I can feel my face falling before I remember that Sasha is watching me.
“Bad news?”
“No.” I reach for my drink. It’s completely stupid that I’m disappointed I won’t see him tomorrow.
It’s completely stupid that I was already planning on going to work tomorrow.
I need more beer.
“What is it?”
“Nothing that drinks tonight and yoga tomorrow won’t fix.”
“You’ve been on a real kick all week.”
“Since when do you pay such close attention to how often I go to yoga?” My phone vibrates again.
This time the email is from Gavin, again to the entire PMO group.
Thanks for your hard work this week. See you all on Monday.
Seeing his name at the bottom of the message makes me tremble from the inside out. And just like that, my grin is back.
“You want another drink?”
I do and I don’t. “One more. Something light.”
“Because of yoga?”
“Don’t mock me. I never make fun of you for going on a long run when you’re thinking about stuff.”
She’s giving me this look. A clever one, a thinking one. Something that says she sees right through me.
“So you think you’ve been going to yoga all week because it’s stress-relief?”
It is. I look at her, confused. “Yes.”
“Well that’s your first mistake.”
“What is?”
Sasha gives me a bland look over the top of her beer. “Shavasana doesn't help with horny.”
“I’m not—” I blush. “Horny.”
“Who was the email from?”
Oh my God, I’m so busted. “Nobody.”
“You work for the hottest bachelor in the country, Ellie. I don’t believe you. Who. Was. The. Email. From?”
“The PM,” I squeak, sinking low in the booth.
“Not horny, my ass. You’re thinking of him right now.”
Well, that wasn’t fair. I think about him constantly. “Only because I got an email from him three minutes ago.”
“Was it dirty?”
“Of course not.”
“Wanna bet it was dirty between the lines?”
“I’d take that bet in a second. There’s zero chance that the PM would ever do anything inappropriate like that.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Interesting.”
“No. Nothing is interesting.”
“You didn’t say that he wasn’t attracted to you, that there was nothing there, that he’s in a relationship or gay, or any other excuse you could give for why there’d never be anything dirty between you.”
“Are you out of your mind? I’m…” I lower my voice. “I’m an intern. He’s the leader of the government. If for no other reason than the optics of that are awful, I’m sure I’m not his type.”
“Because beautiful, bendy redheads are never anyone’s type.”
“I’m really more of a blonde.”
“Those are also known to never, ever get any action.”
“I’m awkward.”
“It really trips over the line into adorably nervous most of the time.”
“I’m…” I flail my hands in the air. “Sasha! Listen to me. I’m just a regular woman. I’m nobody that Gavin would ever be interested in.”
“So why do you turn pink every time you read your email?”
Because I have the most insane visceral reaction to him. To even just see his name on the screen. “I’m like everyone else in this country. I think he’s incredible.”
Her face softens and she tips her head to the side. “Awww, El. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease.”
“It’s fine. I brought it on myself.”
“And is he incredible?”
“Absolutely. He’s one of the good guys. He’s also brutal to work for.” I laugh ruefully. “I think he only sleeps like four hours a night.”
“So it’s just a crush?”
I nod. “Yes. And now we’re going to pretend it doesn’t exist, okay? Because he’s exactly what this country needs. And I want to help him in any way possible. Drooling over him isn’t conducive to that plan.”
“Cool.” She lifts her hand and waves down the waitress. “Let’s toast him with another round.”
Monday morning I wake up at four. Might have something to do with the fact that I went to sleep at nine the night before.
Probably has a lot to do with the fact that I’m giddy at the thought of seeing Gavin today.
It’s Sasha’s fault. Well, Sasha and beer equally carry the blame. Friday night I tumbled into bed and my dreams went from naughty to something way more dangerous: romantic. I can’t even remember all the details when I wake up, but each morning I’m a little more gone for him.
And all weekend, that warm, tingly crush feeling carried me through a few hours of work and a trip to the market, dinner with friends and two more delicious nights of being stripped bare and consumed by the prime minister.
I get up quietly and shower, grateful that Sasha and I have separate bathrooms on opposite sides of the apartment.
I dress carefully. A black pencil skirt, my beloved pair of black Louboutin pumps, and the short-sleeved sage-green silk blouse I got at Holt Renfrew on clearance last year.
It’s by far my most sophisticated outfit. Sexy, professional, and not to be ignored.
What are you doing, Ellie?
It’s a fair question. I don’t have a plan, because my heart is beating so fast my mind can’t get a word in edgewise.
I let my hair dry on its own while I check my email. Twelve messages for the PMO, and while I’m in beast work mode, I fire off a quick stay-in-touch email to my PhD advisor, filling him in on my first two weeks. I finish off the note with a question, because otherwise he’d recognize the email as the noise it really was.
Starbucks won’t be open for another hour, so I make a travel coffee for myself, pack my lunch bag, and head out the door. There’s one bus running up Bank Street this early, and I’m not waiting another hour to get to the office.
