Page 21 of Dr. Bad Boy

When William Novak starts talking about contemporaneous billing as the focus of the staff meeting—because apparently some people, who aren’t me, need a reminder—I get to mentally check out for a bit and think about Max.

I mean, that chocolate.

Not Max.

Okay, daydreaming was a mistake. I grind the tip of my pen into my notepad and try to force myself to pay attention to the meeting. He’s still talking about tracking hours as we do the work. For serious? I can’t handle this.

More chocolates, I scribble on the notepad.

I tap the page and addKalebelow that to even out the healthiness of my shopping list.

Apples

Celery

Peppers

Chicken Breasts

Muffins

Zucchini

Secret second stash of Chocolate

Then I cross out both lines of chocolate, because I don’t need them. And everything else I can get at the farmer’s market tomorrow.

Ottawa hasa bunch of options for farmer’s markets, including a permanent indoor market that’s open year round. I prefer the outdoor market in the east end, and thanks to the quickly approaching winter season, this is the last weekend it’s open.

It’s held in the parking lot of a popular rec centre. This time last year the lot was jam-packed with beer league hockey players, but I guess that’s starting later this season, as the crowd outside is mostly the regular farmer’s market people.

I hit the coffee stand first, because it’s kind of chilly, then do a lazy loop up and down the row of vendors. I’ve got my list, but sometimes it’s nice to see what people have on sale. I pick up a bag of gourds to decorate my kitchen table, then grab all the vegetables I wanted.

I’m at my favourite baker’s stall when I notice two sedans pull around to the front of the arena. Big ones. Black.

You know that moment when youknowsomething? This is one of those moments. I know those are the prime minister’s cars. Well one of them. The other would be for his security detail.

I work two blocks from Parliament Hill. I’ve seen those cars before, although I haven’t yet seen our new leader with my own eyes.

I suspect that’s about to change.

The woman working the stall twists around, following my gaze. She’s probably thinking something about Gavin Strong.

I’m not. I’m thinking about his best friend.

He’s got the ear of the prime minister. I’ve thought about that revelation ever since Max came in to our office.

And now the PM is right there, coming out of the arena.

This explains why the lot is mostly empty.

It also makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up and my throat to close tight, because what if Max is inside the arena?

I should leave, just in case.

I watch as the nation’s leader exchanges a joke and a quick smile with his driver and a member of his security team before disappearing into the back of the lead car.

I drag my attention back to the vendor in front of me, now patiently waiting for me to pick which muffins I want.

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