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Reese’s forehead bunches into a frown.
“From the presidents before?”
Differentis always the adjective used to describe me. But I thought that meant my policies, my beliefs, my background that took me into the world’s most brutal hellscapes before coming back to try to change things so those horrors could never happen again. Not that I was afflicted with a human decency that my predecessors had managed to escape from.
He takes his time answering. Shuts his padfolio, too, and studies me. I don’t want to blink, don’t want to sever this connection with him, but if he keeps looking at me like this, he’s going to start unearthing things.
“You are,” he finally says. “You are very different.”
Not just my policies, then.
I break our stare, my eyes sliding away, to the window with its open shade. Sunlight pours on the carpet beside where Reese is sitting.
“For example—” Reese reaches for the second cup of coffee and pulls it across the desk. “No principal, ever, in my entire career, has brought me coffee.”
“I’ve never thought twice about doing things like this.” I nod to the coffee. “But now, all of a sudden, I’m not supposed to.”
“Different isn’t necessarily bad.”
His words slide through me like a blade. Different, in this case, is bad. I’m playing with fire, with my truth and my secrets. What I want, I can’t have. I knew that years ago, and nothing has changed. “I appreciate your being patient with me. New presidents must be challenging to get used to.”
His smile is slow, unfurling like a sunrise on rippling waters. I spy the glint in his eyes before he speaks, but I have no context for it. I don’t know what it means when they flash like that, or when his dimple burrows into the side of his cheek. My heart turns over, speeds up, and that’s going to stay in my dreams for a few weeks—
“Truthfully? This new guy is not too bad.”
“Not too bad.” I’m too stunned to react. He grins, and something else enters the office. That buzz, that hum, that pressure building, but even as I feel it, his gaze shifts, darkening with quicksilver shadows.
No, not yet. Whatever it is, whatever kindness he’s granting me—hold on. I don’t want to let it go.
“I’m going to have that put on my headstone. ‘He was not too bad.’”
His smile returns, full force. “My official report to the director says you are compliant with Secret Service protocol and there have been no complaints from the agents assigned to your detail.”
“Now you make me want to run away, just to be a little noncompliant.”
“Don’t you dare, Mr. President,” he drawls. “I’d hate to have to arrest you.” A wink. “Or change my report.”
I’m beaming, and my cheeks are starting to ache. We’re back to staring at each other—staring into each other—and each inhale feels like it’s scraping me raw. Questions gallop through me. What does it mean when you smile at me? Why are you looking at me like this? Why haven’t you looked away?
“How’s living in the Residence?”
“It’s… big.”
His eyebrows rise. His expression turns sardonic, and, if I’m reading this right, playful in equal measures. Is he— Is this—
Stop overthinking.“I know how lucky I am to be there, but it’s a lot of house for one man. I’m not used to more than two bedrooms.”
He nods. I think he understands, which… Does that mean he’s single as well? Used to living alone, to the space a life for one needs?
But why would Reese be single? There must be someone special, someone as searingly smart and intense as he is, someone who gets to soak in so many more moments than I’ve managed to sneak from him.
He waits until I’ve taken a sip before he says, “At least you have the ghosts for company.”
Coffee nearly paints the bulkhead, nearly shoots out of my nose. “The what?” I croak when I’ve recovered what I can of my dignity.
“The Residence is haunted.”
“Bullshit. The Lincoln bedroom is just a myth.”
