Page 131 of Full Mountie

“I’ll get you coffee. And a muffin?” He nods. “How about you, Stew?”

“I’m good, thanks.” He waves a thermos in the air, but doesn’t look up from the report he’s poring over.

An hour later, the morning briefing is extra short, just the bare necessities, and Stew and Gavin stay holed up once the senior staff disperse.

My job, when they get like this, is to hold down the fort—sometimes pretend that nothing is going on, and sometimes carefully walk that line between denial and distraction, because somethingisgoing on, and it’ll break soon.

I never care what it is. I’m vaguely political in the way anyone who lasts in Ottawa has to be. We want to know that tax dollars aren’t being wasted, and good policy is being enacted. But most of the time, we’re too cynical to get upset or excited when something new is announced. My attitude makes me a great executive assistant, because I care about keeping Gavin on schedule and on task, and couldn’t care less about the details of what he’s working on.

So I spend the morning doing what I usually do, but I’m also keeping an eye on the schedule. Gavin pops out for the two can’t-miss events on his calendar, but on his way back in, he asks me to organize dinner for six people.

Okay, long day it is.

Lachlan re-appearsat dinner time, and frowns when he sees me sitting at my desk.

“How long have you been here?”

“All day.”

“That’s—”

I hold up my hand and smile. “My business.”

“I’m just saying, I got some downtime in the middle of my crazy split day.”

“But you were up earlier and will be out later than I will tonight. And you do long shifts regularly. For me, this is a rare thing, but when he needs me, I’m here.” I point to my desk. “And I’m currently writing a list of pieces I want to add to my wardrobe, so I’m hardly working at all.”

“Clothes?”

“I did a big closet purge yesterday. It’s a long story.”

He glances at his watch. “I’ve got time.”

We’re alone in the outer office, but Gavin could pull the door open at any time. And Lachlan thinks he’s asking politely about my wardrobe overhaul when really, my yesterday story is explosive and is liable to just piss him off.

Or turn him on.

Maybe both.

“Not now,” I murmur. “Not here.”

He lowers his voice and leans in, his eyes searching my face. “Is it a scandalous shopping list?”

I smile. “No. It’s the story that followed the closet purge that isn’t work appropriate.”

“Now you have me hooked.” He sits on the edge of my desk. “Give me a hint.”

“Call me tonight when you get home.”

“Let me drag you into the copier room and you can spill all your dirty secrets right now.” He winks and stands up. “Or not. But I am calling you tonight.”

And I will tell him what happened with Hugh.

So that gives me two, maybe three hours to figure out just what exactly did happen, and how I want to frame it so Lachlan doesn’t lose his mind.

47

Lachlan

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