in there.
Warren considers my question for a weirdly long time. It never takes him this long to answer a question at a press conference, I can tell you that much. I’m not sure if this is a good thing.
“Working,” he says at last.
And then, as if that closes the matter, he turns around and returns to his desk. He leaves the door open, though.
An invitation.
Or laziness.
I decide to take it as an invitation, naturally.
I wander in and find him already tapping away on his computer, Duke sitting beside the desk watching Gary exploring near some bookshelves. I walk the perimeter of the room, casually inspecting as I go. This room is far more updated than some other areas of the house. It’s nice, actually. If not a bit masculine.
“It’s sort of dark in here,” I offer, trailing my fingertips across the edge of Warren’s desk.
He virtually ignores me, focused on his typing. “It’s fine.”
I should probably go.
The problem is, I have issues doing what I should do. Yes, it tends to get me in trouble from time to time. But… well, I don’t really have a positive to counter that. I’m hardly ever bored though, if that counts.
“So.” I slide in and perch myself on the edge of his desk. “You govern, you lawyer and you plumb. Such an interesting array of talents you have.”
Warren keeps typing, but he does glance at me. “I plumb?”
“You plumber?” I shrug. “I don’t think that’s right either. Whatever, you’re fixing my pipes.”
Oh, Lord, did that sound as dirty to him as it did to me? I don’t even know why it sounds dirty, it doesn’t even make sense.
“I’m good with my hands,” he replies with zero innuendo, so clearly I’m imagining that this is weird.
“I bet you are,” I counter, but oh, God, did I purr that? I think I purred because Warren is looking at me strangely.
“Good press conference today,” I add, clearing my throat and aiming for a friendly roommate tone of voice.
“Good?” Warren runs his fingers over his tie. I notice he’s loosened it and unbuttoned his shirt a little. His suit jacket’s slung over the chair near him, too, leaving him in just his button-down. It’s like he thought about how to drive me absolutely wild.
“Impressive,” I say, watching those fingers run over that tie and wishing they would run over me. Good Lord, I can’t stop. I want to know if that big dick energy is real. I bet it’s real… impressive.
“Impressive,” he repeats back. He’s finally paying attention but his tone is dubious. He must realize I would be open to him kissing me, right? Like, really, really open to it. How much more obvious can I be for crying out loud?
“Effective leadership is sexy.” Oh, God. Apparently I can be more obvious. I did not mean to say that out loud, I really didn’t. I need to walk this back so I don’t remember this moment in horror for the next four decades. “I mean, effective leadership is effective,” I babble. “That’s what I meant. Obviously.”
“Effective leadership is… effective,” Warren repeats, looking at me like he’s not sure if I’m well.
Well. It’s official. When I die I’m going to spend eternity living right here in this room as a ghost, replaying this over and over. Haunting future mansion occupants and trying, in vain, to warn them off of flirting with governors who are impenetrable to flirtation.
I force an awkward laugh and say, “You always tell it like it is.”
He swivels in his chair a little to look at me, and I notice his legs are slightly spread apart, and if it weren’t so dim in this freaking office, I’d be able to confirm that big dick energy right here, right now.
“Why wouldn’t I tell it like it is?” he asks.
“I don’t know.” I shrug, forcing myself to look away. “A lot of people like to spin the truth in order to tell people what they want to hear.”
“People want to hear the truth.”
“Most people hate telling the truth though.”
He tilts his head, as if this interests him. “What about you?”
I must be sweating now. If I start telling the truth, we’re in trouble.
“What about me?” I evade. I can do this. I’ve watched enough political press conferences to understand evasion. I’ll just talk myself into a circle and then scoot right out of this room.
“Do you like telling the truth?” he repeats, clearly not getting the evasion memo.
“Most of the time.” I shrug, and lean in