Chapter Twenty-Four
Once again, the new world order shifts and settles. I’ve never had a pet senator before, but I have to say it’s not the worst thing in the world.
And there are no more late-nights where Chris is alone with Shae and then returns too me. That wasn’t even my request—it was his decision.
It’s easy for me to ride home with Shae, and then he picks me up from there. It’s a viable excuse.
It also allows me plenty of time to flex my sadistic muscles with her. One night, I enjoyed sitting there on her couch, still dressed in my suit. I enjoyed the martini I had Shae make for me earlier, and then I watched her squirm and cry over Chris’ lap as he reddened her ass. Then she had to crawl over and blow me while Chris got to fuck her and make her come.
Later, the three of us cuddled on her couch after I changed into comfy sweats and we watched TV and ate pizza.
It’s all very…domestic. Outside of the play time.
And these times will grow few and far between. For now, Chris and I are usually taking care of our girl together, and…
I never realized how at ease and comfortable I could feel in my life. Sure, crazy, and a juggling act, but loneliness is no longer a factor.
Neither is jealousy.
I no longer feel like an imposter, personally or professionally.
But there’s another vital personnel position we need to fill, and this is one hiring decision Christopher directed me to leave to him
The president usually has a personal “body man” to travel with them. They’re an aide who does everything from making sure safe bottles of water are put into their hands, to making sure they eat, wrangling their cell phone, coordinating the president’s schedule with the president’s secretary, chief of staff, Secret Service, and others—in other words, a highly visible gopher with nearly unlimited access.
Which isn’t a pejorative. On the contrary, a trusted body man (or body woman) is almost a requirement for a smoothly run presidential road trip.
It’s better we get someone in place now, early in the campaign, rather than delaying it. They’ll know Shae inside and out—metaphorically speaking—by the time we reach election season.
More importantly, they’ll need to be trusted by all three of us.
Chris comes through in a spectacular fashion and hires Leo Cruz, a former Secret Service agent Chris served with and trusts. Leo had to take a medical retirement from the Presidential Protective Division after surviving a small aircraft plane crash that killed three other agents while they were doing advance work for a trip for then-candidate Fullmer’s campaign before his election to the office.
Since then, Leo’s made a full recovery, except for his limp, and he could no longer meet the rigorous certification requirements for being on The Shift. He was doing consulting work for a security firm when Chris recruited him.
Bonus? Leo’s fluent in Spanish, French, and Italian, conversationally functional in Japanese, has a better-than-working grasp of Russian, and is currently learning Arabic. He also passes his security clearance with flying colors, not that there was any concerns about that.
He’s also handsome as fuck.
Um, yes, please.
And Christopher confided in me that while Leo is single, he’s also gay.
Meaning Shae won’t have two jealous men giving the evil eye to her body man.
Although I don’t mind the eye candy, that’s for sure.
Leo is one of few people who knows the full truth about us because he has to know. He’s sworn to secrecy, though, including signing an NDA about anything personal he observes between us.
Chris assures us that the stuff Leo already knows about others, things he, too, witnessed while working The Shift—things that have never seen the light of day—is further proof that we can trust Leo with our privacy.
I trust Chris, as does Shae. Leo is as much my body man as he is Shae’s, at this point, because Shae and I are pretty much inseparable. I won’t deny it’s nice to have another agent guarding Shae, because the threats have started pouring in. Most of them, of course, are bullshit, but it only takes one crazy guy with a gun and a clear shot to turn a photo op into a tragedy.
I won’t dick around with her safety, or Christopher’s future safety.
As winter turns to spring, our campaign offices start opening in other parts of the country as donations begin pouring in. Shae and I must travel, and Leo is our ever-present shadow. I don’t like spending so much time away from Chris, who ironically ends up in Florida a lot working on threat assessment research there, but it’s the trade-off. When he’s in Florida, if he’s in Tallahassee, he stays at my house. On the road, Shae and I share a bed, even if we always get two rooms. Connected rooms usually make logistics easier.
I implement a new rule for Shae that if we’re in DC, I spend the night with Chris.
The irony doesn’t escape me.
Sometimes, Chris and I can take time away alone in Florida, when Shae is busy in DC with her Senate work. One of the things I love about our girl is that she isn’t…needy. She honestly doesn’t mind time alone. I suppose her widowed mother taught her many valuable lessons growing up, and enjoying solitary time, especially ahead of a busy political season, is one of them.
As time permits, Leo and Chris work with me on teaching me certain skills, like how to do the arm lock move Chris is so fond of using on me, how to apply pressure points to immobilize or cause pain, and I find I enjoy using these kinds of hands-on techniques on Shae. No implements needed besides my own hands, making logistics easier and not requiring I pack implements that can end up costing us a news story if the wrong TSA agent decides to screen our bags.
