Diligence (Determination Trilogy 2)

by Lesli Richardson

  “Only to talk.” I offer him a smile that’s probably a little too victorious, but I can’t help it.

  I already sense Christopher’s right. I can feel it in Kevin.

  Rock, meet bottom.

  With a sigh, Kevin finally opens the door wider and stands aside. I walk right in, kind of like a vampire who’s been invited to the feast and Kevin’s a sack of fresh blood pudding.

  Christopher follows me and heads deeper inside without speaking to Kevin. I knew he was going to do this, too. Should Kevin challenge him—which he probably won’t, based on his reaction so far—Chris was going to cite some bullshit about clearing the premises of any threats.

  Secret Service, yo.

  Chris wants to prowl around, check out what he’s got in the fridge, and mentally plan what he wants to cook for Kevin when he returns here later tonight.

  Once Kevin closes the door I realize how bad he looks. Exhausted, aged. He hasn’t shaved in several days, and his hair’s a mess.

  “After you,” I say, hoping I’m not wearing my scary smile.

  I feel sorry for him. He probably feels totally alone in the world.

  It also drives home the fact that Christopher is right.

  About everything.

  Well, so far.

  We go talk, I give my pitch, then excuse myself to the bathroom as planned. Due to the layout of his house, which is nearly identical to mine except with a reversed floor plan, I can stand just inside the hallway and hear every word between them.

  Do I feel a little bad that we’re resorting to extortion to get him to agree?

  A little.

  Do I feel a little guilty that we’re withholding some things from him and bending the truth about others?

  Okay, yeah, some.

  Would we really out him if Christopher can’t make him say yes?

  No. We both agreed we wouldn’t, but there is no plan B, and we need Kevin to agree, right now.

  I have to fight the urge to return early, though, when I hear the sadist step forward using Christopher’s voice as he lays down the law to Kevin.

  The plan is solid, but only if I allow it to play out the way Christopher told me.

  We have to wait for Kevin to agree to do this.

  Once he does, and Christopher calls for me to come back into the room, we quickly make our exit. It’s only after I’m in the car again and we’re heading to Tallahassee International so I can catch my flight that I breathe easy.

  “You did it,” I tell him.

  “We did it.” He reaches for my hand and holds it as he drives.

  When we arrive at the airport, he pulls off into the cell phone lot first, away from other vehicles, so we can talk.

  “I’ll keep you updated by text,” he says, “but I’m not going to be in contact a lot for the next two weeks. Okay? I need to focus on him. I can’t tell you how much I wanted to pull him into my arms and tell him I love him and forgive him.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “Stick and carrot.” He looks through the windshield, quickly scanning our surroundings before his focus returns to me. “He’ll be expecting me back. I need to finish breaking him down.”

  “Uh, he’s broken. I don’t think there’s any work left to do in that department.” I actually felt really sorry for Kevin by the time we left there.

  “Yes, there is. I need him to fully accept you in my life. He will,” he quickly adds, “but that’s why I need these two weeks alone with him.”

  “What was the offer?” I ask.

  “Huh?”

  “Back there, you told him he will take you up on your offer from back then.”

  He removes his sunglasses so I can see his eyes. “I told him if he would trust me, that I’d take care of him. I’d offered to let him move in with me in DC. I was transferring to the office there. He was going to work at an unpaid internship at a network, and his parents were going to pay for his room and board.

  “Kev was terrified to come out to them. I told him if he would move in with me, I’d support him. All I asked of him, all he had to do, was take the next step after our week together, and that was to call me. That’s all. Not a big step, but I knew I couldn’t chase him. He had to reach out to me. I told him he could be mine. That not even his father would hurt him. Kev’s terrified of the man.”

  I snort. “His father’s a grotesque two-bit swampcunt who thinks he’s a political empire unto himself.”

  I have zero respect for Rep. Edwin Markos. Fucker’s an asshole, and I’m pretty sure he was cheating on his wife while she was battling cancer. Man also seems to have a bad kind of hard-on for me, probably because Momma once whooped his ass like a rented pack mule in an election.

  “You’re not wrong.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it before he tucks it against his chest, a gesture I love about him. “Give me these two weeks. Once we’re back in DC, I’ll need another two weeks to finish the process with him. Then I’ll bring you back into it with him.”

  Okay, so this part of the plan is truly sneaky and underhanded and is, if it works as Chris believes it will, hotter than fuck and means I finally get to realize a long-term fantasy of mine to be with two guys.

  I guess, under the circumstances, I can be generous, considering the potential benefits.

  “I trust you.” I wonder if he realizes how fucking hard that is for me to admit.

  If he or Kevin fucks me over, it can mean the end of my political career. I’m under no illusions that there’s a double-standard. A man caught in a sexual scandal in DC, as long as it’s with a consenting adult, he can usually survive it.

  If I get outed as being kinky and having not one but two men?

  I can forget about future political office if that happens. With just Christopher, yes, I could survive that, especially if we got married. It’s the poly aspect that will really scandalize people. I mean, how dare I be an ethical slut with two single, consenting, adult men?

  Right?

