Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2)

by Lesli Richardson

This matters.

  Elliot matters.

  I don’t care that no one knows what I’m really doing for Elliot except a very close-knit group of people. I’m not doing this for glory. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do and feels good to my soul.

  And the man’s fucking hawwt, so it’s not exactly a hardship.

  I go down on him and take my time, savoring his taste and the feel of his flesh in my mouth. I want to memorize him and be able to close my eyes and exactly recall every curve and dip and fold.

  After a few minutes, however, I notice there’s not more…progress. He’s stiff, but not really hard.

  Then it hits me.

  I hook my arms under his legs and dig my fingernails into the tops of his thighs, which makes his cock harden and twitch in my mouth and draws a needy moan from him.

  There we go.

  That’s what Elliot needed. I keep my nails dug in, squeezing, making it hurt. Within minutes, I’m sucking a climax out of him and returning to lie next to him with him draped across my chest again.

  At least I caught a glimpse of the time. It’s not even nine yet.

  He sounds breathy and sweetly sated. “Thank you, Sir.”

  I kiss him, a long, slow, full-on exploration. “You’re welcome, boy.” Wrapping my arms around him feels so damned right. He’s a little broader and beefier than Leo, but he’s not quite as tall. His scent is different, and one that I’ve smelled countless times before on Leo, after he would return to me following a visit to Elliot.

  Guess I’ll be getting to know Elliot intimately, in ways I’d long ago thought would never happen.

  I wish I could spend all day in bed with him.

  Won’t happen today, though.

  I softly groan. “I need to unpack my stuff. All my suits and everything. I need to make sure everything’s wearable so I can send stuff to the cleaners, if I need to.”

  “Can I help, Sir?”

  I study him. “You want to?”

  “Yes, Sir. Please?”

  I boop his nose. “Okay. I’ll go make us coffee and bring it up and meet you in the guest room. Put on Duck, for now.”

  “Naked?”

  “Duh. Or was that rhetorical?”

  He chuckles. “Just double-checking, Sir.”

  I kiss him and then go use the bathroom. On my way out, I grab his robe from where it’s hanging on the closet door, pull it on, and head to the kitchen. His robe hangs long and huge on me, but it smells like him and I love that. I used to wear Leo’s robe on chilly mornings when I got up before him to make our coffee.

  I can still, in many ways, eke my own submissive fix from this dynamic between us. By doing things for Elliot that fall under the heading of caring for him, of service to him.

  The way I used to do things for Leo.

  In the kitchen, everything’s where I remember it. I have to say, at least Elliot’s predictable. Once I’ve brewed two cups of coffee and prepared them for us, I carry them upstairs, where I find Elliot already at work in the guest room.

  Yes, he’s naked, except for Duck.

  Fuck, the man’s gorgeous. I know he normally works out in the mornings, when his schedule allows. He’s not a sculpted, chiseled gym rat, but he’s firm and toned, and the ass and legs this man has are just…

  Yum.

  He looks up with a bashful smile. “I hung your suits in the closet, Sir. They don’t smell musty or anything, but I think I’ll need to iron some of your shirts.”

  My mouth goes dry as our gazes connect. His blue eyes are as gorgeous as the rest of him. He’s wearing his glasses and I’m reminded of how Leo’s a sucker for a guy in glasses.

  I guess we all have our fetishes.

  Mine happens to be suits.

  And older men, apparently.

  “Thank you, boy. I appreciate it. Wear your glasses today. No contacts.”

  His brow furrows, but my good boy nods. “Yes, Sir.”

  Excellent. He’s not questioning me.

  I lean in for a kiss before I hand him his coffee. He’s already emptied one suitcase and set it aside, and I spot Mimi’s cookbooks neatly stacked on the dresser.

  I do a quick mental schedule calculation in my head as I perch on the bed to watch him. “I don’t get to cook for you tonight, I guess. What’s tomorrow’s schedule look like?”

