Prime Minister (Frisky Beavers #1)

by Ainsley Booth

  “For now.”

  “I’m not hiding you.”

  I frown. No, he’s not. Suddenly he’s ruthlessly not hiding me, and I point that out. He has the good grace to look a little chagrined, although I don’t think for a second that he’s using me. “Is this because we’ve still got four weeks until the House comes back and you’re hoping it’ll blow over by September?”

  “That’s what our new communications director suggested this morning.” His face tightens up. “It wasn’t my deliberate thought, no.”

  But it’s convenient. I sigh. “That better not be what the sex was about.”

  His eyes flare. “No. Never. That was because I can’t keep my hands off you.”

  I sigh. “Okay. Let’s go have lunch and have our picture taken.”

  “Just like that?”

  “I think our second date is a little early for me to turn into a shrew. I’ll save that for date five. But when you get back from Washington, I want to meet this communications director. If we’re going to do this, I don’t want to be in the dark about it.”

  Gavin does one better. After lunch—where he did a quick glad-hand around the cafeteria, and then we were left pretty much alone—he calls Stew and advises him that I’d like to meet with Caroline Miller-Best. The new communications director, he mouths. I make a mental note to Google her and make sure she’s not hot or single.

  Although Beth is both hot and single, and I’m not jealous of her—wasn’t even in the nano-second that I thought maybe she might be crushing on him. But she has a sibling-esque vibe with Gavin, like she’d rather gouge her eyes out than see him naked. She might be the only person in the country, so that makes her special.

  Yeah, I was kind of crazy to think she had a thing for him.

  I should buy Beth flowers.

  After I google this Caroline person, and give myself a talking to, because crazy is not cool.

  “Perfect. I’ll let her know.” He hangs up. “Tomorrow, four o’clock, Stew’s office.”

  “That’s not going to be awkward at all.”

  “Do you want to wait until I’m back?”

  We don’t really have that kind of time. “No, this is fine.”

  He gives me a quick kiss and ducks into the car.

  I’m left standing on the curb, wondering how many hours I have left before I’m surrounded by photographers and reporters throwing questions at me about sexual harassment in the workplace.

  33

  Gavin

  From the second I step onto the plane until I crash into my hotel room bed after midnight, the rest of my day is non-stop work. I get to sleep in until six, which should feel like a luxury, but I wake up at half past five with a hard-on that won’t quit.

  I look through my burner phone, eating up Ellie’s PG-13 texts about yoga like they’re porn.

  It’s too early to call her, and she’s not as practised as Max is at the careful double-speak of a burner phone call. I’d wake her up and she’d be all breathy and half-asleep, and she’d say my name…

  That does it. Just the imagined echo of my name in her sleepy, sexy voice, and I come all over my stomach.

  Fucking teenager.

  I scrub myself clean with a washcloth from the bathroom, then push myself through a quick but painful workout.

  Time to suit up.

  Rick Stupes tried to get in the elevator with me last night. He got a face full of Lachlan’s chest, but Caroline already gave me the heads-up from Ottawa that CAN News has requested a one-on-one interview, and I don’t have a great reason to say no, other than I don’t like the guy.

  “I don’t have time on the trip,” I hedged.

  “No, of course not. When you get back.”

  “Right.”

  “But they’ll want some footage of you at the Embassy.”

  “Fine. But someone’s gotta be in all that footage with me so we have something to talk about. I can’t just ignore the guy’s questions for however long the camera is following me around.”

  We settled on footage of my working lunch with the Ambassador and some meet and greets with American guests in the garden.

  I pack up my bag. Yesterday’s suit, my book for the plane, my briefing notes. Normally I slide my burner phone into my carry-on, too, but today I want it on me. Elle’s sweet texts, right next to my heart.

  I’m such a goner for her, and not embarrassed at all.

  I never thought I’d be one of those sentimental mooners who saves every little dating memento. Okay, I’m not quite that bad, but Max is going to get a lot of mileage from this. And I’m going to let him, because apparently, love does crazy things to your threshold for humiliation.

  The morning speeds by and lunch is productive. I like the ambassador to the United States. He was appointed by the last guy, but our philosophies align and I'm confident he'll continue to represent our government well and advocate for the issues that matter most to Canadians.

  After lunch, we head outside for a meet and greet with business people who have significant investments crossing the border on a regular basis. Trade is the primary reason for this trip and I'm intent on fostering an excellent relationship with all involved, no matter how our personal and political beliefs may be at odds.

  I’m in the middle of a conversation with an import/export dealer from Montana when my pocket starts crooning.

  “Excuse me,” I mutter, pulling out my phone as Jann Arden asks “Could I Be Your Girl” … a ringtone I never thought anyone would hear.

  As much as I hate sending Ellie to voice mail, there’s no way I can take her phone call on camera.

  I return to our discussion of the North American Free Trade Agreement, nodding noncommittally as I silently scream hell no. All I really want to do is tell the guy to stop thinking of that expensive new toy he wants to finance on the backs of ordinary folks, then lock myself in a room and have phone sex with my girlfriend.

