Page 39 of Incisive

“Yeah.”

Part of me had hopedthiswouldfinallybe that magic moment.

I guess deep inside I knew my dad wouldn’t gush with praise and respect when I was sworn in as POTUS but I was hoping for…something. Some kind of overt recognition.

Anything.

Despite putting myself into the most important job in the world I still don’t seem to have that special whatever it is I’ve always wanted from Dad, and now I’m stuck.

No takesie-backsies. The world doesn’t work like that. I can never return to my old life. From this day forward, I will always be known as President Woodley even after I leave office.

Even if I resign tomorrow, I’m still a member of that exclusive presidential club.

For the next four to eight years my life will be scrutinized, every word I say and every move I make impacting people around the globe, able to influence stock markets and generate headlines.

Ironic that the only opinion I truly give a shit about is the one I’m unable to obtain, from the man who gave me life.

The household staff have returned to the residence, for now, but I need to get ready for tonight.

Jordan follows me into my bedroom and locks the door behind us. “At least we don’t need excuses forthis,” he mutters before he walks over to the other door, the one that leads to the private living room area, and locks that, too.

I know what he means—being alone together.

Him being alone with me is kind of hisjob. Literally.

I sink onto the side of the bed while he returns to me and starts untying my tie. “You want a drink?” he asks. “I’ll allow it since you’ve finally got some food in you.”

That sounds…tempting. “I was going to say no but you know what? Yeah. I do.”

“Good thing I included a wet bar in the reno plans,” he teases as he removes my tie. “Stay here.” He disappears through the door to the living room and returns a moment later with two glasses containing amber liquid on the rocks that I suspect is Jack Daniel’s. I know there are more expensive liquors but I like it, and I won’t apologize for it.

I gratefully accept a glass from him and he gently clinks his against mine. “To you, Mister President.”

“I need to get used to that title, don’t I?” I look up into his gaze as we sip. The heat of the chilled liquor coldly sears a path down my throat and feels like it could bore straight through my soul.

Jordan sighs. “I know it’s easy formeto say fuck your father not giving you what you need, but that’s because I escaped mine. Now you have to make the decision to move the hell on from that and not let it eat at you. It’s precious mental and emotional energy you don’t have to spare any longer. That luxury isgone.”

“I know.” I stare into my glass as I swirl the liquid. The ice cube gently tinkles against the sides. He used the really large cubes and the glasses are small enough he only used one cube each.

“Elliot.”

My head snaps up at his sharp tone to find there’s a different man standing before me. This is all Sir, without a single hint of Jordan or boy in his demeanor. Far closer to Leo than anyone might dream possible if they’ve never glimpsed this side of his personality.

His voice drops, quiet and even, steady, deeper than normal. “I promised you when I returned that I wouldn’t let you do this if I didn’t think you were worthy of the office. You know damned well Leo wouldn’t let you do it, either. Casey-Marie, if you haven’t noticed, is a no-bullshit woman. And while she’s vicious, she pales in comparison to ShaeLynn Samuels. Kev and Chris round out the consensus that yes, you belong here.

“Buddy, I don’t want to sound cold but there comes a time when you’ve got to embrace the suck and move the hell on. In four to eight years we can revisit this issue. Fornow? I need to know your head’s in the game. Otherwise, I’ll march my happy little ass next door to Blair House right this minute and go chew your old man out for being a dick so we can chuck it in the fuck-it bucket and get your head where it needs to be. Is that what you want me to do?”

Fear fills me. “No, Sir.”

“Okay, then.” He reaches out and cups my cheek. Automatically I nuzzle his palm. His tone gentles. “Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe he is proud of you and that he’s never going to outright say it because he assumes you know? Look how he made Stella apologize to you.”

I shrug because that’s a massive, confusing emotional swamp. Taking another sip of my alcohol I focus on the feel of Jordan’s palm against my face and the warmth of the whiskey sliding down my throat.

The ice cube in his glass makes a finalclinkas he tips his glass back and finishes his drink. He sets his glass on the nightstand and I finish mine, wincing a little as it goes down.

Jordan takes my glass and sets it next to his. Then he holds my head in his hands and I think he’s going to lean in for a kiss when his fingers tightly fist my hair, hard enough to draw a hiss of pain from me.

And he tugs me forward.