Indiscretion (Inequitable Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Description

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also by the Author

  Author's Note

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Preview: Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy - Book 2)

  About the Author

  Indiscretion…

  He shouldn’t, but he will—again.

  Leo Cruz is an experienced former Secret Service agent. Even though he survived a small-plane crash, being the body man for President ShaeLynn Samuels is frequently the most terrifying job he’s ever held.

  VP Elliot Woodley is deep in the closet and has his eye on being POTUS in eight years. Trouble is, Leo can’t let Elliot go despite Elliot’s inability to commit to something long-term between them.

  In walks young Jordan Walsh, like a lamb among starving lions.

  And Leo’s feeling pretty damn hungry.

  Indiscretion

  Inequitable Trilogy

  Book 1

  Lesli Richardson

  http://www.LesliRichardson.com

  Indiscretion

  Inequitable Trilogy Book 1

  Copyright © 2019 by Lesli Richardson

  First E-book Publication: November, 2019

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This work may not be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any form or by any means currently available or available in the future, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, for free or for sale, without express written permission from the publisher and author.

  Distributing copies of this e-book to others is a violation of international copyright law and infringes the rights of the legal copyright holder. This e-book may not be shared, copied, sold, given away, offered as a contest prize, or otherwise distributed to anyone other than the original purchaser. Distributing this e-book as part of any collection, or with any type of resale permission, is also strictly forbidden and a violation of copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This is my livelihood. PLEASE do NOT share, upload, or otherwise distribute this book. When people buy my books, it pays my bills. Please don’t steal from me. If you want me to keep bringing you more stories, I need to be able to pay my bills, so I ask that you please legally purchase my books. If you want to give this file to someone else, please purchase them a copy from a legal retailer. The links are on my website. Thank you.

  www.LesliRichardson.com

  Also by the Author

  Please sign up for my author newsletter, where I post info about both my Lesli Richardson and Tymber Dalton pen names, and never miss a new release or update:

  https://tymberdalton.com/newsletter/

  Writing as Lesli Richardson:

  The Bleacke Shifter Series:

  1) Bleacke’s Geek

  2) Geek Chic

  3) A Bleacke Wind

  4) Bleacke Spirit

  5) A Bleacke Christmas

  6) Geek-Speak

  7) Bleacke Expectations

  The Great Turning Series:

  1) The Great Turning

  2) The Great Turning: Into the Turn

  3) The Great Turning: Future Ages

  Governor Trilogy:

  1) Governor

  2) Lieutenant

  3) Chief

  4) Yes, Governor

  Determination Trilogy:

  (A stand-alone trilogy set in the same world as the Governor Trilogy.)

  1) Dignity

  2) Diligence

  3) Desire

  Devastation Trilogy:

  (A stand-alone trilogy set in the same world as the Governor Trilogy.)

  1) Dirge

  2) Solace

  3) Release

  Maxim Colonies:

  Jailmates (Maxim Colonies 1)

  Farborn (Maxim Colonies 2)

  Saudade (Maxim Colonies 3) (Coming Soon)

  Of Boardwalks and Bison

  Cross Country Chaos

  Poly

  Coming Soon:

  Inequitable Trilogy

  Deviant Trilogy

  Devout Trilogy

  Lesli Richardson is better known by her more prolific Tymber Dalton pen name. Please check out her website for more info on all her titles under both her pen names, including full book and series listings, trivia, character information, and more.

  http://www.tymberdalton.com

  Honest reviews are greatly appreciated and can help boost a book’s rankings on retail sites. Thank you!

  Author's Note

  Politics are messy, nasty, sexy, brutal, funny, impossibly complex, and a lot of fun to write about. (Mostly because they’re messy, nasty, sexy, brutal, funny, and impossibly complex.) That’s why I love using politics as a backdrop.

  Since the focus of this trilogy isn’t the politics so much as it is the people, I’ve taken certain liberties and simplified a few things here and there.

  But the kinky shit is absolutely realistic.

  The Inequitable Trilogy is a stand-alone spin-off trilogy featuring characters first introduced in the Determination Trilogy and the Devastation Trilogy, and set in the same world as the books in the Governor Trilogy and others. It can be read separately from those books.

