dead.” She sets my empty cup in the sink and hands me a full travel mug.
“Slave driver,” I say, nudging my glasses up the bridge of my nose.
“That’s me.”
I take a sip of coffee. Perfectly prepared, as always. “You know it’s illegal to kill the governor, right?” I remind her.
“Lucky for you, sir.” I move my hands out of the way as she reaches up and fixes my collar, then ties my tie for me. I’m careful not to catch her eye while she does, because if I do, I’m going to start crying.
She knows this, so she’s careful not to look me in the eyes while she does it.
This woman has helped keep me vertical, keep me functional, and don’t think I don’t know and appreciate that.
I’d probably marry her if I thought I had half a chance with her. Except she’s way out of my league and always has been, even if our initial meeting and first couple of months of friendship was…rocky.
Once she has my tie tied, I set the travel mug on the table so I can pull on my blazer and overcoat. Then I grab my coffee and we head toward the foyer. She’s already packed my laptop for me and has it sitting on the bench just inside the front door.
“You break into my house, make me coffee, wake me up early on a Saturday, and scrounge my computer from my living room. That’s gotta be some sort of felony. I am the governor, you know.” I shoulder the strap for the laptop case and dig my keys out of my pocket.
She shoots me her trademark smirk. “You’re welcome, sir.” It’s always a lower-case s when she says it. “You have shitty security, by the way.”
We both laugh, because it’s a running joke with us. The Executive Protection Unit probably hates me because I want the bare-minimum contingent of officers around me at home. Casey has full access to my security system, including an app that allows her to remotely arm and disarm it.
Hell, she has complete and unfettered access to all parts of my life, personal and professional.
She’s the only one who does.
I set the alarm with the keypad to begin the exit countdown. Then I grab the front door and open it for her, holding it and indicating for her to go first. After we step outside and I lock the door behind us, I realize it’s just Case’s car parked in front of the house.
“I thought you threatened me with state troopers?” I shiver in the cold early morning air and watch my breath frost in front of me.
She shrugs as she slips on sunglasses and walks around to the driver’s side. “I lied. So sue me. Get your ass in the car, George.”
I head for the passenger side. Her smirk and mine are practically identical. I never would have said that before I saw a picture taken of us at an event last year, where we were looking at each other and both smirking the same damn smirk.
I don’t honestly remember if I learned it from her or she learned it from me. We’ve both been doing it as long as we’ve known each other, so I guess it doesn’t matter.
* * * *
At my front gate, she waits while the officers who will be shadowing us fall in behind us for the drive. We’re not going to our offices at the capitol today. This is campaign stuff, and I don’t mix campaign stuff with my work as governor. I mean, there are things that legally can be mixed, but I prefer to separate as much as possible.
It’s less bullshit to ensnare me in a scandal. It’s something Casey drilled into me early on in my political career and she’s never steered me wrong. The less stupid stuff we trip over and give opponents a way to hamstring us, forcing us to defend avoidable unforced errors, the better.
Today we’re going to our old law offices, where technically we’re still partners in the firm, although we’re both on official leaves of absence since I ascended to my current office. We’ve rented the place for the day—literally rented it, paid for that out of our campaign expenses and everything—and will be taking over the large conference room. It’s what we’ve done for my previous campaigns. It’s private, it’s large enough for us to bring in the people we’re using, and there’s plenty of parking.
I tip my head back against the seat. “They