“Where the fuck’s he going?” I turn on him, trying and failing to wrench my arm free from his grasp. “Why aren’t you telling me anything?Whataren’t you telling me?”
Leo doesn’t answer, at first. I see the debate rumbling in his brain, weighing his options before he finally responds. “He’s flying out to LA.”
“Why?”
“He’s spending the weekend with Kayley.”
“Wait a minute. Why isn’t she flying here?”
I know that look. He doesn’t want to admit it. “Pet—”
“Basta, Leo. Fuckingred.” I finally twist my arm free, probably managing that feat only because he’s stunned that I safeworded.
Ineversafeword.
Ever. “Tell me why the fuck he’s going to LA.”
Before he answers Leo walks over to the living room door and shuts it because there might still be staff up here, and then returns to me. “Jordan’s spending the weekend with Kayley at her place. They’re going to get photographed going out together.”
“What? What thefuck, Leo! You didn’t think to askmeif I’m okay with this?”
To my knowledge, Jordan hasn’t gone on any “dates” since the wedding, even though there’s been times he’s swapped his ring back and forth on his hands or even taken it off to wear on a necklace safely hidden by his shirt, depending on the situation, to help avoid suspicion. I know Jordan said a long time ago there might be times he’d need to go out, but…
Well, that was before I married Leo and Jordan fake-dating helped eliminate one avenue of suspicion about my personal life.
Leo stands there with his hands on his hips and a look that tells me he’s struggling to not steamroll me. “It’s been a long time since gone out to—”
“Because he’sour fucking husband!”
So…Yeeeeaaah. I pitch a fit. I scream the last three words and Leo practically sprints back to the living room door, opens it, speaks to one of the agents, and then closes the door behind him before he returns to me.
I suspect he just told them we’re about to have a fight and to clear out all the staff and detail.
And to not come bursting in with guns blazing.
Maybe I am POTUS but fuck this shit, I’m territorial. “I don’t get a say in this? This is fucking bullshit!”
“El, all they’ll do is go out to eat, go shopping, and do some stuff together and get photographed like it’s more. Youknowdamned well that it’s not real. But weneedthat to happen because of the paparazzi. It’s more effective if it happens in LA.”
“But people are going to fucking think they’re really dating or something!”
“Exactly.”
“This is Kayley’s revenge on me, isn’t it? She’s been holding back, waiting to do something like this to get even for me ‘stealing’ you from Jordan, right?”
“Elliot, calm down.” He grabs my hands. “They’re not going to be playing tonsil hockey, but even if they do kiss for the cameras, you know what? That’s okay because it keeps suspicion off ofus. Remember Ily’s threat that day?”
I have to think about what he means until it hits me—no scandals.
Not aboutthis, at least.
Not aboutusand Jordan.
Ciro is so high in the polls I don’t think me mooning a joint session of Congress while Ciro jerks off on top of his desk on the Senate dais could hurt his chances. There are only two viable GOP candidates left following Iowa and neither of them has the slightest chance in hell of coming within ten points of Ciro.
Neither of them has a war chest even close to Ciro’s, either.
No Democrat dared to try to primary him. Ahead of the convention they’re all too busy jostling to position themselves as the best VP choice, kissing his ass and tickling his taint to an annoying level.
