This must be horrible. “What the hell doesthatmean?”
When Casey-Marie realizes Declan and Angie have opted to let her take the incoming fire on this one, she steps forward to show me her phone.
On it is a picture of Leo and Jordan, probably taken near the East Colonnade just outside the East Wing building not long after the turkey pardon ceremony. Jordan and Leo are standing inside and you can see them through the open doorway. They’re both smiling, looking at each other like a couple of lovebirds, but I don’t see anything wrong with this picture that we can’t spin as them being anything other than good friends.
My stomach tenses. “And? What am I looking at?”
She swipes into another picture, where Leo’s kissing Jordan. The picture’s partially obscured by the door starting to swing shut and a Secret Service agent standing there, but you can tell what they’re doing. It’s a quick kiss, not tonsil hockey, but given the circumstances there’s no mistaking that they’re more than just friends.
I groan. “Oh,fuckme!”
“It’s not public yet,” she quickly adds. “Jordan and Leo don’t even know. This is a very…fluid situation. But it will be public by tonight. Meaning I need to pull the pin on a grenade I was hoping you’d never need to know existed.”
A chill fills me. “And that is?”
She hands me the folder. Inside I find a single sheet of paper.
A signed resignation letter from Jordan. Dated the day after the election.
I’m trying to process this. “What the hell?”
“I worried that during the whole process of trying to get moved and arrange stuff with the house there might one day be a…slip-up.”
“A slip-up? You call this a fuckingslip-up?” I storm over to my desk, slap the folder down, grab the phone, and angrily mash the intercom button. “Suzanne, I want Leo and Jordan in hereimmediately.” I hang up before she can respond.
I turn, leaning against my desk and shoving my hands in my pocket. “Why did nobody tell me about this plan?”
“Because I didn’t think you’d everneedto know,” she insists. “We faced a similar situation with Declan and George. I decided a little insurance just in case couldn’t hurt.”
“Who took the picture?”
“Cell phone shot from a parent at the turkey pardon—”
“Oh,fuckme! Are youkidding?”
“—and they sent it to a reporter atWaPo, who sent it to me for a comment or explanation.”
I shut my eyes and groan. “This isbad.”
“Not as bad as itcouldbe.”
Incredulous, I look at her. “You mean because they weren’t caught actually fucking, or Jordan wasn’t on his knees blowing him?”
She shrugs. “Well—”
“Fuck!” I round the desk and stare out the window as I try to remain calm. “What do we do? They’re going to claim…” I sigh. “Jesusfuck, they’re going to scream I’m fucking my body man.”
Which, of course, isexactlywhat I’m doing.
Among other things.
“We can’t just throw a backdated resignation letter at the press and ask them to go away,” I add. “They’ll see through that. How convenient, yadda-yadda.”
“It’s notjusta backdated resignation letter.”
I turn. “Say again?”
“Jordan is officially no longer employed by the government,” she admits. “His resignation was effective immediately.”
