Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  I mean it in a literal sense.

  God, I hope Leo’s hungry!

  Once I moved in with my grandmother, I sort of lived a charmed life. Even after I lost her, her loving influence remained, protecting me in ways I never could have dreamed of. Because of her, I was able to continue my education, earn my four-year degree, and started chugging through the requirements for my graduate degree while working as a TA. I’ve had little real-world job experience, aside from design customers, and I’m painfully aware of that. My focus has been on school, and working, and making my own way.

  And as I stare this gorgeous man in the eyes, I wish I was suave and sexy and…

  Well, not me.

  “How about you let me buy you lunch, and we can talk for a while?” Leo asks. “I used to work The Shift and know this building inside and out. I’m sure I can answer many questions for you.”

  “The what?”

  He smiles. “PPD—Presidential Protective Division. The Shift is the term for the core team who directly protect POTUS. The president.”

  “Wow, okay. That’d be awesome, thanks.” Sure, I’ll jump at that offer, just to spend more time with the guy.

  His smile widens. “Great.” He leads me outside, where we hand over our security badges as we leave the premises. As we walk, he makes a quick phone call, speaks to someone in what sounds like French, then ends the call. “Got us a table,” he says as he tucks his phone away.

  “Was that French?”

  His smile widens. “Oui. I speak a couple of languages. Kind of my superpower, and one of the reasons I was hired by Mr. Bruunt to work for President-elect Samuels.”

  He grabs us a cab and I honestly don’t even know where we are. “Did you have any questions so far about the process?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Not really. I just don’t understand how they’ll get everything done so quickly on Inauguration Day.”

  He chuckles. “Lots of people. At least a hundred or so just working in the White House. It’s not like they’re taking out walls and retiling bathrooms. Paint goes up faster than you think. And some rooms, all they’ll need to do is vacuum and dust and swap out furniture. By the time Inauguration Day rolls around, you’ll have everything plotted out on the plans for the Chief Usher, and the two of you will be best buddies and on a first-name basis.”

  I should be looking at the sights passing by outside the cab, but I find myself staring into Leo’s eyes. “This is all very…intimidating.”

  “I know. But relax—I’m sure you’ll do great. I looked through your portfolio. You’re very talented.”

  A rush of warmth flows through me at that and I hope to hell I’m not blushing. “Thank you.”

  “And Kev will get you hooked up with the worker bees who will do your bidding.” He smiles. “There are civil servants who work for the White House who will do the actual grunt work. You’ll mostly be a facilitator between the incoming president and the White House staff. You’ll have the better part of three months to prepare. There are a lot of things that will happen behind the scenes that you won’t need to be involved with.

  “And for some of the rooms, it’s okay if it takes a little longer than that to complete them. Mostly, it’s the Oval Office, the president’s private study, the vice president’s office, and the living areas in the White House residence and vice president’s residence that have to be completed. The master bedrooms and bathrooms, those rooms. If a sitting room or guest room or ballroom or something aren’t ready, that’s okay. But they need to be able to go to bed that night, and fix breakfast in the morning.”

  The question’s out of my mouth before I realize I’ve asked it. “Will I be working with you, too, sir?”

  His gaze narrows again, the way it did back on the staircase, and I feel my cock fully harden in my slacks once more.

  “Oooh, you can pretty much count on it.” His voice sounds low and dark and tinged with need.

  Or maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part.

  Chapter Seven

  I think we head north, but honestly?

  Leo could be taking me out to some backwater murder-hobo body-disposal site, for all I know.

  I’m too fascinated to care, though, as I listen to him answer my questions, and he points things out to me as we pass them.

  Then there’s the problem of he’s reeeeeally easy on the eyes. I feel underdressed in my khakis and Oxford button-down next to Leo’s crisp suit and coat. At least I have a coat on to provide me with a little emotional protection.

