Jimmie's POV
I smoothed my palms over my suit jacket for the hundredth time and tried — tried — not to overthink.
It wasn't working.
I mean, here I was, sitting in the actual Presidential Suite lobby, waiting on the First Lady like this was just another Tuesday.
What even was my life right now?
I still couldn't believe I landed this job. Assistant to the First Lady.
Like—what?
Me? Jimmie Portland from East Shore? The kid who used to dream about getting any job in politics, let alone one that had me rubbing shoulders with the wife of the actual President?
Yeah. Sometimes I had to pinch myself.
But then… There was he.
The President.
My boss's husband.
And if I thought working here would be all glam and White House fairytales — well, reality had slapped me right in the face.
Because Devon James was nothing like I'd imagined.
At first, I thought maybe he was just a serious guy. Like, too-busy-saving-the-country-to-smile kind of serious. Which, you know, is fair enough.
But no.
No, this wasn't general coldness.
It was directed.
At me.
The thought made me take a deep breath, steadying my hands in my lap.
I wasn't imagining it.
There'd been too many moments now. Like that day—just the other day—when I went to hand him the reports Mrs. Elenor asked me to submit. I'd barely stepped into his office, smiling like the eager little intern I used to be, and bam.
"Leave."
Like I was some kind of pest. Like I'd tracked mud onto his perfect marble floors.
Or all the times we crossed paths in meetings or corridors. He'd look past me like I didn't exist. Or worse, like my presence personally offended him. Like I was some stain on his perfectly tailored world.
God.
I blew out another breath, trying not to let it sting.
"Maybe he's just… not a people person," I mumbled to myself. "Yeah. Jimmie, don't overthink it."
Except.
Except part of me couldn't help wondering… was it because—
Oh god.
Was it because he sensed?
Did he know?
Like, did I set off some kind of internal homophobic radar? Because yeah, I'm gay, and yeah, okay, I might've crushed a little—just a little—on the fact that the President looks like he stepped out of a Greek mythology calendar.
I mean, sue me. The man's a walking god.
Tall. Chiselled jawline. That barely-there stubble. And the power he carries when he walks into a room? Yeah, okay, he's got the aura of a god of war and a supermodel rolled into one.
Too bad he's got the personality of a pissed-off bear.
I rolled my eyes at myself.
"Get a grip, Portland," I muttered, leaning back against the plush lobby seat.
It's just a stupid, random crush.
The curse of being single, gay, and too damn thirsty for my good.
Besides, he's your boss's husband, Jimmie. And he probably can't stand you. So. Great. Awesome.
Then, as if my brain wanted to torture me more, the thought hit me square between the eyes.
What if… he's homophobic?
Like, secretly?
I slapped my hand over my mouth, eyes going wide.
Oh. My. God.
Is President Devon James a fraud? The same man who made speeches about LGBTQ+ rights—what if he hates people like me? And that's why he can't stand me being around?
I swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling like my suit was two sizes too tight.
Just then, one of the suite staff passed by, smiling politely.
"The First Lady will be with you shortly, Mr. Portland."
I forced a smile. "Thank you."
Okay. Okay. Focus, Jimmie.
I shoved the spiralling thoughts aside and stood up, straightening my suit jacket again.
Caught my reflection in the mirror by the elevator and smoothed my hair, patting down the slightly unruly curls.
Pressed my lips together to keep my lip balm in place.
Professional. That's me.
Time to focus on the job and not on the fact that the President might be plotting my demise.
Just as I finished pep-talking myself, my earpiece buzzed with a soft beep.
"Come upstairs, Jimmie. I'm ready now," Elenor's warm voice chimed.
"On my way, ma'am," I answered, voice steady.
I took a deep breath — again — and stepped into the elevator, watching the doors close in front of me.
Focus. Work. That's all.
Upstairs, things started fine.
Breakfast with Eleanor was always easy. She was gracious, sweet, and had this way of making everyone around her feel at home.
We were halfway through a tray of toast and fruit while I updated her on the day's itinerary when everything shifted.
Because that's when he walked in.
Devon.
President of the goddamn Astria States and personal tormentor of my peace of mind.
The air in the room changed the second he stepped through the door. Heavy. Charged.
And, of course, his eyes found me immediately.
That same cold stare.
Like he could see right through me and hated every inch of what he saw.
I stiffened, my stomach twisting so hard I nearly choked on my toast.
I coughed, cheeks heating, trying to act normal.
He didn't say a word to me — of course he didn't.
He went straight to Eleanor, kissed her cheek like the perfect husband in front of cameras, but when she asked if he wanted breakfast, his eyes—
Oh god, his eyes flicked to me.
Sharp. Piercing.
And suddenly I felt like I couldn't breathe. Like the air between us was too thick to swallow.
"I have an important appointment," Devon said coolly.
And just like that, he turned away.
Like he couldn't get out of the room fast enough.
Like being near me made his skin crawl.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight.
Elenor glanced at me then, her lips quirking just slightly.
She arched a brow and said with a soft laugh, "I know, right? He's like a handsome Greek god or something. But such a pain to deal with before coffee."
I blinked, startled, my cheeks flaring hotter.
"Oh, uh yeah," I stammered, gripping my water glass like it was my lifeline.
Holy hell. Did she just say that out loud?
She grinned at me knowingly but didn't push.
Instead, she stood. "Give me a minute, Jimmie. I need to grab something upstairs before we head out."
"Of course, ma'am," I murmured, trying not to look like I was internally combusting.
She left, leaving me sitting there. Alone.
In silence.
With my heart still hammering against my ribs like it wanted to escape.
I pressed a hand to my chest, frowning.
Why the hell did it feel like I couldn't breathe just now?
Why did it feel like when Devon looked at me, really looked at me, every part of me went still?
I took a deep, shaky breath.
No. Nope. No sir.
I wasn't going there.
Just a crush. Just awkwardness.
That's all this was.
Right?
But even as I told myself that, I couldn't shake the feeling in my chest — tight, heavy, like something was shifting.
Like something was waiting to unravel.
And I wasn't sure I'd be ready when it did.