Why?
As far as I know, Elliot still hasn’t officially declared he’s running for president, even though everyone is talking like he is. Maybe the joke will be on me and he won’t declare, and he and Leo will get their happy ending.
Wouldn’tthatsuck for me?
Life has settled into a predictable rhythm that, after my time in DC, feels boring in comparison.
I miss my co-workers in the East Wing. I miss the kids. I miss my daily Pecan duty, because that tortoise was so neat.
I miss Leo.
I miss feeling like I was part of something far bigger than myself, and like I was actually making a little bit of a positive difference in the world here and there. Maybe not as impactful as helping organize a G-7 summit,duh, but I made peoplesmile. I made peoplehappy.
What do I do now?
Herd students and professors and manage data entry.
Whoopee.
I know I had to leave, though. Maybe once Elliot’s out of office, then Leo can come after me.
Again, wishful thinking on my part, and far from healthy, but there you go.
Today, I’ve finished with my student meetings and am now working on the data entry portion of my day. I’ve got Arctic Monkeys blasting in my earbuds to help drown out distracting noises from the people who are still working around me in the office.
I’m about halfway through my current task when I’m startled by a presence suddenly appearing in my cubicle entrance. I turn and am removing an earbud when the guy speaks.
He looks vaguely familiar and wears a black suit and charcoal tie…along with a no-nonsense air. “Jordan Walsh?”
Confused, I nod. “Who are—”
“I need you to please come with us, sir.” He signals to someone else, who I can’t see.
“What?” My mind flashes back to the last White House crash I worked through three weeks before I left, when a false alarm triggered a full shut-down and shelter in place for everyone in the White House. Those agents who went around ordering everyone to stay put.
He reaches out and does the thing with his first two fingers, palm upturned, beckoning me the same way Leo always used to.
That’s when it hits me why the guy looks familiar. I don’t think I know him, but I’m certain I knowwhathe is.
“Are you Secret Service?”
“Youneedto come with us, sir.”
Anger bordering on rage rolls through me, that Leo would send astrangerafter me after months ofnothing. “Why? I know my rights. If I’m not under arrest, I don’t have to go anywhere with you.”
He also wears that same resigned, barely-there calm I remember all too well from Leo and the other Secret Service agents when their patience was sorely tested.
“You’re not under arrest, Mr. Walsh, but I’m not at liberty to discuss the whys. Youneedto come with us.Now.” His tone brooks no resistance and sounds like I’ve hit the outer edges of his patience.
Despite bristling, and knowing I could probably kick and fight andnotgo with them, I find myself standing and saving my work on my computer. “What the hell is Leo doing this for?”
“Who?”
Yes, I get huffy and go full-on drama queen. “Oh, don’t give me that fricking bullshit innocent act.” I realize my voice is rising in pitch and volume and I draw in a breath before speaking again, this time keeping it down. “Youknowwho I’m talking about. Leo. Leo Cruz. President Samuels’ body man? I know he sent you after me instead of coming himself. Chickenshit bastard,” I add in a mutter. “Because why should he do something difficult, when he can ask someone else to do it for him?”
Although, part of me hopes I know why he sent them after me, and I try to shove that hope deep down into the basement of my soul so I can lock it away. That’s unhealthy and codependent and will only lead me to more heartache.
I’m currently at my fill in that department.
