“Leg bothering you today, sir?”
“Yeah. A little after the walk earlier, then from the sprint to the Beast.” I take another bite. “You served in Afghanistan, right?”
I recognize the way his gaze darkens, likely even darker memories making themselves known. “Two deployments.”
“Jordan’s not like us. He never served, never experienced combat. Stuff like this is traumatic for him.” I think about what Leo told me about the night not long after Jordan started working in DC. He went to a club alone one night to go to a concert, and Leo followed him when he couldn’t reach him on the phone. They narrowly missed being part of a drive-by shooting outside the club after the concert ended.
I remember howangryI felt hearing about that, over the fact that Leo hadn’t taken better precautions to make sure Jordan didn’t go by himself.
And even angrier thatIwasn’t the one there to help protect Jordan.
“It’s a little too quiet upstairs for you right now, isn’t it sir?” he asks with a smirk.
I slowly nod as I chew another bite. “PTSD’s a bitch, ain’t it?”
“You aren’t wrong, Mister President.” He sits back, his posture relaxing somewhat. “My dad wanted me to join the state police when I got out and was mad I went to culinary school. His father and his brothers were all cops. I told him the most dangerous thing I ever wanted to be around again in my life is deep fryers, kitchen knives, health inspectors, and my wife.”
And this is why I like talking to him, because he’s funny. “Did he ever get over being mad you didn’t become a cop?”
“Yeah.”
“What’d it take to get him to that point?”
He grins. “When I got hired on here at the White House.”
I indicate the sandwich. “Well, you’ve got job security for at least the next four years. From the way Ciro and Ily rave about your cooking, I suspect if he succeeds me that you’ll be good for another four-to-eight. I’ll make sure I strongly advise them to keep you on.”
“Thank you, sir. It’d be an honor to stay on.”
We continue talking, mostly me asking him about his family because it’s nice to have someone to chat with about something other than my job. Normal, mundane topics that have nothing to do with politics.
Once I finish my sandwiches and the ginger beer, I shake his hand. “Delicious as always. Hope I didn’t put you behind or anything. Sorry if I did.”
“No, sir, you didn’t. Always a pleasure to chat with you. Come by anytime.”
“Thanks.” I grab my briefing binders and head upstairs to the first floor, my destination this time being my private study in the West Wing, with a stop at my AA’s desk on my way through the outer office.
One of her assistants is in today and she nervously sits up a little straighter at my appearance. “Good afternoon, Mister President.”
I force a smile I don’t feel. “Good afternoon, Mila. Do I have any calls for today?”
She checks on her computer. “No, sir. Nothing scheduled on your call sheet. Mr. Walsh put a lid on your afternoon. You’re scheduled for executive time for the rest of the day and tomorrow morning. You’re not actually supposed…”
“To be here?” I finish. Of course there isn’t anything on my schedule, because of course Jordan cleared it for me.
She nods, nervously swallowing. “Yes, sir.”
Jordan cleared my schedule because we should all be upstairs fucking our brains out, or engaged in similar activities by now. “Anything I need to know about that cropped up unexpectedly?” I ask.
She checks. “No, sir.”
“Thanks.” I’ve just rolled into my private study when I sense someone step into the doorway behind me. I turn to find Casey-Marie standing there, wearing jeans and a Nashville Predators jersey that’s about three sizes too large for her, along with a pair of bright pink low-top Chucks. She steps inside and closes the door behind her.
“Wellthatsure screwed up my schedule for tonight,” she drawls. “Sure as fuck didn’t go according to plan. You know how many favors I had to call in to get these tickets, buster? Although Angie has no idea how lucky she got off.”
“When did you roll in?”
“Fifteen minutes ago. Leo called me and told me Jordan’s with him.” She plops down on the sofa. “How areyoudoing? Other than drowning your sorrows with grilled cheese sandwiches?”
