Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2)

by Lesli Richardson

  Hopefully. We’ll need the sleep.

  Because Saturday and Sunday, we’ll be on the move both days with campaign events. Still relatively local, but in a few weeks the travel will kick into high gear. We’ll hit some big cities first for the money nights, like Los Angeles, Boston, Philadelphia, Indianapolis New York, Dallas, Seattle, Chicago, Miami, and Atlanta. Then the plan is to work in secondary cities before we start setting up surgical operations in smaller money markets.

  The third wave will be after we’ve seen where we’re getting the most combined small-dollar donations—and the worst. Then we’ll plan a series of small town halls, invite-only so we can control the crowds, but they’re great optics. By then we’ll have a better view of our ground game and our local campaign teams. The more money we can bring in from an area, the more resources we can dedicate there.

  And by then we’ll have more local regions pulling in enough money we can open more offices and hire more staff.

  All of that, of course, works hand-in-hand with a bull’s-eye painted on Iowa.

  The caucuses.

  The Holy Grail.

  Well, them, New Hampshire, and South Carolina. The unholy trifecta of early voting.

  California is a given, of course, and we’ve got a lot of surrogates we can send out there in the early days. Shae can help with Florida. We’ve got a Dem senator in Ohio now who will also help us there, and Pennsylvania is pretty damned blue. Comfortably so. We might lose Michigan, but if we get all the others, that’s fine.

  I’d really love to carry Texas, but they’re unpredictable. I’ve started studying maps from Shae’s last election, comparing them to the latest midterm and the midterm before her election, to give me a better idea of voting trends and see what districts we need to focus efforts on to possibly tip the scales blue.

  Not that we need Iowa, or any of the others, for the primaries. Elliot’s the presumptive candidate. No one’s been stupid enough yet to say they’ll try to primary him, because Shae’s popular, and so’s Elliot. There haven’t been any scandals to drag them down. On the contrary, Shae’s still riding a bump from her family’s personal tragedies and the attempt on Kev’s life. But with all that sympathetic attention, and with the GOP already eviscerating each other, Elliot’s calm and steady message is a startling positive contrast that won’t easily be overlooked by voters fatigued by dark-money ads running candidates into the mud. So far, they’re focusing their ad buys on each other, not Elliot.

  Also, Elliot can’t not do his fucking job as a candidate because he expects to win the election. People need to see he isn’t assuming anything. That he’s working to win them over or to keep them on his side, if they were already planning on voting for him.

  All this mental scheming, of course, is to distract me from the fact that Leo won’t pay any attention to me. If this was some cunning plan of his to make me come crawling to him and beg him to notice me? Well, guess what?

  He’s fucking wrong.

  Was he always like this and I never saw it before? I don’t remember him ever acting punitive like this. If anything, Leo always wanted to talk things over, practically to a tedious degree. The psychologist always had that control over the Dom and the sadist and the former Secret Service agent. That’s why he insisted on consent, because he knew damned well he can easily talk me or Elliot into anything in a matter of minutes.

  Sure, he and Elliot didn’t do much talking the other night, but they’d been apart for over a month, hadn’t slept together for far longer than that, and I know they both probably needed the bonding time.

  But…this?

  If this is some new aspect to Leo’s personality, or something I just never noticed before?

  No thanks. Hard fucking pass.

  I’ll focus on my boy and taking care of him. I’ll treat Leo like the annoying third-wheel friend who never knows when to go away, but you can’t quite make yourself order him to leave because you feel sorry for him.

  Or so I’ll tell myself until I finally drive that lesson home deep within my soul.

  Chapter Forty

  I don’t see Leo at all on Friday. The weekend passes in an exhausting spiral of travel and events and rope lines and speeches, none of which are made any easier by the renewed nightmares I cannot seem to escape.

  I would never try to say that me seeing what I did in the SitRoom was anything comparable to what Elliot survived in the Army, but it does make me far more understanding than I was before about his nightmares and PTSD.