  I’d be treated as if I were caught occupying a double-ended glory hole.

  Christopher smiles, glances around, then leans in for a slow, sweet kiss. “I trust you, too. Love you.”

  I shiver, because it’s scary how comfortable that already feels.

  How much I…need it. “Love you, too.”

  Chapter Six

  Now

  I think Christopher is swearing at me under his breath. He spent his career with threat assessments, security logistics, and tracking down potential dangers.

  Now he’s in charge of interior design, china patterns, seating charts, floral arrangements, and a crew of culinary experts.

  It is amusing that the sadist is now the one being tortured, in a way.

  Even Kevin finds it amusing, although neither of us will admit it to Christopher right now.

  We’re masochists, not stupid.

  Yesterday, Elliot, Chris, and I visited Arlington National Cemetery for the wreath-laying ceremony. It was cold and rainy as a frontal system moved into the area, but no way in hell would I miss it. Tomorrow’s Inauguration Day is supposed to be sunny, but cold.

  On Inauguration Day, I awaken excited, ready to get to work…and terrified right the fuck out.

  In a few short hours, I’m going to be president.

  We’ve been staying at Blair House for the past several days in preparation for the transition. By “we” I mean myself, Christopher, and Kevin, plus Elliot and his parents and sister, Leo, and Lauren, and Charles, Tory, and the kids, and Tory’s parents.

  Kevin’s father is not invited to any of the private meals or gatherings we hold in the days leading up to this moment. Rumors have it he’s incensed over that slight, and that makes the three of us smile even more.

  We have a cozy group breakfast before returning to our rooms to get ready for the day. When the Secret Service says it’s almost time to leave for the traditional coffee date at the White House, I’m nervous, but excited. Elliot and I exchange playful high-fives dow
nstairs in the foyer, an act captured by the photographer, before we walk out to load in the limos to head over to the White House. There’s some formalities to go through, the traditional picture of the four of us together—Christopher and me, Fullmer and his wife.

  It’s a sunny but brutally cold day, thirty-eight degrees and plummeting, with a biting wind that puts the windchill factor around eighteen and makes me glad Kev insisted I wear nude-colored tights today. Also, he bought me a good pair of gloves, and I’m actually wearing one of his scarves, but which is the perfect color for my dress and coat.

  In this way, at least, he is always with me.

  Outside at the White House, I note where Kevin and Lauren stand waiting and watching with Leo behind the photographers as we take the outside pictures before we take the inside ones, and I wish we could include Kev in all of them.

  He is the reason I’m here.

  I mean, sure, Christopher is the one who brought us together, but it’s Kev’s brain and game plan that got me elected. His skill at interpreting poll results, scheduling my campaign appearances and interviews, crafting the message—all of it.

  And now the Secret Service knows us as Portia, Priest, and Prophet.

  Kev turned out to be my Prophet, all right.

  He stands watching with his arms crossed over his chest, and he looks handsome in his suit. I picked out his blue tie, which has some of the same colors in it that are in my blue dress.

  Also, Christopher tied me up with both his tie and Kevin’s last night, while my two men went over every inch of my both with their hands and mouths and had me writhing and begging for them.

  From the playful smirk Kev wears as he smooths his hand over his tie while he knows my gaze is on him, I’m sure that’s running through his mind, too.

  When Christopher also smooths his tie, I know they’re in on it together.

  The rat bastards.

  Damn, do I love them.

  We smile and play nice for the cameras with Fullmer and Jackson, Fullmer’s VP, and their wives, while in the wings there is a crew of hundreds prepped and ready to undertake the moving process as soon as the clock strikes noon.

  I can’t wait.

  We’ve already designated one of the bedrooms on the second floor of the residence as Kev’s room. Not officially, but yeah, officially. We have a workout room upstairs on the third floor, and Kev is Chris’ best friend, as well as my chief of staff. So the easiest excuse is that he can work out here, with Chris, getting an early jump on their day.

  The truth is, if we’re in the White House on any given night, more often than not Kevin will be sleeping in bed with us.

  It’s easier for him to get to the White House than it is for us to get to the townhouse. We can’t do that—not without the whole of DC knowing it because of road blockages for the motorcade. Doesn’t matter what books and movies show, it’s impossible for POTUS or FSOTUS to sneak around unnoticed.

  After the press and photographers are ushered out to give us a few minutes of privacy, I’m sure Fullmer thinks he’s scoring some sort of point against me when he opens his damn mouth.

  “You know, you didn’t have to marry someone in the Secret Service to get protection from them, Senator Samuels. It comes with the job.”

  Before Chris or I can even process Fullmer really said that, Kevin responds without missing a beat. “Oh, you mean like you didn’t have to marry any of your mistresses because you already had a wife at home, President Fullmer?”

  Bam.

  I reach out and exchange an exploding fist bump with Kev.

  This is just one reason why I desperately love this man.

  Unsurprisingly, the carpool ride to the Capitol is even chillier than than the air outside. I’m sure neither Fullmer nor Jackson—or their spouses—are happy about being relegated to the one-term club. Jackson knows his chances at ever being elected POTUS now are slim to none, considering his age and poll numbers compared to mine and Elliot’s.