She’s enjoying my new skills, too.
It means I’m stepping forward in ways to keep her happy, but now she’s the one frequently left awaiting my morning return to her home, smelling and tasting like Chris, when it’s not possible for all three of us to have time together without raising suspicions. It also means I lose out on some things I need, like my time with the sadist. It’s a trade-off I don’t mind, though, because I keep the big picture in mind—Shae’s poll numbers are consistent and improving by the week, holding steady in ways I never imagined. We hit Fullmer hard at every turn, even while Shae makes news and earns grudging praise from conservative news outlets for her ability to work in a bipartisan fashion to get shit done.
I discover within myself a cutthroat political operative I never knew existed.
I ignore my father’s calls, which nearly always coincide with a PR victory for Shae, because I might be a masochist but I’m not that kind of masochist.
Besides, he never leaves a voice mail. I’m not going to dignify his impotent rage with any kind of response.
We’re not under official Secret Service protection yet, but Leo and Chris coordinate to hire security for us when we have to travel. Leo also holds a concealed carry permit, a special one that retired federal law enforcement get to use, so there is that extra level of protection.
With my life now crazy, Lauren and I rarely get to see each other, although we text frequently. My time in DC is spent putting out fires at campaign headquarters, or with Chris and Shae. Throughout summer, as we make the rounds of Iowa, courting voters for the ever-important caucus next spring, it strikes me that I don’t miss being on TV as a journalist. Our campaign’s communications director is great at crafting a message, and is a kick-ass speech writer, but he’s not comfortable going on TV. Therefore, I frequently end up being the “face” of the campaign, which I obviously don’t mind.
I speak with Benchley Evans on a regular basis, and the man is invaluable helping me craft an approach to start winning over conservative rural voters who are being harmed by many of Fullmer’s economic policies, but who are also eager to find another candidate to support. Polls swing Shae’s way, meaning we work even harder.
I actually like this new life of mine.
It’s far more satisfying than I ever imagined it’d be.
One rare morning together for the three of us at my Florida house, where we’ve retreated to spend Thanksgiving together, it strikes me that we are a family.
Chris pulls me into his arms. “Uh-oh. We lost him for a moment.”
Shae laughs as she hugs me from behind. “No campaign brain this morning, Sir. You promised me a day off.”
They’re both good at pegging when I get distracted by a tangent and mentally squirrel on them when I should be focused on relaxing and enjoying them. “Sorry.” I close my eyes and inhale Chris’ scent. I relish this time together with him, able to literally set aside all my burdens as campaign manager, and Sir, and just enjoy being boy for a while.
Chris turns me in his arms and holds me so I can in turn hold Shae. “You want to give it to him now?” Chris asks her.
“Give me what?”
She looks…happily excited, almost childlike. In this way, too, she can let go and just be girl. “Can we?”
“Can you what?” I ask. “What’s going on?”
Chris nuzzles my ear. “It’s a surprise. Go get it, girl.”
She pulls loose from my embrace and runs out of the kitchen.
“What’d you do?” I ask.
He kisses me. “You’ll see. The girl asked me if we could do this.”
She hurries back with something in her hands, but won’t show me what it is. Today it’s a little chilly, so I’m in sweatpants, as is Chris, but we’re both shirtless. Shae’s in my bathrobe, which is big on her but looks adorable.
She drops to her knees in front of me and nuzzles my right hand. “Sir and I have a request,” she says.
I look back to him. He cups my cheek, feathering his lips over mine. “I’m putting in my retirement papers April thirtieth.”
His birthday is on the twenty-fourth.
I swallow hard, because I know what that means—we shift to the public PR operation of painting Chris as her fiancé and then they get married.
I know this is part of the plan, and I even agree it’s the best plan.
Still doesn’t mean I don’t feel…left out.
“Okay,” I manage.
Chris looks down at Shae, who finally reveals what she’s holding—a black velvet jeweler’s box. She opens it, and Chris plucks something out before I can see it. Then Shae grabs my left hand and holds it up, where Chris takes it and slips something on my left ring finger.
He brings my hand up to his mouth and kisses the ring. “I’m marrying her publicly, but privately, between us, I’m marrying you first. This ring is from me, boy. Please marry me, even if all this can be is a vow between us with Shae as our witness.
I have to blink back tears. “Yes.”
As he kisses me, Shae stands and presses her body against mine. When he ends that kiss, he nods to Shae, who puts something in my hand. When I look, it’s an engagement ring.
“Fair’s fair,” Chris says. “Ask her to marry you, boy.”
Okay, crap, now I’m crying. Fucking sadist. I look her in the eyes as I take her left hand in mine. “Marry me?”