  And my head is spinning as I try to figure out who heard the phone ring—and picked up on my choice of ringtones for Ellie. I catch Lachlan’s eye and he gives a slight sideways nod. I slide my gaze over and my belly hits the ground when I see Ricks Stupes and his camera operator standing well within hearing distance.

  I am royally fucked sideways with a two-by-four. My selfish desire to carry some semblance of Ellie with me has jeopardised her privacy, and now I’m going to have to shift my communications staff to damage control.

  34

  Ellie

  I shouldn’t have called Gavin. I’m kicking myself as I dash into Centre Block and stand in the visitor security line, just like I did the first day we met.

  Lachlan texted me a few minutes later.

  L: BJ’s busy. Will call soon.

  Now I’m second-guessing this whole thing. This meeting could wait until he’s back.

  We could just hook up under the cover of darkness at 24 Sussex. Nobody needs to know I’m banging the PM.

  Except as I hold out my purse for content inspection, my phone vibrates again. This time it’s Gavin himself.

  BJ: So my phone just went off on camera. Did I tell you that my ringtone for you is set to a Jann Arden song?

  I guess we’re not talking in code any more.

  Lee: Oh, my!

  BJ: Yeah.

  Lee: Sorry.

  BJ: My fault. I must have accidentally turned the ringer on this morning. Did you need something?

  Lee: Not really. And now I’ve arrived…where I’m going. Your office.

  BJ: Noted. Will call you soon.

  It’s weird coming back to Centre Block with the visitor badge around my neck.

  Even weirder when I bump into Beth, but she gives me a genuine smile and whispers that Caroline’s waiting for me in Stew’s office and Stew’s about to have a coronary.

  On one hand, that’s seriously eye-roll worthy.

  On the other, Stew having a fit is something I can totally handle.

  I take a deep breath and knock on my former boss’s
door.

  Caroline Miller-Best is happily married, and very smart. I like her mostly for the latter reason, but the former is good, too.

  I’m also greatly relieved to discover she doesn’t seem to care in the least that I was briefly an intern in this office. One woman down, fifteen million to go.

  She’s done a masterful job of crafting a narrative that highlights my education and frames the internship as more of a reward opportunity than a true employment situation.

  It’s seventy-three percent fibbing, but I don’t care because it sounds plausible, especially coming from a woman. And it’s something I can repeat, over and over again.

  “Thank you,” I say, feeling full of gratitude.

  She gives me a bullshit-free smile. “You’re welcome, but don’t assume that this is going to go that easily.”

  “No, I know it probably won’t. But I couldn’t find the words the way that you did. Because…” I trail off. Stew doesn’t need to hear that a lot of my rationalization about my relationship with Gavin is dirty at its core.

  It just feels good.

  He looks at me like he looks at nobody else, ever.

  I think I might believe in soul mates now.

  No, I can’t say any of that.

  “Because I’m too close to it,” I say instead, and that’s true, too.

  “You need to brace yourself for lies,” she says, glancing back and forth between me and Stew. “You all do. This may be used as cover for a smear campaign. The key is to never waver from the core narrative and stay on message. That goes for questions about your relationship along with questions about Ellie’s brief employment here, and any policy that gets connected to Gavin…being human.”

  That’s not how his political opponents will put it. But it’s the truth, and I’m glad she gets it. “Okay.”

  “We’re still planning on not saying anything until we’re asked outright, but since you’re going out in public together, I’d expect the story to break—and your name to be out there—by the end of the week. So if there’s anyone at the university that you want to warn, or a roommate to prepare…”

  “Thank you. My roommate already knows, and has family experience with keeping her head down.”

  “Oh?”

  “Her father manufactures car parts. Brewster Automotive?” Sasha’s father is a legit business magnate. He always wanted her to join the family business. She got her MBA, but instead of going to work with him, she applied for her PhD instead. I’m pretty sure that when she finishes this degree, she’ll find a post-doc on the other side of the planet.

  Telling her dad she wants nothing to do with the family business would be easier, but he’s the one man Sasha has a hard time telling off or letting down.

  “Sounds good. But let me know if you run into any problems. There’s a limit to what I can do from this position, but Gavin will hire a private PR firm if needed.”

  I shake my head. That’s kind of insane. “We’ll manage just fine.”

  Stew moves the conversation to the more political considerations, which I’m interested in but don’t directly affect me anymore, so when Beth knocks on the door and asks if she can steal me, I duck out.

  “There’s a call for you in Gavin’s office,” she says as she leads me over there.

  Seriously? I’m smiling despite myself. That can only be one person. She lets me in and points me to the desk.

  I notice the lamp is missing from the table next to the couch, and my cheeks flame red as she closes the door, leaving me alone.

  I pick up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Sprite,” Gavin says warmly in my ear. “I’m returning your call.”

  “Isn’t that what one of the two phones in my purse might be useful for?”

  “I’m at the Canadian Embassy in Washington. I might as well take advantage of the secure line.”

  “Okay. I don’t have any state secrets, though.”

  “You know a few.” His voice has dropped. I recognize that tone.

