Page 303 of Innocent

Chapter Fifty-Nine

I’m still not sure how I’m going to pull this off—taking care of POTUS—but the pep talk Kev gave me resonates deep within me.

Elliot leans on me. Right or wrong, in many ways I’ve replaced Leo in the boy’s soul.

It sometimes grates onmysoul that I need to put someone ahead ofmySir, until I put it into perspective.

My boy has to come first.

And, you know what?

I do love the guy. I’minlove with him.

And the more I think about it…

My irritation isn’t that I have to put Elliot before Leo. Because that wouldn’t be exactly the truth. I’m not irritated at Elliot. Not at all.

My irritation is that I can’t openly acknowledge the fact that we’re all in a relationship together. With Elliot ascending to the Oval Office, Leo and I can obviously never again be seen as a “couple.” Especially now that I need to nudge Elliot into claiming Leo as his hubby.

After Kev and I finish our drinks and he departs, I wrap up a few things and head down to the West Wing.

While it’s late, there’s still personnel in this part of the building. Maintenance crews, decorating teams, and people trying to wrap up their final tasks before handing their jobs and desks over to their replacements. Thank god it’s less than a quarter of the staff being replaced. Hell, Angie gets to keep her office, since she’s staying on as Elliot’s press secretary.

Fucking Elliot over theResolutedesk can wait for another evening, after the inauguration, when Leo can join us.

I know in the beginning of this new thing between myself and Elliot that I joked about maybe “letting” Leo do it. Now, I realize some thingsneedto be saved for Leo, reserved as special moments to center him in our lives so resentment doesn’t build within him.

Because Kev’s right that there are now partitions in both my soul and Elliot’s, because of the job Elliot has been elected to do.

Elliot’s in his office, so I walk in and quietly shut and lock the door behind me.

When he looks up at my entrance, and with those glasses on, the expression of relief on his face to realize it’s me makes me struggle not to hurry over to him and pull him into my arms.

Elliot needs my strength.

Somewhere, I’ll have to buy, borrow, beg, or steal some.

Or fake it until I make it between periods of my precious time stolen with Leo.

“MisterPresident,” I softly say, inthattone.

The same tone I frequently use on my boy. The trick Leo taught me about using the title.

I know it’s having an effect because I watch the way Elliot’s throat works as he stares at me, his eyes growing wider by the second.

My gaze cuts to the floor, then back to him.

After another couple of breaths, he removes his glasses, sets them on the desk, and then slithers out of his chair and onto the floor, pretty much exactly where I wanted him.

“Good boy,” I whisper. The way his chest hitches nearly shreds what little self-control I have.

I know exactly what he just did—he caught himself on the brink of tears and sucked in a sharp breath to hold them at bay.

I know, because I’ve done that how many times lately?

Countless times.

Usually from seeing Leo at an official event and being unable to do more than make and hold eye contact with him for a few seconds. Seconds that tell me I’m his, and he loves me, and he’s proud of me.