  It also means I don’t have the extra will to split my attention between dealing with my own shit, and pouring emotional energy I don’t have into thinking about Leo. I must focus all my personal resources on Elliot, and on getting him through his campaign events.

  So, I make a choice.

  Before we leave the residence Saturday morning, I shut off my personal cell phone and leave it in a dresser drawer in my room. I’ll buy myself a new phone this week, when I can steal a few minutes where Elliot doesn’t need me from the schedule.

  Then I won’t have to worry anymore about Leo Fucking Cruz, aka Dom McStalkyfuck, being able to track me.

  Although as I close the dresser, a heavy sadness descends. Despite my best efforts otherwise, I guess part of me really was hoping we could make this work as a triad.

  Elliot and I don’t have time for this bullshit, though. And I don’t have the mental energy reserves to deal with it.

  Monday morning, I awaken feeling like shit despite having slept most of the night without bad dreams. I’m exhausted, and I know needing all of my focus on Elliot for the whole weekend is a massive part of that exhaustion.

  The other part is, of course, Leo Fucking Cruz. Stupid me, yeah, I checked the cell phone last night, powering it on only long enough to see if Leo texted me before powering it down again. No texts to me all weekend, although, again, he can’t seem to stop texting with Elliot.

  Guess he made the decision easy for me after all. It does enrage me more than a little that he made such a big fucking show of stalking me, exerting hidden control over me, and even my fucking surroundings, just to get pissy and ghost—again—when I only asked for space and time. That’s it. That wasn’t an unreasonable request, was it?

  All I needed from him—which he asked me what I needed—was a little space and time.

  Not…silence.

  If he’s so willing to nuke everything we have together just because I finally used my backbone to stand up to him so I can take care of Elliot?

  Then I guess I never really knew Leo at all.

  It makes me angry, but even more than that, it forces my grief back to the forefront, in crashing waves I feel will suck me into the undertow.

  I don’t see Leo on Monday, and I don’t bother turning my phone on to check for texts from him.

  Why? What’s the point? So he can get his sadistic jollies watching me pine for him?

  Fuck that noise.

  Tuesday morning, I have to be in the SitRoom for Elliot. When Leo’s in there, I ignore him. Fuck him. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much I’m hurting and wanting him.

  No, I don’t turn on my cell phone that night, either.

  Around lunchtime on Wednesday, I’m sitting at my desk when Leo stops by to check on a schedule change for an event next week. Elliot’s in his office behind a closed door. He’s already eaten lunch and is in the middle of a phone call before he spends a couple of hours going through briefing materials.

  I act coolly professional when I check the calendar and verify that the event Leo’s asking me about is still on.

  And I refuse to look him in the eyes, because I just…can’t.

  He hesitates, staring at Elliot’s door. He has door-knock privileges and can go in whenever. That hasn’t changed.

  Although he hasn’t tried doing that since I’ve been here. At least, not while I’m sitting at my desk. I don’t know if he’s done it while I’ve been across the street.

  If he tries
it now, he’s not going to like the result, because I will stop him.

  I guess he senses I’m over his bullshit, because he opts to ask. “Is the vice president free for a moment?”

  I turn back to my computer. “He’s on a call. If you want to take a seat and hang out, I’ll let you know when he’s free.”

  Across from me, I notice Suzanne’s eyes widen and bug out. Not even she would ever attempt to stop Leo from entering Elliot’s office.

  Ever.

  It’s like an immutable law Elliot and Leo have both pounded into the staff. Stopping Leo from entering would be tantamount to trying to prevent the president, or Kevin Markos, from walking in.

  Leo tenses, studying me. “No, that’s all right.” But he doesn’t move.

  For nearly a minute.

  “Anything else?” I finally ask. I’m staring at my monitor while mentally defying him to start shit with me.

  Bring it.

  He looks like he wants to say something, then shakes his head. “No. I guess that’s it. Thanks.”