  It’s painfully obvious to me that this city is full of hunky guys. Even the Secret Service agent who shadowed me and the Chief Usher was gorgeous. I’ll have to watch myself and not make some sort of stupid mistake, like throwing myself at the first guy who pays attention to me.

  I can confirm, however, that I most definitely have a suit fetish.

  Probably will have to invest a little money into suits for me, too, if I’m spending any length of time here. Mr. Markos told me I’ll be given tickets to the inaugural balls, and that’ll mean buying or renting a tux. That’ll be a new experience for me. I didn’t even rent a tux in high school when I went to senior prom with a friend of mine, another gay guy who didn’t have a date. We both bought flashy outfits, slacks and vests and crazy ties, and gave zero fucks about convention.

  When we arrive at our destination, Leo pays the fare and leads the way across the sidewalk to the entrance. Before I can even process where we’re at, he’s escorting me to the door and opening it for me, holding it and indicating for me to go first. It’s a low building, with stone and wood on the outside, the front door set on the corner and surrounded by dark blue trim. It looks like something off a Paris street, and the name, Le Diplomate, sounds like it, too.

  They’re hella busy. But when Leo speaks to a man at the host’s station, we’re immediately shown to a table.

  This place…

  Wow. There’s nothing like it in Tallahassee, that’s for dang sure.

  I’m still looking around in amazement as we’re seated. When my gaze completes a sweep of the space and returns to Leo, he looks tickled.

  “Sorry,” I say as I shrug off my coat. “This has been an overwhelming day.”

  “That’s okay. I’m sure it has.” He speaks to our server, this time in French. The server nods, smiles, and leaves us again.

  “How many languages do you speak?” I ask as I fight the urge to be rude and gawk at the restaurant’s decor instead of paying attention to Leo. I snap a few pictures of the interior with my phone.

  “Speak and read fluently, or know enough to get by?”

  I am totally out of my league now, and it’s finally hitting me. “Y-yes?” I’m getting the hint that he’s playfully enjoying my discomfort and overwhelmed mental status, but I don’t have the feeling it’s in a mean way, or at my expense. More like he’s vicariously enjoying my…sense of wonder about the whole situation.

  Leo’s smile widens. “Fluent in Spanish, French, and Italian, spoken and written. Conversationally fluent in spoken Japanese, still working on improving my written, because there’s multiple forms. Not too bad in kanji, a little better in hiragana and katakana. Definitely more fluent with the written forms of it than I am with written Russian and Arabic, but I’m getting there. I can get by in the average spoken conversation in Russian and Arabic, although I’m not fluent enough I could be certified as an official government translator or anything.”

  I mentally count. “You speak six languages?”

  He smirks. “Seven, counting English.”

  Holy.

  Shit.

  Next to him I feel like an idiot and a slacker.

  The server returns with water and bread for us, and I realize I haven’t even looked at my menu yet.

  “You have any food allergies, or anything you hate?” Leo asks.

  I shake my head. “Not fond of raw oysters, or calamari, but other than that I’m pretty open.”

  “Trust me?”


  I look into his eyes for a moment and my heart does that cliched skipping thing people talk about.

  This feels…bigger than just a lunch.

  Or maybe that’s stupid old me reading way more into it than I should. I get the sense the guy’s older than me but he’s in damn good shape, making it difficult for me to guess his true age. Mid-thirties, maybe?

  I nod.

  He closes his menu and orders for us—in French—and the server takes our menus and leaves.

  Leo leans in close. “You’re in for the experience of a lifetime over these next few months. Hope you’re ready for it.”

  “I don’t really have a choice but to be ready.” I hope my hand’s not shaking too badly as I reach for my glass and take a sip.

  “Good attitude to have. And we can get you a ticket to the balls for your girlfriend, too.”

  I’m already shaking my head before the thought hits me that maybe he’s fishing.

  Or, maybe he’s not. Probably not. Not with my luck.

  “No girlfriend. I’m single.”

