Nathaniel glared at her in mock annoyance. Had she grown up at all? Maybe he wasn’t any better than her for doing something with himself, because if it weren’t for others’ expectations of him, he probably wouldn’t have become anything more.
“You’re very fortunate, Ms. Burke, I haven’t carried my own things in years,” Which was mostly true. 

He didn’t particularly enjoy her calling him any name that reminded him of his career choices. Nathaniel didn’t want to mix her with the idea of being the president… the two never mingled well before and they weren’t going to now. Nathan used his one free hand to pull the fallen hood back over his head in disguise. “I have gotten them to leave me alone. I’ve promised legal pardons if anything happens to me.” It sounded very foolish, but the benefits were endless. “Usually I have them with me. But it’s much easier than trying to sneak away, which is kind of impossible.” How had he not been assassinated? But, truthfully, other presidents have been assassinated and they were with service guards. Besides, the risk of dying was far from the worst thing involved in being the leader of a country.

He caught a whiff as she tied her hair, again, the fragrance reminded him of how he’d let the memory slip. She always smelled good, even the day she got that tattoo. Against the advice of everyone, including Nathan, she gotten drunk right before her appointment. He drove her to the smoky tattoo parlor and waited for three hours while she got inked right on the spine. Marcy wanted him to get one, too, but for some reason unbeknownst to Nathan, he’d refused. Refusal to try something new truthfully wasn’t in Nate’s repertoire. Usually. That tattoo was the only precipice in which his body wouldn’t let him jump off of. Since then, he’d gotten one or two.

Nathan was in sneakers, and easily kept a little ahead of Marcy as they walked. He skipped the check-in desk where the discharge papers would have been waiting on him, should he have taken the normal route and not asked for them ahead of time. He led her down the hall, quite a ways before guiding the way down the stairwell and all the way down to the parking garage.

Fishing deep in his left pocket, he found the keys to the Beamer i8. Row something, number something. It beeped after he hit the lock button enough times.