“I know,” I grumble.
“Not to mention youareallowed to do shit and make decisions so you can be happy in your life. You understand that, right? Just because you’re POTUS doesn’t mean you have to wear hair shirts and be fucking miserable all the goddamned time.”
“I know—”
“Thenactlike it, for fuck’s sake. We know Stella will be a bitch no matter what. Worst case, your parents disown you. That would suck but you’ve been worried about that for years so it’s not like it’ll be a shocker. But, best case? They either accept it, or don’t have a cow over it, and you’ll feel like a damned goober for having wasted so much valuable, finite energy and focus all these years. Not to mention putting the three of you through all that time alone when you could have been together.”
I glare at her. “You sure you never get sick of being right all the time?”
She grins. “Not a damned bit. And for the record, once all three of us—eh, me and my two goobers, I mean—are ready to retire for good and not work at any government jobs, we probably will come out. Or at least we’ll stop giving a shit what the public thinks and let them draw their own conclusions.” She levels a finger at me. “That time is only four years away foryou.” She exits, leaving my study door open behind her.
When she first accepted the chief of staff position she didn’t promise that she or Declan would stay on this long. In fact, the long tenure she and Declan have worked in their respective positions is unusual. I worried that I’d lose one or both of them sometime in my first term, but neither has given me even the slightest hint that they’re ready to move on.
I wouldn’t blame them if they did. They could be enjoying full retirement out in the open in an enviable way. Their jobs are definitely not the easiest ones in the world. Not only are they dealing with me, they have to run interference with Capitol Hill and try to wrangle them into doing my legislative bidding.
I think the fact that Casey-Marie is a Domme plays into it. She seems to genuinely enjoy making people’s lives miserable when they cross her. Not punitively, but in a “she will make you crap your pants if you disappoint her” fashion.
She’s come close to making me crap mine more than once.
Thank god they haven’t moved on yet. That would make my life infinitely more complicated, trying to find someone to keep all my personal secrets while helping me run the country.
The very thought of going through that job search is enough to nearly trigger a panic attack.
Let’s hope I never have to worry about that.
* * *
I workdown in the Oval until almost eight, when I phone the kitchen and tell them I’ll be heading upstairs in fifteen. By the time I reach the private dining room my dinner is waiting, along with one of the servers.
“Good evening, Mister President.”
I wearily nod and sink into my chair after setting the briefing materials I brought up with me on the table. “Good evening.” The way he said it has zero effect on me the way Jordan and Leo frequently say it.
Having him standing there, however, unnerves me. You’d think this many years later I’d be used to waitstaff in my own home, but not so much. “I’ll put the dishes in the kitchen when I’m done. They can get them in the morning. Have a good night.”
He nods. “Yes, sir. You, too.”
Once he’s gone I loosen my tie and mentally run through the alphabet twice in my head the way I always do when Jordan’s not around. After all these years it’s automatic.
Yes, even when I’m alone and no one else would know.
Iwould know.
I have no desire to skirt our rituals if there’s not a legitimate reason to do so.
Jordan ordered me chicken piccata and a salad, and it’s delicious as always. Our staff is amazing, world-class at their particular specialties. From our head chef, Martin, to the head baker and chocolatier.
Whose names I’m ashamed to admit escape me in this moment.
I page through a binder while I eat, taking my time.
Distracting myself.
Delaying going to bed alone.
You’d think I’d take up some sort of hobby. I mean, I read for pleasure.
Sometimes. And I watch TV.