  “No. We are not having phone sex while I’m in your office and you’re at an embassy and I don’t think secure line means CSIS isn’t listening.”

  “They’re really not listening. What are you wearing?”

  I lower my voice, because two can play this game. “A burlap sack."

  "Daring choice. Take it off."

  "Oooh, it's so rough on my skin."

  His laugh is bright and unrestrained. "And underneath it is a full body black leotard?"

  "How did you know?"

  "Magic."

  "Are you sure you aren't watching me? Where are the cameras?"

  "I told you. No cameras in my office."

  "That's a relief. I noticed the lamp is gone."

  "I disposed of it."

  "How heartless. What did that lamp ever do to you?"

  "Scared off the woman I loved."

  "Ah, but I came back to you."

  "So you did." He clears his throat. "I gotta go. I'm being summoned."

  "Love you. Wake me up tonight."

  "You can count on it."

  Beth stops me on my way out, holding up her hand. “Gavin’s arranged for a car to pick you up at eight.”

  Oh, no. “He can’t do that.”

  She shrugs. “And yet he has.”

  “Call it off. I’ll find my own way there.”

  “Ellie, that’s not how things work. My boss tells me a car has been arranged, I pass on the message. I don’t cancel the car.”

  Her phone rings and she turns back to her desk.

  Oh, no no no. I don’t want to have this conversation with Stew. But I pull up my big girl panties and march back to his office. Caroline has disappeared.

  The RCMP cannot chauffeur the PM’s girlfriend everywhere. Gavin’s probably going to freak about me taking the bus to 24 Sussex, but a cab would be too obvious.

  So I sit down in front of Stew’s desk and start what proves to be a terrifyingly awkward conversation. “So I need to tell you something and don’t want you to freak out, because there’s an easy fix.”

  He groans. “I’m scared to say this, but yes?”

  “Gavin has arranged for a car to pick me up tonight and take me to his residence.” Stew groans again but I keep going because I don’t need him to lecture me on what I already know. “Which of course can’t happen.”

  “Right. So just tell him that you won’t be waiting for him when he lands.”

  I roll my eyes. Of course I’m going to be waiting for him. I’m just going to get there on my own. “I’m still going there, Stew. I’m just taking the bus. Can you put me on the approved visitors list?”

  He swears under his breath. “I’m sure you’re already on it, but yes, I’ll check.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The bus?”

  “It’s how I get around.”

  “Well when this blows up in our faces, that will at least please the environmentalists.”

  “Glad I could be of some service.”

  “Let’s pretend we never had this conversation.”

  “Deal.”

  35

  Gavin

  I’m freaked out over the ring-tone incident and need to get some perspective, so I pull out the burner and call Max.

  He answers on the second ring. “Shouldn’t you be wheeling and dealing with a big-wig right now?”

  “Fuck!” Not the most cryptic response.

  “Oh, that sounds serious. What’s up?”

  “I’m sure it’ll be national by morning.”

  “What will? Can you be more specific?”

  Oh fuck it—it’s gonna be everywhere in the morning, anyway, so why worry? “I left the ringer on for my special phone and Ellie called.”

  “Did you say anything embarrassing that was overheard?”

  “I didn’t, but my ringtone may cause me a little discomfort.”

  “Was it Fuck the Pain Away, by Peaches?”

  Only Max would go straight there. This explains so
many things.

  “Nope. Jann Arden’s Would You Be My Girl.”

  “Well, at least it was CanCon.”

  The fact that it’s Canadian content makes it all okay? Sure. “I’ve just complicated everything.”

  “With…?”

  “This wasn’t exactly the plan.”

  “That’s life.”

  “That’s all you’ve got? I call you to vent and you tell me to suck it up?”

  “Meanwhile I’ve got a kid arriving in five minutes who might not see his fourth birthday.”

  Point taken. I glance at the clock. I’ve interrupted Max in the middle of his afternoon clinic at BC Children’s Hospital. Maybe I’m the asshole after all. “Perspective shift achieved.”

  “That’s why you called me. I’ll see you in a month.”

  “Can’t wait.” I hang up the phone and look at it. Yeah, I really can’t wait, actually. Max is a unique counsellor in my life—no sugar coating, no bullshit. I can always count on him to give it to me straight.

  Now I need to go impress the leader of the free world.

  When I return to the hotel from a gala at The White House late that night, Tim stops me as I head for the elevator to go to my suite. “You’ve got a visitor you need to see first.”

  “Who?”

  He gives me a stone-faced look that says he's just doing his boss's bidding. “Lachlan just told me you need to go to a conference room first.”

  Bullshit. He knows more than he's telling me. “Who?” I ask more insistently.

  He points me toward a room marked private. “A reporter.”

  I steel myself and stalk in. The last person I’m expecting is Rick Stupes. We had an agreement and all.

  “Mighty late, Rick,” I say quietly as I slide Lachlan a WTF look.

  “Ellie Montague,” he says, cutting to the chase.

  “What about her?”

  “Do you have any comment for a breaking news story that you had an affair with an intern who has since left your office?”