Page 124 of Full Mountie

After he’s pulled into traffic, he takes my hand, and he holds it the whole way to the Hill.

I feel a little funny getting out of his car and heading into Centre Block with him, but nobody gives us a second look. Upstairs, I log in to my computer as he reads emails on his phone.

We have a visit from the South African President scheduled for next month, and the communications staff have sent me the final invitation list for dinner. I read over the names carefully, comparing them to previous events. Gavin likes to mix up who gets a nod to these kinds of things, and we have a small list of people who behaved badly in the past, and maybe shouldn’t get an invite again.

I fire back a response, nixing two names, and suggesting four others.

Then I look up to find Lachlan watching me. “Yes?” I ask with a smile.

“It’s been a while since I’ve just sat here and watched you work. I like it.”

I roll my eyes. For the past year, Lachlan’s spent a lot of time at the security desk across from mine, but when he rejigged the teams after Hugh arrived, he started spending more time elsewhere. “I like it too,” I whisper, then I sit up a bit straighter. “Now let me get back to work.”

Just then an email comes across my screen, and from the way Lachlan straightens up and goes all serious, I can tell he’s reading it, too.

“Our boss never really takes a knee, does he?” I say lightly, glancing across the way. “I guess you’re going to Vancouver after all.”

43

Hugh

Lachlan does exactlywhat I asked him to do, and he leaves me alone for the rest of the week.

It makes me feel like shit.

I owe them both more than this cowardly, silent break-up, but every time I reach for the phone, I freeze up.

But when he emails on Thursday night, giving me the heads up that the PM and Ellie have decided to attend a public Canada Day celebration, and he’s heading out to Vancouver to lead up the security team, I email back.

From: Hugh Evans

To: Lachlan Ross

Subject: Re: Did you see the PM itinerary change?

I did see that, and I wondered. Makes sense.

Email is safe. There’s some distance there, and conversations about work are fine.

Except the bastard takes advantage of that and calls me when he lands. I answer because I can’t ignore him, and it might be about work.

It’s not.

“I know it’s late there,” he says quietly, and despite myself, I find myself growing hard.

Would he know if I stroked off to the sound of his voice?

He probably would.

I shouldn’t.

I probably won’t.

“No worries,” I say, pacing around my quiet and still-empty apartment. “I was up. You at the hotel now?”

“Just got in, yeah.”

“Good.”

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