Chapter Six
You know how in romance movies there’s always this meet-cute moment between the couple? One where, later, the couple can retell the events to someone else and smile?
Yeah, that’s not exactly how it happens with me and Leo.
For starters, I’m still having difficulty believing that I’m evenhere, at the White House.
Me.
Stunned, I stand outside the gate for at least five minutes, staring at the fricking place before I find the nerve to approach the checkpoint and produce my ID.
Even then, I’m certain they are going to sayHaha, sorry, you’re not on “the list,” kid.
Right?
Hell, I was shocked at the airport yesterday when a driver was standing in the baggage claim area with my name written on a sign. Shocked me again when he drove me to a hotel where my room was not only ready, but paid for in advance, and the desk clerk who checked me in treated me with deference like I was a movie star or something.
I am shocked into silence when the White House guard takes my ID, taps my name into his computer, then takes my picture and, moments later, produces a visitor’s pass for me that says yep, I, Jordan Remington Walsh, am allowed access.
To thefrickingWhite House.
And he even tells me where to go, and who, specifically, to ask for.
I amexpected.
At the frickingWhite House.
Me!
The kid my parents hoped would turn straight, or die quickly and find Jesus before he did. They were okay with either option, which shows just how fucked up my childhood was, all right?
I report to the office I’m told to and find the Chief Usher actuallywaiting.
Forme!
Then he says something that totally blows my mind, which, after all the recent events, I didn’t realize was still possible.
“Leo Cruz from President-elect Samuels’ staff was supposed to join us, but he’s running late and told me to start without him. Do you want to start in the West Wing, the East Wing, or upstairs, in the residence?”
Honestly? Despite seeing blueprints and pictures, I am…clueless.
I am still trying toprocessI am.
In.
The.
Fricking.
White House.
ME!
So, what does this dumbass say to the guy, once I remember how to speak?
“I…guess wherever you feel is best. Maybe least- to most-involved?”
He smiles. “East Wing it is. The residence will probably take the longest. I hear Mr. Bruunt isn’t terribly picky when it comes to his offices. There likely won’t be much to do there.”
