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He hasn’t blinked or looked away. Intensity hums from him and into me.
I dreamed about his eyes on the flight home from Ottawa. How they shine, and burn, and how blue can be both ice and flame.
I should not be dreaming about the president.
Words need to be said, but I don’t know what they are. The silence lengthens, grows thin. Outside the Oval, two women laugh as they pass by the Roosevelt Room.
“Thank you for the coffee. Yesterday.”
That’s what I went with?
Another slow inhale. “It was my pleasure.”
Exhale. His lips part. Close. Part again. “Agent Theriot… If anything I’m doing is making you uncomfortable, please let me know.”
There’s my out.
I am uncomfortable, but not because of him. No, because I’m dangerously over the line, already thinking things like good guy and thoughtful and considerate, and, worse, looking forward to seeing him again.
Uncomfortable is the way down the list of words I’d use here. Trouble is, I don’t know what the right one is. Wrong. Forbidden. Dangerous.
Wild.He makes some deep-down part of me feel wild.
There’s something here, something between us, like the oxygen we’re breathing is igniting before each inhale.
He’s the president. He’s the job. At best, I’m a distraction to him, and at worst, he’s a distraction to me. Where we are, right this moment, sitting so close I can count his pulse and feel the heat of his body? This is so far off course it’s not on the maps.
Apprehension is clawing into his eyes. His fingers tighten around his knee again.
There’s a path I should be walking, steps I should be taking. Closing this down, whatever it is, and clearing the air.
“I was actually thinking, Mr. President, that it might be beneficial to increase our morning briefings to twice a week.”
I didn’t just say those words. Mon Dieu, I didn’t.
Justification spins in the wake of my senseless offer. “It might be useful for you to have a closer look at our operations and procedures. And, from our end, it would be helpful to understand your needs more, sir.”
I don’t want to spend more time with him to teach him policies and procedures. I want to see his smile again. I want to hear his laugh. I want to dig and dig until I understand why he looks at me the way he does, and what it means when those looks flip my world upside down.
He hasn’t breathed in twelve seconds. His rhythm broke on an inhale, and he held his breath as I rambled. He’s staring at me, his eyes wider, his expression more open than I’ve seen before. This isn’t President Walker in front of me. I’m looking at Brennan.
“If you think it would be helpful,” he finally says, “I’d be delighted.”
It’s going to be something. There’s a match set against my heart, ready to strike.
He blinks, and the president is back. “Your guidance has been invaluable to me. I’m very pleased you’re running my detail. Who else could seamlessly manage my security across two countries and countless agencies?”
“Anyone on my command team, sir. It’s our job.”
“But who could do it all and referee a pull-up contest?” And there’s that grin again—
There goes the twist inside me. The air thickens. I can’t look away.
He checks his watch. “Should we begin our meeting?”
We’ve blown past five minutes, ten, fifteen. Time flies out the window whenever we’re together. I clear my throat, straighten. “Of course.Sorry, Mr. President, I’ve gone way over time.”
“It’s not a problem. Our conversations have been highlights of my days.”