  “Sure thing,” I chirp. My hands are shaking as I resume typing. Leo starts to leave, stops, then turns, staring at Suzanne for a moment before focusing on me again.

  “Are you…busy?”

  “Define busssssy,” I snarkily drawl. I still won’t look at him. I keep my focus on my monitor while observing him with my peripheral vision. “I’m always busy, Leo. I work for the vice president, and we’re in the middle of a campaign. There are levels of busy, and I am always engaged in one of them.”

  I cannot look him in the eyes. I’ll start crying. How cruel does he have to fucking be to keep punishing me with his silence?

  Maybe I will need to ask the boy to let his own Sir side out tonight. I can’t take this.

  I can’t.

  Suzanne’s eyes look like saucers as she watches this play out. Her hands are frozen in place where she was typing. No one talks like that to Leo Cruz, unless they’re POTUS or Kevin Markos, and even they don’t.

  No one.

  Leo clenches his jaw. That’s one of his angry tells. “Do you maybe have a few minutes you can spare to talk with me, Jordan?”

  Oh, the absolute set of fucking balls on him! Like he hasn’t been ignoring me for nearly two goddamned weeks?

  I feel like I’m about to hyperventilate as I stare at my monitor. “For what, Leo? Like I said, I’m busy.”

  I cannot break. If he’s going to pull away and be an asshole, then he absolutely does not get to push me around just because I work for VPOTUS.

  He and everyone else in this fucking building will learn to respect and even fear me as much—or more—than they fear Leo Fucking Cruz.

  I might look innocent, but that’s one of my greatest weapons.

  They never see me as a threat until it’s too late.

  Smoke’s practically billowing out of Leo’s ears, but he tries to play it cool. His hands slide into his pockets and I’m reminded of the day collar, which is in mine.

  Yeah, I’m a dumbass. I just…I should leave it at home, but I can’t, you know?

  I hear Leo’s near-sigh, the way he’s trying to hold himself in check. “Kev tasked me with a project and I’d like your input on it. You have a broader skillset in certain areas than I do. I’d appreciate your…insights. I would consider it a favor if you could spare me a few minutes.”

  Oh, fuck me.

  I am positive that’s a line of absolute bullshit, but if it’s not, I cannot have Suzanne sitting there and listening to me refuse to help out when Leo’s asked me what would seem to be a perfectly reasonable work-related question.

  I put on my best cheerful, helpful Jordan smile. “Sure. When would you like to talk?”

  “Now would be best. It’s a…time-sensitive project. It won’t take long.”

  Leo might be able to spot my smile slipping, but Suzanne’s already gone back to work, her relief nearly palpable.

  My smile tenses, and I’d be willing to bet Leo can see that, even if Suzanne likely doesn’t. “Not a problem. Let me save what I’m doing.” I do that, lock my terminal, grab my work cell, and follow him.

  Oh, of course we’re heading to the residence. Neither of us speak as Leo leads the way upstairs. Right now, there’s no staff up here in this area other than Secret Service. Shae’s in the Oval for a couple of hours, Chris and Kev are both away from the White House, and the kids are in school.

  Leo leads me through the main entry at the top of the stairs and down the Center Hall, toward the president’s bedroom. He leaves me waiting there and steps inside, disappearing for a moment. Maybe he’s checking for staff, I don’t know. When he returns, he leads the way upstairs to the third floor, but we don’t go to his office, like I expected.

  All the way, he’s checking open doorways as we pass, looking for staff, I’m guessing.

  Or maybe it’s him reflexively checking doorways, one of the many silent habits he retains from all his years on the job.

  At the end of the Center Hall, he opens the south Music Room door for me—a soundproofed room right next to the workout room—and motions for me to go first, so I do. None of the kids are playing instruments. Right now, it’s set up with a comfortable leather sectional sofa, a TV and stereo, a DVD player, and two different game consoles. But it is soundproofed, even though it has two inside doors, and a funny set of stairs that lead up to the Promenade door.