She smiles. “Absolutely, Sir.”
But after we kiss, turns out we’re not done. There’s one more. She hands it to me, and I realize it’s another men’s ring.
I don’t need to be told.
I turn and drop to one knee in front of Chris and slip the ring onto his finger, looking up at him as I do. “Will you marry me, Chris?”
Fuck, the sadist does not cry, but I see the way his eyes are too bright, how he’s blinking. “Yes, Kev. I will marry you.”
I sniffle back tears. “You guys can’t wear these in public yet, though.”
He grins. “Like hell, we can’t. Shae wears rings all the time. No one will notice. And no one’s going to question me, either. I’ll put mine on my right hand until we actually get married. You can wear yours on your right hand, too.” He holds it up to mine. “See? We match.”
I shiver, thinking about how many times I’ve imagined this scenario, putting a ring on this man’s hand. Then he hands me a small wedding band. “You do the honors, Kev. She’s your girl.”
I slip it onto her finger and realize that yes, I love both these people. And, for some reason, they love me.
This works. It’ll be tough, sure, but no tougher than anything else in my life, I guess. We just have to be careful. Keep our heads held high and don’t get in the dirt.
Our adorable little attorney has another surprise, though, a perfect solution. She runs off and returns moments later with a large manila envelope holding papers to show me. “We do powers of attorney for each other. These aren’t public knowledge, just our attorney will know.” She looks up at me, hope in her gaze. “It means if anything…bad ever happens, we get to have the final say for each other. It legally makes us belong to each other.”
I read through them and understand just how serious she is. It literally makes me an equal partner.
The three of us.
I pull her in for a hug. “Thank you, sweetheart. This is wonderful.”
“I told her you’d like it,” Chris said as he once again hugs me from behind. “She asked me about this and I told her to do it. She wanted it to be a surprise. She picked out the rings and everything.”
“When is the real wedding?” I ask.
“May.” He smiles. “Benchley volunteered to officiate. Carter said we can do it at the Florida Governor’s Mansion.”
That makes me laugh. “Well, that’s a good story. And your mom would have liked that, I’m sure,” I say to Shae.
Benchley was good friends with her mother when they were both in office years ago.
“Yeah,” she says. “And this way, we can say the vows we really want to say. You and Sir can marry each other, even if my name’s on the certificate. And I can say my vows to you, too.”
It’s as good as we can get. It’s poetic, and as we return to life and the campaign trail and Christmas comes and goes, I notice a change in the way the media is talking about Shae.
There were, at one time, six other Democratic hopefuls, but as their fundraising and other issues made it blatantly obvious they didn’t have a hope, they dropped out. By New Year’s, we’re now down to eleven months, and three viable opponents, one of whom drops out in the middle of January after a massive campaign finance scandal comes to light.
One of his PACs has been taking money originating from Chinese donors. While he claims he didn’t know anything about it, video surfaces from three years ago that shows him in a meeting in Beijing, smiling as he shakes the hands of some Chinese business leaders there.
Another one bites the dust.
And then there were two.
She eviscerates both of them in three nationally televised live debates. One of them, Richard Calgary, is seventy-three, and he so horribly fumbles a question about cybersecurity that Shae actually feels sorry for him and steps in to try to help him salvage the moment and his dignity, an act of compassion that wins her even more support and praise.
But you can’t fix stupid, and no one wants a clueless old white guy for president who doesn’t understand that power stations can be hacked by someone overseas, and that those kinds of terror threats are as potentially dangerous as ones from vicious suicide bombers or mass shooters.
Once we get through Iowa, Shae is the clear leader, both in caucus results and fundraising, even though technically she still has one opponent who hasn’t dropped out yet.
For Shae’s VP pick, Benchley Evans advises me on weeding out contenders until we tap Rep. Elliot Woodley from Omaha, Nebraska. He’s a Democrat who used to be GOP, and he’s far more conservative than Shae in many ways. The hard limits we won’t budge on line up—he’s pro-choice, pro-civil liberties for people of color and the LGBTQ populations, he wants to fight voter suppression, and wants to protect our environment. He’s a military vet, Purple Heart recipient, son of a wheat farmer, former college football player, and makes Fullmer’s VP, Edward Jackson, look like Eddie Munster in comparison.
Elliot’s also single, handsome as fuck, thirty-six, and well-loved in his home state by voters of both parties. He resonates with wide swaths of voter demographics, including young voters, Independents, and moderate Republicans.
In other words, he’s a slam-dunk.
He’s also in the closet, so we agree to keep him there, at his request. If he ends up running for POTUS on day, he plans on disclosing that after the fact, hopefully—if he wins—to use it as proof that it shouldn’t matter what a person’s gender or orientation is, because when it’s not known in the first place, it obviously didn’t matter.