  I briefly consider joking that we should open a window to let some warm air into the limo. I think Chris anticipates that, because he squeezes my hand to get my attention and gives me a playful smirk I know means, Behave, girl.

  As we all take our places outside the US Capitol for the swearing in ceremony, I try not to let the sight of the swarms of people tightly packed into the National Mall overwhelm me. Chris holds my hand as the ceremony begins, and it’s weird how time seems to race and yet simultaneously crawl as things proceed.

  Elliot is sworn in first, per tradition. He has his sister hold the family Bible he uses to take the oath administered to him by Associate Justice Carlos Sampere.

  Then it’s my turn.

  Chief Justice Lise Pritchard will administer my oath, which I’ve opted to take on Momma’s copy of Black’s Law Dictionary, and her tattered, mini leather-bound version of the Constitution. Every time she was sworn into office, she swore her oath on both books.

  As I place my hand on those books, which Chris holds for me, the enormity of the situation hits me.

  I’m about to take an oath in front of the entire world.

  “I ShaeLynn Elrod Samuels, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

  At least there will be pictures and video of this moment so I can go back and watch it. Because as I raise my hand and repeat the words and officially step onto the world’s stage, I can’t help but wish Kevin was standing there next to Chris, both of them holding the books I am swearing upon.

  So help me god.

  * * * *

  The luncheon in Statuary Hall features shrimp and grits, filet Oskar, smoked mullet, corn on the cob, and Key Lime Pie, among other dishes. It’s an ode to me and Elliot, and some of our favorite dishes.

  I hope in eight years I’m able to sit back and proudly watch him take the oath I just took. He’s a good man, and he’s going to be a damned good VP.

  The crowds along the Inaugural Parade route are surprisingly enormous. It’s even colder than it was this morning, it’s windy, and all I want to do is get to the White House, but I insist on walking some of the route despite Chris trying to talk me out of it. I know his concern is as my husband, but even more as an experienced agent who worked The Shift first-hand. After a ride in the limo down the parade route, Chris, Elliot, and I get out to walk the last eight blocks.

  Outside the limo, the crowd’s intensity is stunning, roaring cheers as we pass, including people chanting SAM-UELS! SAM-UELS!

  I could kiss Christopher and Kev for suggesting I wear flats today. It makes the walk so much easier. The last thing I want is me tripping and face-planting and having it immortalized for all to see.

  I wish Momma and Daddy were here. I’m not a believer in religion, but maybe if there’s an afterlife, she’s watching this, proud of me, and cheering me on.

  I hope.

  Even today, on this most incredible of days, an image still flashes to mind that I have to shove away or risk it making me sick.

  Despite it being a promise kept.

  Another reason I never wanted children of my own—so they don’t feel obligated to keep ill-conceived promises I might be selfish and short-sighted enough extract from them.

  Chris holds my hand as we walk. The entire way, he keeps me firmly between him and Elliot. I can see he’s in protective mode as he constantly scans the crowds.

  Old habits die hard, but good Secret Service protective agents keep people from dying, period.

  He might as well be one of the other Secret Service agents currently protecting us. With his sunglasses and constantly pivoting gaze, he sure looks like one.

  “I feel like I’m dreaming,” I tell him when I tug on his hand to get him to lean in.

  He smiles down at me. “Enjoy it, sweetie. You’ve earned it.”

  “Are they really cheering for me, or am I imagining that?”
/>   He grins. “They’re cheering. You won by a landslide.” Florida did finally swing my way, once the literal disaster from the severe weather and accompanying logistics snafus were sorted out. I won the Electoral College and I won the popular vote by over fifteen million votes.

  A decisive win.

  As we’re watching the parade from the reviewing stands, Kevin leans in to whisper in my ear from where he’s sitting directly behind me. “Congratulations, Madam President.”

  I glance back to spot his playful smile.

  And he runs his hand down the front of his tie, making my pussy clench as I remember what the two of them did to me last night.

  Rat bastard.

  I drop him a wink.

  He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder, but then also squeezes Chris’.

  We’re really here.

  We really did it.

  And we can’t even talk about Kevin’s real role in our lives.

  To me, that’s the unfairest thing of all.

  Chapter Seven

  There’s a tradition that the outgoing president leaves a handwritten note in the desk for the incoming president. The contents are supposed to be a secret, unless the recipient wants to reveal them.

  I am genuinely curious to read President Fullmer’s note. Based on the death glares his wife sent me during Inauguration, I’m likely not his favorite person.

  I’m the woman who punted Fullmer into the One-Term Club, which is adding insult to injury after the bipartisan veto override vote I led three years ago to ram a revamped single-payer health care bill down his throat.

  Suck it, asshole. It was wildly popular with the public. They are our bosses—not corporations, not lobbyists.

  That’s in addition to the slam-dunk Kev dropped on the jerkface earlier today.

  Kev and Chris are following me as I walk up to the door of the Oval Office that evening before we head to Blair House to change clothes and attend the first of three balls we’ll be visiting tonight. We’ll sleep at Blair House again tonight so the movers have time to finish upstairs.