  I should know. He’s fucked me in here before.

  More than once.

  I turn on him after I hear the lock snap closed on both doors from the Center Hall area. Only Secret Service will be on the Promenade this time of day, and they won’t bother us, even if they were to look inside.

  Which they won’t.

  I launch right into it without preamble, opting to play offense instead of defense. “I knew that was a fucking lie and I followed you anyway. Goddammit, I’m an idiot.”

  “It wasn’t a lie. Kev reamed me out last week for taking your phone and told me to settle this.” Leo slides his hands into his pockets again. There’s always something disarming about that gesture when he or Elliot does it, and I struggle to hold on to my anger. “And you do have skillsets I don’t have. So, technically, it wasn’t a lie.”

  Must mean he still doesn’t know I listened to that little exchange. I cross my arms over my chest. “Guess I should expect semantics games from a guy who fucking ignores me.”

  His jaw literally drops. “I haven’t been ignoring you!”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? I ream you a new one for stalking me, and for showing up at the house and watching us fuck, and all I asked you for was a little time and space. Then you get pissy when I show some spine and you ghost my ass, while you text El like you’re a couple of damned teenagers trying to figure out how to fuck when your parents aren’t around.”

  He actually has the balls to walk away from me and throw his hands up in the air like I’m the crazy one! “I cannot even with you, Jordan.”

  That pisses me off even more. “Are you angry because he called me in to work for him, because he didn’t ask you first and get your permission to do it, or because I’m actually standing up to you and making you work for this instead of being at your beck and call and kissing your ass like I used to?”

  Screw this shit. If Leo wants a pissing contest, I’m not giving him one.

  Doesn’t help that I’m still in love with the guy.

  He wheels around. “Dammit, Jor, I’m not angry!”

  I cross my arms over my chest and force myself to stay calm. “Sure been acting like you are for the past two fricking weeks.”

  He sucks in a deep breath, holds it, blows it out. When he speaks again, his voice sounds lower and more controlled. “I’m not angry. I wanted to talk with you, and you pushed me away and yelled at me—”

  “Yeah, because you fucking stalked me to the restaurant, Leo!”

  “Because I spent three damned weeks terrified something had happened to you! Yeah, I stalked you t
o the restaurant. Is that what you want to hear? I’m sorry I give a shit about your safety. Happy?”

  “Thanks for not telling me you put a tracking app on my phone, by the way. Serves you damn right to be scared. That was a dick move, asshole.”

  He has the decency to look a little abashed. “Elliot told you?”

  “Yeah, Elliot told me. Wasn’t hard to figure out, either. My boy doesn’t fucking lie to me.”

  I catch the briefest flicker of darkness in his gaze over that comment before he replies. “I never lied to you. Had you asked me if I had installed an app—”

  “I never dreamed you’d put one on my phone! That’s a massive violation of my trust, Leo. Not to mention my privacy. At no time after I left did you think to text me and say, ‘Hey, by the way, might want to do such and so and get that off there?’”

  “I’m sorry. I was worried about you.” He slips his hands into his pockets again. “I worry about both of you when you aren’t with me. When you left…it was all I had left of you.”

  The soft-hearted subby boy wants to forgive Leo and immediately fall into his arms for being so sweetly…creepy.

  Stalky.

  I fight the urge to let him slide and harden my heart, channeling every bit of Elliot’s Sir. “You tracked me after I returned to Florida?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Elliot said you visited Tallahassee, but you didn’t contact me. Why not?”

  “Can we please get back on topic here?”

  “We are on topic, Leo! You stalked me but didn’t talk to me. You dropped contact with me. You fucking ghosted me. When I left…”

  I start to choke up and shove my way through it. “If you wanted me to stay here so goddamned much, you could’ve ordered me to stay, you know. You could’ve fought as hard for me as you’ve fought for Elliot all these years. Then you have the nerve to get all pissy with me about stepping in for Elliot when you dropped the ball with him?”

  “I’m not being pissy!”