Love. The word rattles around in my head all day. I look at Fitz over and over, as he bows his head at the prayer breakfast, as he glad-hands, as he gets on and off the bus at our next stops in town, as he eats, as he drinks, as he makes one campaign supporter nearly faint by waving to her and another sign up on the spot when he tells him of wanting to be president since he was a little boy.

Love. Is that what this is between us? Maybe it's just lust. Maybe he's in lust with me and can't tell the difference. And me? Maybe I'm just in lust with him. I'm contemplating this for the thousandth time as we sit down in the hotel restaurant. It's just after 6:30 and I'm starving. Cyrus is pouring over the menu and Fitz is heading to the bathroom. My eyes follow him instinctively, a smile threatening to cross my lips at the notion that I now know what he looks like naked. And his ass is as beautiful as everything else on his body. Lust. Yes, that must be it.

"I think we've got ourselves a winner," Cyrus says, not looking up from the menu.

"Hmm?" I've barely heard him.

"Fitz. I think we've got a winner. Did you see those crowds today? They love him."

"I did see those crowds today and I think we do have a winner. But we've got a long way to go and Langston isn't backing down."

"That's why that prayer breakfast this morning was so perfect. We're targeting the base, her base."
"Oh, yes, that 6 a.m. prayer breakfast." Fitz joins us at the table. "Now whose brilliant idea was that?"

"That would be mine," I say, smiling.

"Because you are brilliant."

"I told you." Cyrus still hasn't looked up from the menu. He doesn't see Fitz staring at me. I catch myself staring back and quickly turn to my menu.

"And it was so brilliant that I am now completely exhausted and headed for bed."

"So early?" Cyrus asks, finally looking up.

"Yes. I'll order room service if I get hungry later." I try to hide my disappointment. Fitz hasn't mentioned anything about staying the night again and I wonder if he's given up on the idea. Of course, we haven't really had a chance to talk anything but campaign crap since the sun came up. It's been balls to the walls, event after event, speech after speech. "Olivia, Cyrus, enjoy your evening. Oh, I almost forget. A staffer asked me to give this to you." Fitz takes an envelope out of his shirt pocket and hands it to me. A moment later, he's gone.

I'm perplexed. I've been with the staff most of the day; what could be so important that I have a message delivered in an envelope? Why didn't someone call me on my cell? I tear it open and read the note inside immediately.

My room, 7:00. Don't eat anything. F.

I re-fold the note and put it back in the envelope before Cyrus looks up again. "I need to go take care of this," I say.

"Something wrong?"

"No, I just have to talk someone off the campaign ledge. You know how these staffers are. 48 hours with hardly any sleep can dampen the enthusiasm."

"That it can."

"I'm sorry to leave you." I stand and gather my purse.

"Don't worry about it. I actually think a nice quiet dinner is exactly what I need. Or you may be talking me off the campaign ledge tomorrow."

I smile and put my hand on Cyrus's shoulder. He hired me for this gig. For all intents and purposes, I have him to blame. Or to thank, depending on how I look at it. I haven't decided how I look at all of this yet. One minute I'm elated that I've found Fitz, the next I'm dejected for the same reason. The next I'm angry at myself for letting this happen in the first place. Right now, I'm angry because Fitz handing me the note in front of Cyrus could've been disastrous.