  It’s suggested that you read the books in the Inequitable Trilogy in order:

  Indiscretion

  Innocent

  Incisive

  The best reading order for the trilogies is as follows:

  Governor Trilogy

  Determination Trilogy

  Devastation Trilogy

  Inequitable Trilogy

  Deviant Trilogy

  Devout Trilogy

  There will be more books set in the world of the Governor Trilogy. You can check out the latest additions via my website at:

  https://www.tymberdalton.com

  Dedication

  To Hubby, for all his love and support. And to Sir. He knows why.

  Chapter One

  Now — Early September

  Sometimes, my morning starts with having to awaken the presi
dent of the United States.

  Who is not, by any means, a morning person.

  Let me say that there are times the small-plane crash I survived when I was in the Secret Service was a far less terrifying experience than having to awaken President ShaeLynn Samuels when she hasn’t had enough sleep and is expecting to sleep in for a couple more hours.

  Especially at 4:49 a.m. on a Sunday morning.

  Doubly especially if I know she’s in bed with her husband and with her chief of staff.

  Who—just to be clear—are two different men.

  Actually, it’s her chief of staff I really need to awaken first to help me wrangle her. Because we’ll also need him downstairs in the SitRoom.

  I made the mistake of coming to work this morning, so staff decided I drew the short straw by default. My timing was perfect—or sucky, depending on how you want to look at it. I’d no sooner arrived than one of the duty officers from the Watch Team scurried up to me and tasked me with this.

  Rat bastards.

  I mean, yes, wrangling POTUS is literally my job, but still…

  That’s why I’m now armed with a tray of coffee and their favorite cheese danishes. Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to carry a cattle prod in the White House, or I would have one on me now.

  I watch the three chickenshit residence staff who just came on duty scatter as I approach the private living room door, that room through which I’ll enter to go knock on their inner bedroom door. I approached from this room rather than one of the other bedroom entrances because I don’t know what state the room—or its inhabitants—are currently in. I want zero risk of household staff seeing or hearing anything they shouldn’t.

  I wait until the living room door shuts behind me to approach the bedroom door. Balancing the tray on my right hand, I lightly rap on their bedroom door three times with my left, wait, then rap three more times, a little harder. Another brief wait, then three final, hard knocks before I punch in the numeric code on the lock so I can open it.

  It’s our prearranged signal. If they’re awake, it gives them time to call out and respond to keep me out, or to at least give them a chance to pull the covers around them.

  Except in an emergency, only the kids and I are allowed to knock on their bedroom door before they emerge on their own in the morning.

  If they’re not awake already, it means Chris will have likely roused enough by the third series of knocks that he won’t come up off the bed swinging at me before he’s fully awake.

  Hey, he’s retired Secret Service. It wouldn’t surprise me if he has a gun stashed in here somewhere. He’s also extremely protective of his two pets.

  Especially since Kev almost died two years ago.

  They’re sound asleep. Well, Chris lets out a soft groan but doesn’t get up, meaning he awakened enough to recognize it’s me and immediately started falling asleep again.

  It’s dark inside their bedroom. After the door swings shut behind me and chokes off the dim light from the living room, I pause just inside the doorway to let my eyes adjust. The heavy blackout curtains on the windows do exactly what they’re supposed to. There’s a nightlight in the bathroom that, after a moment, gives me enough working illumination trickling in from the dressing room hallway that I can step around the clothes and shoes strewn across the floor in a path from the door to the bed without tripping over them.

  I carry the tray over to Kev’s side of the bed and set it on the nightstand. Shae ended up in the middle and only the top of her head is visible. They keep the bedroom temperature set to sixty-five at night because they like it comfortably chilly.

  It means whoever’s in the middle can snuggle between the bodies on either side of them without getting overheated and kicking the covers off all three of them.

  Shoving back the angry grief trying to roil inside my soul at the sight of the three of them comfortably snuggled together, I focus on the here and now.

  On my job.

  In this way, they’re blissfully happy and lucky. It’s also not their fault my personal life right now is a shitstorm they don’t even know about. Well, maybe Chris has an inkling, but he’s been pretty busy the past couple of weeks, so he might not know.

  Kev’s lying on his right side, his back to Shae, and still lightly snoring. I head across the large room to one of the walk-in closets, pull the door mostly shut, and close my eyes as I turn my face away while I reach inside the doorway to find the light switch.

  That’s not as insanely obnoxious as turning on the dressing room hall light, or one of the lamps on the nightstands. Or opening the curtains. Besides, I don’t want any of the more astute members of the press seeing a light appear in the president’s bedroom this early on a morning she’s supposed to have nothing on her schedule except her PDB in a couple of hours, followed by family time with her husband and children.