  “Ah.”

  “And gay.”

  I don’t know why I threw that in there.

  Wait, that’s not right.

  I totally do.

  I want this man, as stupid as that sounds. I want him to want me, too. Except I don’t know why he’d want me, even if I am lucky enough that he might be single and gay.

  There go his eyes, narrowing again as he smiles. “Good.”

  And there goes my cock, once again achingly hard in my slacks.

  Yikes.

  * * * *

  I spend lunch with my mind mired in a weird mix of lusting after Leo and paying rapt attention to his every word as he humors me and answers all my questions.

  Including questions about him, although he seems to have a deft way of steering me away from some topics without me even realizing he’s doing it until later. By then, we’ve already moved on to another subject.

  I’m shocked to learn he’s eighteen years older than me, but he damn sure doesn’t look like he’s forty.

  I haven’t had the balls to outright ask him if he’s gay and single. He’s skillfully dancing around the topic, and the way he’s doing it leads me to think maybe he is gay, and maybe he is single.

  Except I’m not…sure? And maybe that’s totally inappropriate to talk about, anyway.

  But he damn sure is great to talk to. I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.

  Lunch… I mean, I take pictures of everything, so I won’t forget. Leo orders several dishes that we share, from appetizers to salad, a beef main dish that’s to die for, and side dishes.

  Guilt hits me when I get a glimpse of the bill at the end of our meal and Leo hands his credit card over to the server.

  Well over $100.

  I start to dig out my wallet, because I’m no mooch, but Leo reaches across the table and stays me with a gentle touch to my arm.

  “Don’t you dare,” he lightly says. “This was my treat. I don’t often get to enjoy a relaxing lunch with a wonderful companion. The frequency will go down once she takes office. It was my pleasure.”

  My face heats. “Thank you, Leo. I really appreciate it.” I want to offer…something, anything, in return. “I could cook dinner for you sometime. I mean, at your place, because I’m in a hotel. I love to cook, and I’m not bad at it.”

  I hope he’s not merely humoring me when he smiles. “We’re going to be crazy busy, but hopefully I can take you up on that offer.” He glances at his phone. “We’ve got a little time in the schedule. Want to do some sightseeing before we catch up with President-elect Samuels?”

  Spending more time alone with this hottie? What do you think I say?

  I nod. “Yeah, thanks.”

  * * * *

  By the time we meet up with President-elect Samuels, her husband, and her chief of staff at six p.m. at campaign headquarters, Leo’s taken me around the city by cab and shown me most of the major tourist landmarks.

  Still, I’m blown away.

  Seeing all of this in real-life is sooo different than seeing it on TV, or looking it up on Google Earth.

  Mimi’s voice in my head tells me I should be enjoying myself because I’ve earned it, but there’s another, competing voice.

  The one growing increasingly certain Leo might be into me.

  I try to strangle that voice into submission. Mostly because this is a chance for me to make a name for myself, and the last thing I want to do is fuck it up by making a massive mistake, like sleeping with someone I work with.

  Or wrongly assuming the guy is into me. I mean, he didn’t admit he’s gay, but he damned sure seemed happy to learn I was.

  Yet that voice in my head is loudly singing the praises of Leo’s gorgeously tight ass in his perfectly tailored suit as I follow him into the president-elect’s campaign headquarters.

  One of the things I have learned today from Leo is that, yes, I can address the president-elect as Senator Samuels, until she’s officially sworn in, or I can call her President-elect Samuels. And that she won’t have me shot by Secret Service if I goof up and call her Ms. Samuels.

  I’m still squeeing inside a little—okay, more than a little—when we walk into a conference room and she’s sitting there with her husband, and Kevin Markos, and a few other staffers.

  Mr. Woodley isn’t here yet, which is a little disappointing. He’s cute, too. I’m surrounded by suit-clad hunks.