  “Breakfast speech for a VFW group here in DC, then a visit to a library for a reading program promo stop. Somewhere in there, my morning briefing needs to happen. After that, a meeting with campaign staff. Following that, we’re free the rest of the day.” He smirks. “Unless the little fucker kicks up a storm, or something.”

  “Sunday?”

  “Morning briefing and staff prep for Monday, but working here all day.”

  I arch an eyebrow at him. “All day?”

  “Besides the morning briefing, staff will be in and out until six p.m., unless something develops that needs my attention.”

  “Next week?”

  We go through the schedule as best he can remember it right now, knowing full well it could evolve at any time. That’s the nature of the beast. A schedule can change twenty times in twenty minutes.

  No shit, I’ve seen it.

  Especially when you end up on campaign time. Tossing in questions from press can bork a timeline in a heartbeat. Or when polls come in and there’s a drastic shift, for or against you, and you change appearance schedules on the fly to best leverage your candidate’s face in front of people and media.

  We’re flying to Nebraska late Thursday night for an early Friday morning event at Offutt Air Force Base, then from there driving to his parents’ farm, which is nearby, for a visit, before flying back to DC that evening.

  And he’s publicly declaring next weekend, at a GOTV event in Arlington on Sunday morning.

  I sip my coffee as I watch him neatly stow my clothes in the dresser. “What’s the real reason for visiting your parents?”

  He hesitates. “To tell them I’m declaring.” I’ll dig into why he hesitated later. I can’t help wondering if he’s hoping they’ll ask him not to run.

  That would totally be like him.

  He’s taking his time and being very conscientious as he arranges my clothing in the drawers. The man cannot pack a suitcase to save his life, but when it comes to dresser drawers or closets, he’s amazing. Sort of like the necktie thing. Even before now, I can’t tell you how many times I went running after Elliot to retie or straighten his necktie, or how many times Leo ordered me to go check on Elliot to see what he looked like before he had to make an appearance.

  Elliot’s endearingly helpless in that way.

  We all have our quirks, and Elliot’s aren’t difficult to love.

  Except for the fear and avoidance behaviors, of course.

  Those are a pain in the fricking ass.

  He empties another suitcase and starts on the third. “How much do you still have at your apartment?”

  “Not much. I’ll need to clear it out. And my storage unit. I’ll have to fly down and hire movers to pack and ship one of those small pods like I did before.” I snort. “I wonder if Leo still has the same unit.”

  “He does,” he quietly says.

  I study him.

  Our gazes meet. “He has the same apartment keys, same alarm codes, same everything. I think he hoped every day you’d return. He’s lived his life waiting for you to come back to him.”

  I don’t know what to say to that and shove back another wave of anger. “He could’ve talked to me and told me that. Not like he’s a fricking psychologist, or something. I was initiating all our contact. That’s why I finally stopped, to see if he’d contact me.” I struggle against the wave of bitterness sweeping through me on the heels of the anger. “He sure didn’t act like he missed me.”

  “He really is grieving.”

  I sip my coffee. “He’s not the only one,” I mutter into my mug.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I don’t know how
to process that and know I need to consciously choose to release my anger. “I made the decision to leave.”

  “Because of me.”

  “We’re not going to rehash this every day, are we?”

  “No, Sir.”

  I stand, set my mug on the dresser next to his, and cup his face in my hands. Like this, I’m looking up at him, into those gorgeous blue eyes. I’ve studied pictures of him back then, when Leo first met him. I was only seventeen when they met and fell in love. While there are a few more lines on Elliot’s face than back then, he’s still strikingly handsome, with a boyish charm on full display when he smiles. Which is why I like him in glasses, because they help mask the lines at the outer edges of his eyes and make him look younger.

  When Leo and Elliot met, Elliot was thirty-one, a newly elected congressman in his first term, had already held state office, and was a wounded, combat-hardened vet.

  Leo was thirty-five, working for a private security contractor, retired from the Secret Service due to his injuries from the plane crash, and over twice my age back then.

  Two lifetimes lived, compared to mine.