By March, Shae is the presumptive Democratic candidate, and I start sending her to dinner at swanky restaurants in DC with Chris.
The day after Chris retires, I personally release the news about their engagement and handle the press conference.
They’re married in a small ceremony at the Florida Governor’s Mansion. Benchley does the honors, and the only guests are myself, Leo, Benchley’s wife, Michelle, Susa, Carter, Owen, and their three children. We do the “real” ceremony first, where Chris and I take our vows, and then Shae and I, photographed for us by Leo, before we have the official photographer come in and capture the images the public will see.
Chris sells his condo, and we both move in with Shae. I worried this might stir up trouble, but she’s so popular, and the GOP is running so scared of her, that they’re actually afraid to go after her in that way because we know damn well Fullmer had mistresses years ago.
But Shae has never brought that up. My girl and I struck a silent deal with Fullmer’s that private lives are off-limits. They won’t bring up questions about how Chris and Shae met and got married, and she won’t dredge up Fullmer’s hush-money payments to former mistresses.
Everyone’s a winner, and the public isn’t subjected to diversions from what really matters—policy.
That means Fullmer keeps his PACs reined in, too. If they go low, we’ll hit hard, and no one wants that.
As we head into summer and the convention rapidly approaches, Chris hits the campaign trail with us. It’s far easier for all three of us to spend nights together. With Chris present, it drops the chances of people spreading rumors about me and Shea down to practically zero.
Secret Service steps in and works with our private security ahead of the Democratic National Convention in Memphis, because they’re in charge of the event’s logistics in that way. The convention is nothing more than a formality at this point, even though Martin Brown, Shae’s remaining opponent, hasn’t officially conceded. No one’s takes him seriously, except himself and his tiny but vocal contingent of mostly white, rich male supporters.
I’m not exactly sure Chris has processed that he’s now a protectee, because, sometimes, he sure doesn’t act like it. It’s almost like he’s still on duty and has to be reminded that he’s the one being guarded.
But as I stand in the wings at the convention and watch the two of them walk out on stage together, holding hands and waving, I smile.
My gut tells me we’re going to do this.
We’re going to get our girl elected.
No one’s talking about Kevin Markos’ apocalyptic meltdown anymore. It’s not even a footnote. Neither is my bungled Owen Taylor interview.
Where they choose to hit me now is with my father, who leads a rabidly amusing attack campaign that effectively goes nowhere the harder he tries. None of the mainstream media will even give him air time, and FNB has stopped interviewing him. He’s up for re-election, so this makes it harder for him to get free coverage for his campaign.
I’m not sure which gives me greater satisfaction—that Shae might turn Fullmer into a one-termer, or that Shae’s victory might also coincide with my father’s quite possible defeat in his upcoming re-election run.
Either way, as Shae delivers her acceptance speech, a speech I wrote, Leo stands next to me, nodding. “Final grind ahead,” he says.
“Yep. She’s got this.”
He fist bumps with me. “Yeah, she does.” He nudges me with his elbow and smiles. “You miss your old gig?”
I shake my head. “Nope, I get it now why this is addictive. It’s like fighting in a video game where you can’t die for real, but you get an adrenaline hit when you win. You miss your old gig?”
He snorts. “No. This is much easier, and still exciting.” He indicates one Secret Service agent standing not far from us back stage. “They get to do the heavy lifting. Besides, we’re making history. Who wouldn’t want to be part of this?”
I wish Mom was here. She’d be so proud of me, I know she would. I wish Shae’s parents were alive. That Chris’ parents were here.
I feel my phone buzz and find text messages from Benchley and Carter congratulating us, and I smile as one more comes in.
A smiley face emoticon with the tongue stuck out from Lauren.
I feel a little guilty that, lately, I’ve been too busy to really talk to her, even texting sometimes drops off my radar. We’re in full-on war mode now, and my focus is on procuring every vote for my girl.
As for my other girl…
She’s unhappy at a network whose ratings are sinking, and she’s locked into toeing a line I’m not sure she’s comfortable with anymore. Her tepid stories on Fullmer are a marked contrast to accurate stories about Shae that still don’t necessarily portray her in a favorable light.
I get it, and I don’t take it personally. It’s the job, it’s her contract, and it’s her livelihood. She has to court viewers while maintaining a level of personal dignity and integrity that allows her to look in the mirror every day.
But part of me can’t help but wonder if she’s…jealous. That another woman gets my time now, even if she doesn’t know our relationship is more than friends and co-workers.
With November rapidly approaching, I can’t take the time to ponder that right now.
Not when we have an election to win.