  That was another thing I learned from Leo today—I can address the vice president-elect as Mr. Woodley, or Congressman Woodley, and not be committing a breach of protocol.

  I have a lot to learn.

  Seriously, I don’t know where DC is getting these hunks, but what a great chunk of eye-candy I’ll be able to enjoy while I’m here!

  The president-elect smiles when she spots us. “Jordan, welcome.”

  And then she stands—as does everyone else in the room who was sitting, with the exception of her husband, Mr. Bruunt. I think she’s going to shake my hand, but she hugs me, leaving me totally stunned in a good way.

  “Th-thank you, ma’am.”

  “Sit and join us. Elliot’s on his way.” She returns to her chair, and everyone else waits until she sits to retake their seats. Someone brings in two more chairs for me and Leo. “Has Leo taken good care of you today?”

  “Yes, ma’am. This has been amazing. Thank you, again, for this opportunity. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  “We believe in paying things forward,” Mr. Bruunt says. “Especially if it means we can highlight talent from our native state. Dr. Sently spoke very highly of you.”

  “I gave him a cab tour after lunch,” Leo tells them. “I figure we’re going to be running him ragged, the least I could do was show him a little of the city today.”

  President-elect Samuels has a lovely, genuine smile. “Leo’s a great guy. I’m so glad Chris was able to snag him for me as my body man. I’m also glad you two hit it off so well. You’re in good hands with him.”

  I’d love to be Leo’s body man and in his hands.

  Oops, did I think that out loud? Apparently not, because no one looks scandalized.

  “Is your hotel room all right?” Kevin asks.

  “It’s fantastic, thanks. Better than the dorm room I lived in.” Because I won’t be returning before the end of the semester, I went ahead and completely moved out. I stashed everything I didn’t bring with me to Washington in my storage unit near campus. I had planned on renting a spare room between semesters from the parents of a friend in one of my classes, because they had a guest room and seemed really nice.

  The good thing is, when I explained what happened, they totally understood why I couldn’t turn down this opportunity. They also extended the offer to let me stay there between semesters, once I return to Tallahassee, if I need a place temporarily.

  At least the storage unit is in my budget. I pay for it a year in advance and first got it when I sol
d Mimi’s house. I have more than enough in savings to renew it when it comes due without it killing my budget. Knowing Mimi, I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded I sold the house and our cars and most of the house’s contents. Especially since I’m using everything for my education. I’m not out there partying it away, or snorting it, or wasting it on stupid shit.

  Mimi was very practical and taught me to be frugal, but not to ignore self-care. To not be emotional over things. That it’s experiences, people, and relationships, that matter. That it’s better to be happy and living out of a suitcase than to be miserable and tied to a situation because of possessions.

  Since I’ve already lived that scenario and seen it in action, it’s a motto I took to heart long ago.

  If I’d kept her house, within a couple of years I’d be needing to sell it. I couldn’t afford the maintenance on it and pay for college. And it’s unlikely I would’ve lived there, anyway. Renting it out would have been another headache and expense. I can get by without the cars. Yes, I worked out the money on paper before I sold them. I save on insurance, on gas, on maintenance. I use the bus, or cabs, or ride-shares, or get rides from friends or coworkers. Even if I took a ride-share everywhere, I’d still be saving a lot of money every month. If I ever need a car, I can rent one.

  I’d like to think Mimi would be over-the-moon happy for me right now and proudly boasting to her friends about me snagging this opportunity.

  Note to self, figure out how to make sure my parents hear about this.

  Then again, with the background check, I’m sure someone will probably contact them, and they’ll give the FBI agent running the check an earful about me.

  Screw them.

  My parents, I mean.

  I still haven’t contacted them to let them know Mimi died. I did look online when filling out my security forms—checked property tax records in New York and found out they still own their house. Meaning they’re still alive, as of right now. Neither of them are on Facebook, or other social media. My dad’s business still has a phone listing, as does their home phone.

  It’s…tempting.