  “El, I don’t hold anything against you from back then, if you don’t hold anything against me. Fresh slate. Deal?”

  He nods. “Deal, Sir.”

  I smile. That’s good enough. I rise up on my toes to kiss him. “Finish this, please, and I’ll make us something to eat. You can put on sweats and a T-shirt, if you want, before you come downstairs to join me.”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

  I opt to stay in his robe, and I carry my mug of coffee downstairs. I don’t want to think about my empty little apartment back in Florida, or all the things still in storage that I didn’t have the heart to get out and move to my apartment.

  Like Christmas ornaments.

  Last Christmas felt emotionally bleak and my apartment reflected that. I didn’t have the mental energy to retrieve my ornaments. Not even the little ceramic tree with colored lights on it.

  Nothing.

  I know it’s not healthy to place so much weight on another person’s presence in or absence from your life, but I think the person I was hating on most was myself.

  For walking away.

  I won’t walk away from Elliot, though, even if Leo doesn’t want to reconcile with me. Not until I’ve fulfilled my promise to him, at least.

  So help me god.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Returning to the White House feels…disorienting, in some ways. As we head inside, I see plenty of familiar faces, as well as some new ones. I’ve packed Elliot a change of clothes for tonight’s event, so we don’t have to return to his residence. It’ll save us a little time.

  Elliot calls in Doug, his chief of staff, and Suzanne, his administrative assistant, and informs them of the new world order. Fortunately, I know both of them, even though I didn’t work closely with them before.

  “He’s my Leo,” Elliot adds. “He answers directly to me and has seniority over junior staff the way Leo does. All access, scheduling, and speeches will now go through Jordan for his final approval before anything’s brought to me.”

  Doug looks relieved. “Thank god.” He shakes with me. “Glad to have you on the team. I was seriously considering strangling him if he didn’t hire a body man before officially kicking off his campaign. No way Kevin Markos or President Samuels will let Leo get away anytime soon.”

  I force a smile. “Glad to be back. Looking forward to working with you.”

  Suzanne offers me a kind smile and shakes with me. “Welcome back to Hell’s Happy Acres. I’ll pass the word to staff that there’s a new sheriff in town.”

  “Thanks. Can you please call across the street for me to Personnel and IT and let them know I’m on my way? I need to redo my HR paperwork and get an official phone, laptop, tablet, all of that.” I indicate my badge. “His head agent brought my new badge over last night, so at least that’s covered.”

  “Of course, sir. And I’ll get your desk cleared off.” She heads out to do it.

  Wow, that feels…weird. I don’t know how to explain it. Suzanne is at least Elliot’s age, maybe older.

  I’m way higher on the food chain now than I used to be, that’s for sure. Suzanne and I will work in tandem for many things. But while I’ll be focused on Elliot the man, she’ll be handling the office of the vice president.

  My desk is in the outer office, where Suzanne’s desk is located. Right now, it’s a catch-all desk holding piles of folders, binders of briefing materials, and two flower arrangements.

  Once Elliot’s settled, I have a thought and head over to the White House residence. At the top of the stairs, I speak with the agent on duty there, and he waves me in.

  This is stupid, maybe, but there’s someone else I missed like hell and want to say hello to right away.

  I stop by the private family kitchen, snag a piece of romaine lettuce out of the crisper, and then walk into the small room next to the kitchen.

  There’s my buddy. “Hey, Pecan. How you doing?”

  At the sound of my voice, the tortoise’s head slowly rises, where he’s lounging in his specially made pen, and he makes his way over to me.

  I choke back a tearful laugh and hold the romaine out for him.

  He immediately takes a bite of it, and I continue holding it for him while he munches. As he does, I reach over with my other hand and stroke the top of his head. “Missed you, too, buddy.”

  I really did. He was part of my daily routine, before. With the First Family traveling, Secret Service, along with aides from Chris’ office, makes sure that Pecan gets fed, gets his roaming time in every night, and is safely returned to his pen in the residence in the morning before the public is allowed in for tours.

