Jimmie
It was stupid.
But I kept seeing it, that moment, that look—the elevator doors sliding closed behind us at the presidential residence, the hallway lights bleeding into shadows, and the silence that should have felt awkward but didn't.
Devon's hand had gripped mine — not softly, not accidentally.Deliberate.Controlled.Like he was trying to stop something inside him from breaking out.
And his face—So close.
Close enough that if I'd leaned forward an inch, our mouths would've touched.
He didn't kiss me—of course he didn't—but he let go and walked away like nothing had happened.
But I hadn't stopped thinking about it since.
Worse — I kept wishing he had.
And that made me feel like the worst kind of person. I work for his wife. She trusts me. She sees me. And here I am, daydreaming about the man she married.
I was back at the East Wing office now, staring at my computer screen, but not seeing a single word.
I was replaying the elevator scene like it was some secret film only I got to keep. My hand still remembered the shape of his grip. My chest still echoed with the rush of his breath. My whole damn body still ached like something had been started and never finished.
The cursor blinked on the document I was supposed to be editing — a draft statement Eleanor had asked me to prepare. My fingers hovered above the keyboard, frozen in that frustrating limbo between work and thought.
"Jimmie."
My name, soft but pointed, snapped me out of the fog.
I blinked.
Eleanor was standing there — no clipboard, no agenda, just arms folded and head tilted with that knowing look that meant I'd just been caught.
"Everything okay?" she asked, with a half-smile. "You've been staring at that screen for five minutes like it owes you money."
I laughed awkwardly. "Yeah. Just thinking about...scheduling."
She walked around to perch on the edge of my desk, watching me the way a cat watches something that moves.
"You're thinking about a guy, aren't you?"
I blinked. "What?"
"I wasn't born yesterday, Jimmie," she said, picking a thread from her cuff. "I know a zoning-out-for-love look when I see one. Who is he? Do I know him? Is he cute?"
I froze.
Do I lie? Do I deflect?
She smiled wider. "Oh, it's complicated."
I exhaled, rubbing my temple. "It's nothing, Eleanor. Seriously."
She narrowed her eyes. "Nothing doesn't make people look like they're trying to solve quantum physics in their head. And you've been...distant lately. Floaty. Distracted."
"I'm just tired," I said, too quickly.
She leaned closer, playful but not serious. "Is it someone inappropriate?"
My silence gave me away.
"Oh my God, it is." She laughed softly, not mocking — just surprised. "Jimmie Portland, you bad boy. Look at you having scandalous thoughts on government property."
I forced a smile. But inside, I was suffocating. She didn't know how close to the truth she was.
She didn't know that the man who made me unravel was the same one she crawled into bed with every night.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled.
"For what?"
"I don't know. Just...for being messed up, I guess."
She sighed, her voice softening. "We all want things we shouldn't sometimes. Doesn't make you a villain."
But it sure as hell made me feel like one.
"Does he know?" she asked.
"No," I said too fast. "God, no. It's not like that."
She gave me that half-smile again, her eyes flickering with something unreadable. "You're sure?"
"Positive."
She stood up slowly, brushing invisible dust from her blazer. "Well, whoever he is, I hope he knows what he's doing to you."
I nodded. "Me too."
Later, near the policy wing...
I was walking past the break room when I overheard them — a couple of staffers whispering near the vending machines.
"—hasn't shown up for two meetings. Unannounced."I heard he was locked in that medical suite again."Someone saw him sweating through his shirt. Shaking."Drugs. That's gotta be it. No one crashes like that unless something's messing with their system."
They were talking about him.
The President.Devon James.
My lungs felt tight. They were wrong. Weren't they?
Or maybe not. Maybe something was wrong with him, but not what they thought.
I'd seen him bleed. And then... not. I'd felt that thing between us. That unnatural heat. The pull. It wasn't drugs. It was something else. Something wild.Something raw.
My thoughts raced. What if people found out? What if the rumours got louder? What if I got dragged into it somehow?
Back in Eleanor's office...
She'd left early for an interview, and I was tidying up her desk, half-distracted by the thoughts I couldn't shake, when I saw it — Devon's jacket draped over the back of the chair. Same one he wore yesterday.
I didn't mean to pick it up. I swear I didn't.
But my fingers were already brushing the collar, tugging it toward me.
The scent hit me like a damn wave. Spice. Pine. Heat. Smoke.And underneath it — something raw. Wild. Animal.
I stumbled back a step. Heart pounding.
Why did he smell like that? Why did it feel like that?
I didn't hear him enter.
"What are you doing?"
The voice came sharp and low, right behind me.
I spun, guilty as hell — jacket still in hand — and there he was.
Devon James. Arms crossed. Eyes locked on me like he could see straight through the fabric of my thoughts.
I stammered. "I—sorry—I didn't know—You left your—"
He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just watched me.
And for a moment, everything in the room shrank to the space between us — the air crackling, my pulse thudding like a warning.
And I couldn't tell if he was angry...Or afraid of something neither of us could say.