Penance (Devout Trilogy #3) - Lesli Richardson Page 0,42

well as you claim to, you know that.”

She sets the mug of coffee on the nightstand closest to me before she walks over to the window. There, she throws open the black-out curtains, flooding the dark sanctuary of my bedroom with harsh early morning light and making me groan again as I clamp my eyes shut against it.

“Wakey wakey, Governor Forrester,” she sing-songs in a waaaay too cheerful tone for this obscene time of morning on a…

Fucking Saturday.

“Why do I put up with your shit?” I grumble.

“Because I’m your chief of staff, asshole.”

“Why are you my chief of staff, again?”

“Because I’m the only one who’ll put up with your shit, George.”

Damn her, she’s right.

Again.

“Why are you waking me up?”

“Because I’m the only one—”

“Who will put up with my shit. Right.” I crack an eye open.

She’s still smirking. “Ah, lookit that. And they say you don’t know your head from your ass.”

“Who says I don’t know my head from my ass?”

“Well, me, for starters. Get up.” She heads for the door.

“It’s Saturday, Case. Why are you waking me up on a Saturday?”

“Because you have campaign prep, Governor. If you want to remain the governor of Tennessee for a second term, get your ass out of bed and get in the shower before I ask a couple of really gorgeous, hunky state troopers from the EPU to come in here and dump you in the shower for me.”

“I really think you’d do that.”

She turns at the door. “You know I would, Governor. Move. Now. I expect you downstairs in fifteen, showered, shaved, and dressed in a tie and jacket. You’ll want your overcoat, too. It’s chilly. Tick-tock, motherfucker. Clock’s running.”

She slams my bedroom door behind her.

Dammit.

“You made coffee in my kitchen?” I yell after her.

“You’re welcome, Governor,” she calls back.

I sigh and force myself to sit up. If I don’t, I’ll fall asleep again, and I wouldn’t put it past Case to do exactly what she threatened.

During my first campaign for the state senate, she dumped a glass of ice water on me one morning in a hotel room to wake me up for a Sunrise Rotary breakfast.

Bitch.

I reach for the coffee and take a sip, smiling. Perfectly prepared, of course.

Damn, I love that woman.

* * * *

I drag myself out of bed and don’t bother throwing on a robe. It’s late January, but I keep the temperature set to a comfortable seventy-two at night when I’m home. Now that I live alone, I sleep naked all the time and don’t bother locking my bedroom door. Hell, half the time when I’m home I’m walking around naked.

That’s on Case if she walks in without calling first and sees anything she doesn’t want to. Considering she’s known me since college, she’s gotten glimpses here and there when Ellen and I were dating.

After I use the bathroom, I start the shower and stand in front of the mirror over the sink while steam slowly swirls around me. I didn’t drink anything last night because I knew today would be an early one, but my eyes still look bloodshot.

Crying will do that to you.

There are few nights when I don’t cry, even nearly two years out.

I grab the bottle of eyedrops from the cabinet and squirt some in, blinking up at the light and squeezing them shut before opening them. Experience has told me they’ll look normal by the time I emerge from my shower. I brush my teeth and then shave with the electric razor. I don’t want to dress up today, but I know if I show up downstairs in anything less than what she ordered me to, I’ll hear about it.

Oooh, how I’ll hear about it.

And I’ll likely get something thrown on me—like coffee—forcing me to go change anyway.

This isn’t my first rodeo with Casey-Marie Blaine.

She wouldn’t be my chief of staff if she couldn’t keep me in line, either.

As I climb into the shower I briefly consider beating off but the second I close my eyes I hear the screaming and the wind.

Eyes open, then. Except for the moment I have to close them when rinsing shampoo out of my hair. And definitely no jerking off.

With three minutes to spare, I sigh as I walk into my kitchen and hand her my empty coffee mug. “You’re trying to kill me, Case.”

I lay my overcoat and suit jacket over the back of one of the chairs. My collar’s unbuttoned, my tie draped around my neck.

“No, sir. If I was trying, you’d be