  Damn, did I miss this little guy. I loved making costumes for him, and setting up Instagram postings.

  I couldn’t even bare to look at IG while I was gone. I tried, and it made me ugly cry. How sad is it that a selfie of me and Pecan in his Santa outfit is my lock screen image on my phone?

  Which is still shut off.

  With that reunion managed, I wash my hands and then head across the street to the EEOB, spend an hour handling paperwork, get my new phone, laptop, and tablet, reactivate my old government e-mail account, get my new network user ID and password, and deal with other security info, arrange for my desk phone line to be activated this afternoon, order business cards—yeah, that one’s pretty cool—and realize that the new Personal Aide to the Vice President title under my name is…

  Wow.

  Maybe I should mail one of these to my parents.

  Using official White House stationery.

  Nah, that’d be too petty. Not to mention, it could be a violation of ethics rules.

  But I’ll think of something.

  I’ll need to get the contact info for Elliot’s detail entered into my new work phone. One of my tasks this afternoon is sending them the shopping list I compiled this morning, so they can have the kitchen stocked by tonight. I’ll also need his valet, head housekeeper—all of those contacts. I will now be coordinating all of their activities and their schedule on his behalf.

  When I return to the office, I set up my now cleared desk before I head into Elliot’s office. I knock and open the door immediately without waiting, because I know he’s alone, and I want to reinforce our dynamic with him in subtle ways. Obviously, if he was in a meeting, depending on who it was with, I’d wait for him to acknowledge me first.

  I find him sitting at his desk and going through what I assume is his Morning Book. I’d left his cell phones with him, so I hold up my new one. “Need your phones.”

  He hands over his personal and official cell phones. Not the burner, that can stay with him for right now. He wears a playful smirk I want to spank off him as he watches while I punch my new contact info into both phones. I set my work phone and personal phone as the first two contacts in his Favorites on both phones.

  I’m still de
bating whether or not I should turn my personal cell back on. Anyone who needs to contact me right now will do it through my work phone.

  Part of me thinks maybe Leo deserves to worry about me, if he does have a secret tracker on my phone.

  Elliot and that smirk of his. “Welcome back, Sir. Must be official if you have a phone.”

  I snort. “Any word from Leo?”

  His smile fades. “I texted him good morning when I got up, but he hasn’t responded yet. He hasn’t responded to my text from last night, either.”

  The disappointment in his tone simultaneously guts and enrages me, that Leo would ignore him.

  Yeah, they’re busy. I get it. Leo’s not on a golfing jaunt.

  But he can’t find fifteen seconds to text a reply to his pet? I know damn well he can run the burner from Wi-Fi, and tap into the secure system on Air Force One, or any hotel they’re at, so he has zero excuse about cell towers or networks. They’re in Ottawa, not Outer fricking Mongolia.

  I know Leo’s alive, because I would’ve heard something about it already from the detail if he wasn’t. They all know he’s Elliot’s best friend, and that I am—was—close to Leo. One of them would’ve said something.

  I must have given something away to Elliot with the tense set of my jaw. “Please don’t be angry at him, Sir. I’m sure he’s busy with the president.”

  “Sure. That’s it.” I pocket his phones. While Elliot’s in the office, I will deal with them, so he’s not disturbed. I know what calls can be put through to him, and which ones Suzanne or I should deal with. I’ll only let him hold on to the burner phone when he’s in his office or at home.

  “Did they get everything handled for you?” he asks.

  “Yeah. They’ll set up my direct desk extension this afternoon.”

  Although, usually, I’ll be with Elliot, so he won’t be calling me unless he’s sitting at his desk. It’ll be rare that I’m not with him, or waiting for him outside a SCIF, or the SitRoom, or wherever he goes that I cannot be.

  “Oh, a duty officer’s going to come talk to you from the SitRoom,” he says.

  That freezes me in my tracks. “Say again?”

  He’s wearing “that” smile. “Which part threw you?”