a lot of fear inside me.
Like why did Leo neglect Elliot for so long and let him get so damned bad in the first place?
* * * *
Elliot’s not happy I’m going out tonight, even though he understands why I’m doing it on multiple levels. I suggest he asks Leo to come over tonight but sends him home by eleven. Or, to call me on my work phone when Leo leaves, and if Leo refuses to leave, to let Leo know I’mnotcoming home until he’s gone.