And I’m not so twisted up in my feelings that I’ll grab a cab or walk.
I’m not crazy.
I’m also not alone. There are a few others heading downtown at this hour. Most get off one block before me, heading into the offices across the street from the Parliament Buildings.
I stand on the wide walk up to Centre Block for a minute, wondering how much my emotions are being manipulated by this place. Probably a fair bit. I get a little thrill every time I walk past security, and today is no different.
“You’re here early, Ms. Montague,” the guard says. He knows my name from my badge, but I feel badly for not returning the acknowledgement.
“Lots of work to do.” I give him a quick smile, but my lips shake from the effort.
I take the elevator, grateful for both the wait and the slow, creaky ascent. A few more moments of fantasy time.
I know that when I see Gavin, it’ll be the same as it was the first week. Terrifying. Okay, not quite the same as that. Or yes, but in a different way.
But he’s not going to see me. Not like I see him.
The office is empty. I let myself in and turn on my computer. Dave has sent me a draft of a speech, and it’s good. I flag a couple of points of language that I know will drive Gavin mad, and email it back, suggesting I come over to his office later to discuss it. I’ll need a latte anyway, my coffee from home is awful.
Maybe I should steal a Diet Coke from Stew. I stand up and grab my keycard lanyard, slipping it around my neck as I step into the hallway. I’m just tugging my hair free when the elevator dings and off steps Lachlan Ross, Gavin’s chief of security. He’s an RCMP officer, I’ve learned, but everyone on the PM’s security detail dresses in plain clothes.
Next off is the man himself, and I eat up the sight of him. Today’s suit is dark blue, and the tie is red and navy stripes. The shirt is white, as always. I add
it to the mental catalogue of his outfits in my head, with a tagline note that he doesn’t look rested in the least after his weekend in the country.
Our gazes tangle as he slows his long strides.
“Gavin,” I breathe. “Good morning. Welcome back.”
Something hard snaps in his eyes, and his lips tighten. “Ms. Montague.”
His response couldn’t be more chilly, and I step back in shock, bumping into the door frame of my office.
Of all the fantasy possibilities of how this moment might go, I forgot to consider something like this.
Lachlan is well past us now, but there’s another security team member trailing behind Gavin. I’m painfully aware that we’re not alone.
That doesn’t stop me from still searching for something more as I look at him—an explanation, maybe.
There’s something hard about his face, and it takes me a moment to realize he hasn’t shaved today.
Or yesterday, and maybe a few days before that.
You stopped shaving is a stupid thing to say to someone who’s just put you in your place for being overly familiar.
“Gavin. You can call me Gavin.” Where the hell has that teasing look in his eyes gone?
I cross my arms and force myself to be professional. “I’ll see you at the briefing.”
He nods curtly and moves past me, finding his speed effortlessly again. But when he gets to his office door, which Lachlan has opened for him, he stops and looks back at me. “Actually, if you have a minute now.”
I nod, dread sliding into my gut. There’s only one answer when you work for the prime minister. “Yes, of course.”
8
Gavin
I’m a complete asshole.
That’s the second thought that pounds through my brain after I get off the elevator.
The first was, she’s beautiful. Like, steal my breath and smack me in the face with it gorgeous. Her hair is loose today, long golden waves with touches of burnished copper here and there, and I just want to wrap my fists in it and crush my mouth against hers.
But I flew across the country to drum my want for her out of my system, so even if I could want her, now I don’t deserve her.
“I owe you an apology¸” I say brusquely as she stands in front of my desk. Her fingers are wrapped tightly around her lanyard.
I want to take her hands in mine and stroke away that worry.
Which I’ve caused.
I told her to call me Gavin.
Everyone does.
And then I threw it back in her face.
She stiffens. “I’m sure you don’t, sir.”
Fuck me. There it is. Did I do that to myself? Did I push her away just to hear her say it again?
“That’s for me to decide, Ellie.” I tap my fingers on the back of my chair as I stand behind it. I need to get us back on track. “Stew tells me that you’re working closely with Dave in our communications team.”
She nods, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “I’m heading over there as soon as he gets in. We’ll have a draft speech for you by the end of the day.”
“Perhaps you should work over there for the next few weeks.”
She blanches, and I kick myself because now I’ve made it seem like she’s being moved out of the office—right after I told her I had something to apologize for.
Which I never exactly got to, because how do I find the words to say, I’m sorry I can’t stop thinking about fucking you on this desk? You don’t.
That’s the kind of secret you bury deep.
“Look, you’re spending most of your time working with Dave, and it’ll save a lot of time if you’re not traipsing back and forth between here and the PMO.”
“True.”
Fuck, she still looks so damned dejected. I second guess my decision to get her out of the way for a while, even though I’ve convinced myself my reasoning is sound.
I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, your desk will be waiting right where you left it once you and Dave have this communications strategy nailed down.”
