The woman who answers the door quickly scans me before arching an eyebrow. “Jordan Walsh?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her smile takes on a funny little quirk the way Leo’s does. “That’s adorable, but I’m notyourma’am, so please quit shitting bricks and come on in, hon.”
I step inside. After she shuts and locks the door behind me, she offers her hand. “Casey-Marie Blaine. Alone like this, you may call me Casey.”
I shake with her. “It’s an honor to meet you, Casey. Thank you so much for talking with me.”
She shrugs. “Eh, I’ve been getting bored. Our talk last night intrigued me. Carter spoke very highly of you.” She leads me into the suite and has me sign an NDA, which she gives me a copy of.
Casey-Marie Blaine is a political legend in the Southeast, one of those hidden powers you hear about but never expect to meet in person. She’s a legit kingmaker…or breaker. Rumor has it if you cross her politically, professionally, or personally, you’ll wish your life was Hell, because it’d feel like a vacation compared to what she can do to you.
While she’s a registered Republican, she’s a RINO. I know she’s worked for candidates of both parties, and she’s personally liberal despite her party affiliation. But in Tennessee, it’s politically expedient to be a member of the GOP regardless of your personal political leanings, although numbers are finally shifting more blue there in recent years.
She’s a vicious attorney with a track record that would make any opposing counsel tuck their tails and run if they discovered they were going up against her. Her previous public gig was as chief of staff to former Tennessee governor George Forrester, her best friend’s widower and her law practice partner. By all public counts, he’s also her best and oldest friend, him and his husband, Declan, who was her deputy chief of staff while Governor Forrester was in office. George Forrester and Casey-Marie Blaine met back in college, when Casey was roommates with Ellen, who eventually married George. She worked on his campaigns, too.
George Forrester is also close friends with Susa Evans—Benchley’s daughter. This much I knew, because of George and Susa’s shared ordeal almost fifteen years ago. George Forrester isn’t merely the former governor of Tennessee—he’s a celebrity due to surviving a plane crash and being shipwrecked for several weeks. Him and Susa Evans, both. The plane crash killed George’s wife and half the governors and other high-ranking state executives, and their spouses, from all over the Southeast.
The tragedy consumed not just Tallahassee, but all of the nation, and even the world. Also made headlines because of George and Susa’s miracle rescue after several weeks, along with a couple of other survivors, when everyone assumed they’d died. I remember seeing Casey and Carter on TV during press conferences, because the two attorneys ended being de facto spokespersons for the group of family members overseas during the search and rescue process.
I well remember all the news coverage about the plane crash that killed Ellen Forrester, because I was in high school and living with Mimi by then. The miraculous rescue made headlines all over the world. In school, all the teachers had their classroom TVs tuned to the press conferences once the rescue was announced.
Casey’s fifty-six but definitely doesn’t look it, and not because of a plastic surgeon’s help, either. If I didn’t know her age, I’d guess her to be under fifty and closer to forty. Her honey-blonde hair has hints of grey in it, but if she’s coloring it, she’s got a damned good hairdresser who’s perfectly matching it. There are a few lines around her eyes, but she obviously avoided a lot of sun in her younger years, and likely religiously applied moisturizer. She wears wire-rimmed glasses with round frames. Behind them, her brown eyes appear keen and all-seeing.
Breakfast has already been brought up. A selection of typical fare, along with coffee, juice, and water sits, on two room service carts. She points me to the other chair at the table and we sit.
“First of all, let me assure you I’m not recording this meeting in any way,” she tells me. “I expect full discretion and privacy from you, and will offer you the same in return. Whatever is said within these four walls today is to never be repeated, unless we both agree. Deal?”
“Deal.” We start fixing ourselves plates.
She studies me. “Who’s the Top in your triad?”
My eyes widen. “I-I’m sorry?”
Her amused snort is one hundred percent Leo, or Chris. “Come on.Please. After I talked to Carter yesterday, between his subtext and a quick search through a few photo archives, it wasn’t difficult to puzzle out. It’s you, Elliot Woodley, and Leo Cruz. Am I correct?”
I nod, my face heating. I haven’t felt this flustered in a long time. Definitely not since returning to Washington as Elliot’s Sir.
She wears a quirky smile. “I need to know this before we go any further, because I know darn well there are…unique power dynamics at play. I want thefullbackstory. Quid pro quo, I’m in one of my own. So’s Carter. There are others out there, but not saying anything about them. I know Shae knows about Carter, Owen, and Susa. And, obviously, I know about Shae, Kev, and Chris.”
With that said, of course I tell her.
Everything. From the very beginning.
Including detailing our separation, reconciliation, and the resulting new world order.
When I finish, she studies me for a moment as she chews a bite of hash browns. “Plans for any of you to get married during Elliot’s first or second terms?”
“Not right now. I know if Elliot asked Leo, he’d say yes.”
“Of course he would. He’d be an idiotnotto, after waiting him out all these years, bless his heart.” She looks at me. “And how would that makeyoufeel?”
“I love them. If they got married, it’d be the easiest way for us all to have more time together. Logistics would become infinitely easier.”
“Wouldn’t feel jealous?”
“No. We’re past that point.”