  And with her chief of staff, who’s also unofficially one of her husbands. The public doesn’t know that, obviously. They only know Kev is her chief of staff and a close friend the First Family considers part of their family, and that he lives here with them in the residence. Public opinion is greatly in favor of that, considering all Kev’s been through and survived.

  Might not be such a favorable opinion if the public learns he shares a bed with the First Couple, though.

  Crossing the room again, I catch sight of Chris’ eyes barely cracked open as he stares at me. He lets out a soft warning grumble.

  “Sorry, boss,” I whisper, knowing he can probably hear me and, if he can’t, he can read my lips, even in that light. “NatSec.”

  Another soft grumble before his eyes close again.

  I round the bed and lay my right hand on Kev’s shoulder, my left retrieving his glasses from the nightstand, ready to pass them to him.

  If it was Shae lying there, I would gently shake her.

  I never shake Kev.

  We’ve discovered he has PTSD from the shooting, even though he hasn’t sought help for that. Chris warned me about it two months after the shooting.

  Instead, I gently squeeze his shoulder while rubbing with my thumb. “Prophet,” I softly say. “Watch Team needs you and Portia downstairs in the SitRoom.”

  His eyes pop open and he’s already holding out his hand for his glasses as he sits up, now wide awake. He’s naked, I’m pretty sure. The covers puddle around his waist, exposing the scars along his abdomen from the shooting and resulting surgery that saved his life.

  This sudden awareness of his despite how heavily he sleeps always amazes me. It’s rare that a civvie who’s never had military or first responder training can awaken this quickly. His years as a journalist prepped him for certain situations the way Chris’ years in the Secret Service prepared him. Mine, too.

  “What happened?” Kev asks as he seats his glasses on his face.

  “The Stupid Leader played target practice with a Global Hawk drone. Brass needs to brief her. NSA’s inbound now.”

  Stupid Leader is our private nickname for the current little fucker running North Korea. He’s been a massive pain in Shae’s ass to the point the public should be glad Kev is Shae’s chief of staff. He alone has kept her from declaring war on the little fucker.

  And the little fucker is also another commonly used private nickname of ours for the guy.

  I put the mug of coffee I’ve already prepared the way Kev likes in his hand.

  “Fuck. There goes our Sunday.” Kev takes a sip and turns while I reach for Shae’s mug. “Wakey-wakey, sweetheart. Duty calls.” He tugs the comforter down from her face, to her shoulders.

  “Nooo,” she groans, trying to pull the comforter back up.

  I see Chris’ arm move under the comforter and then Shae lets out a pained yip as she jumps.

  “Ow! Motherfucker!” She shoots a glare at him over her shoulder.

  His eyes are closed but the corners of his mouth have quirked up in an evil smile. “Keep talking, sweetheart,” he rumbles. “I’ll gladly add more cane strokes to tonigh
t’s total that you’ll owe me.”

  “Goddammit.” She finally sits up, holding the sheet around her as she reaches for the mug of coffee. “This is so goddamned unfair,” she mutters. “It’s fucking Sunday.”

  Now that both of them are sitting up and talking, I step away from the bed. “I’ll wait out there.”

  “Thanks, Leo,” Kev says. “Give us ten. Please let them know we’re on the way.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  I’m turning to leave when Kev switches on his nightstand lamp, bringing another groan of protest from Shae. I let myself out and use the phone in the private living room to tell the SitRoom that Portia and Prophet will be downstairs shortly. Then I head to the private kitchen to refill my travel mug with coffee, which I left in there when I prepared theirs.

  The bedroom door opens eight minutes later. Kev and Shae emerge looking wide awake. They’re both dressed in jeans. She’s wearing a collared, short-sleeved knit shirt with the presidential seal emblazoned on the left chest. Kev’s wearing a button-down and a tie.

  “Good morning, Madam President, Mr. Markos.”

  “Good morning, Leo,” she says, our daily charade beginning.

  I fall into step with them as we head for the stairs, Secret Service falling in behind us, and I give Shae and Kev what little info I have.

  Had I not been here, it would have been a phone call from the Watch Team in the SitRoom, or a knock on the outer bedroom door from a very reluctant Secret Service agent, that awakened them.

  Such is my job as body man to the president of the United States—what basically occupies my entire fucking life now.

  It’s okay.

  It’s not like I had anything else productive going on today.

  The whole reason I’m here right now when I had the day off is because lying in my fucking bed, alone, sucks balls.