She nods. “Anything else?” Her eyes shine bright with unshed tears. I can see she needs to escape, and as much as I want to pull her into my arms and soothe her, I do the kinder thing. “No. We’re done.”
She turns to leave and I’m faced with her beautiful ass, all wrapped up in that tight black skirt. I look for panty lines. Nothing but smooth fabric that leaves very little to my imagination.
The knowledge that she’s naked under that skirt makes my mouth water and my cock throb.
I cross the room and close my door. I need a few minutes alone. I pretend it’s to calm my raging hard-on, but in truth, I want to indulge in a little fantasy. Max’s arrangement did nothing to curb my all-consuming hunger for Ellie.
I walk back to my desk and glide my fingers along the smooth surface, imagining her bent over it. Because she’s so short, she’s up on her toes. Her skirt is stretched even tighter over her ass, and I decide to leave it where it is.
Somehow I find the idea of spanking her fully clothed in my office hotter than the thought of her naked.
I stop directly behind her and grip her hips as I grind my erection against—
There’s a knock on my door and reality catches up with me too soon.
Nearly two hours have passed by the time Stew finally fucks off to his own office.
The way I left things with Ellie has been eating at me all morning and I need to do something to try and smooth things over without giving her the wrong impression.
After several minutes of replaying every encounter we’ve had, I come up with the answer and leave it in my assistant’s very capable hands.
Now that I’ve got a few spare minutes, I pull out my burner phone and dial Max’s number.
“Do you have any fucking idea what time it is?”
I look at my watch and wince. “Time you got your lazy ass out of bed.”
Max just laughs. “Glad your flight went well, sorry it took you three days to let me know you arrived safely.”
“That’s what the national news is for.” The words fall out of my mouth before I remember why I’m talking on a burner phone.
“Fair enough. I noticed you left my gift unopened.” Max doesn’t have any problems speaking in code.
I feel a twinge of guilt over bailing on the escort Max arranged for me. It’s not like I can reimburse him for the expense. “Yeah, turns out it was more your style than mine, but I appreciate the thought.”
“Well, you’re going to need something to keep you active.”
“If you were here, we could find ourselves a pick-up hockey game somewhere.”
Max chuckles. “Really? Take a look outside your window. Do you think that’s going to be an option for you?”
“Won’t know until I try, will I?”
“More power to you. I’ll see you in just over three weeks.”
“I didn’t know you were coming to town.”
“I gave that cute assistant of yours the heads up that I'd appreciate any opportunity to visit.”
“Don’t hit on my staff. And why on earth would you want to visit?”
"Maybe I've grown tired of never experiencing minus thirty degree winters."
"It’s summer. More like plus thirty.”
“It is, and an excellent time to go house hunting.”
“You wouldn't move here."
"I just might."
I’ve missed having my best friend nearby, and a little bubble of hope starts to grow in my chest, but I can’t acknowledge his statement without taking this conversation to a really emotional place—I can’t wrap my head around the fact that he would actually move across the country, but I’m also the only family he has. “Listen, I’ve got to run. Back to back meetings. I look forward to seeing you.”
Max hesitates, then says, “Catch ya later.”
I disconnect and call Lachlan into my office.
“You’ve been in Ottawa awh
ile, yes?”
“You could say that, yes.”
“And if I needed something a little…un-Priministerial, you could probably arrange it, yes?”
Lachlan stiffens slightly, but his expression remains neutral. “What exactly are you looking for?”
9
Ellie
I won’t lie—at first it felt like Gavin rejected me.
But since everything that transpired between us can be summed up as the understandable delusional fantasies of a girl with a crush on a man that everyone is crushing on, and in the days and weeks that followed, life carried on and I got over it.
Mostly.
It helped that two days after I moved over to the block of offices across the road—where in fact I was more productive—I got a thank you gift from the PM.
Part of me wanted to see it as an apology, as well, although a travel mug branded with the Government of Canada’s wordmark wouldn’t defrost many hearts. The note inside, though…that did funny things to my chest. Handwritten in his own sharp, spiky block writing that I’d already come to recognize, it was short and to the point.
You’re a valuable part of my team, Ellie. It’s my loss that you’re only on loan from the university. Thank you for keeping me on my toes. ~ G
I tucked the note away in my purse and now use the mug every day.
It also helps that there’s a ton of work to do, and a lot of it happens away from him, although his presence is felt in every project. He’s running this country with ease, it seems, even though that’s a daunting, overwhelming task—and he’s doing it at an exhausting pace.
I’ve settled into a routine that starts with checking my email while it’s still dark out because it’s easier if I get a head start on anything that’s come up overnight.
My job seems to morph on a daily basis. The biggest project to date was moving the goalposts on the fundraiser, which is just a week away now. I spent most of that time in the PMO offices across the street, and after the sting of feeling like I was exiled, I realized that much was happening there that I was missing out on.
Since this internship will further my own career goals as much as it is a public service, I want to get as much out of it as I can.
Prime Minister (Frisky Beavers #1) Page 4
