Page 75 of Bi-Partisan

“Speaking of,” Mina continues. “Adrian, your job is basically to just support Jamie. At a minimum, follow his lead and act like you’re happy to be there. But, since this is more your area of knowledge than Jamie’s, feel free to engage with the farm owners. Their names are Peggy and Rick Mills.”

“Engage how?” he asks, uncertain.

“Focus on the animals,” she instructs. “Jamie will probably ask a majority of the questions, a lot of which will be focused on the changes they’ve been able to implement with the grant they were able to secure and what needs they and the surrounding farming community still have that Jamie as their representative can work on helping them with.” She pauses, letting me know that was as much a reminder for me about my job as it was so Adrian knows what to expect.

I glance at her through my rearview mirror and nod.

“But if there is anything that sparks your occupational curiosity, ask away,” she continues. “The more engaged you look, and the more you seem to care about Jamie’s community, the better we will be able to combat the bullshit Mitchell keeps spouting about Jamie’s lack of loyalty.”

“But you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” I add. “I’m sure you taking a hands-on interest in the animals would accomplish the same thing.”

“That’s true. There will be a photographer there, and photos of a hot vet with some baby goats would also be good press,” she says matter-of-fact.

“Mina!”

“What?” she asks, indignant.

“Don’t objectify my boyfriend,” I scold.

“Don’t pretend like you aren’t actively plotting how you can sneak photos of Adrian with a goat without looking thirsty in front of a reporter,” she fires back.

Dammit, why does she always have to call me out like that? I feel my cheeks go pink and hear Adrian stifle a laugh next to me. I glance over again, and he offers me a small smile. Well, at least he seems to have loosened up a bit, even if it is at my expense.

“Also, don’t pretend like the same doesn’t apply to you,” she adds. “Young, attractive politician who cares about his community and cuddles goats is basically the headline I’m hoping for with this article.”

“I hate everything about that sentence,” I grumble. “But I trust you.”

When I see the sign pointing toward Mills Family Farm, I slow down and turn onto a gravel road. After about half a mile, the farm comes into view. Since it’s a Monday, the farm is closed to the public, so the guest parking lot is empty save for the car I assume belongs to Shauna and her photographer. I pull into a spot a few spaces down from it and kill the engine.

“Ready, darlin’?” I ask, turning to Adrian.

He takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly before nodding. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Then let’s get this show on the road. I’m tired of being cooped up in this tiny backseat,” Mina says, tapping on the back of the passenger seat impatiently.

“It’s not that small,” I protest as I undo my seatbelt.

“Oh yeah? Then why don’t you sit back here on the way back?”

I catch Adrian chuckle again as he undoes his own seatbelt and gets out of the car. He bends to move the seat forward and extends a hand to help her more gracefully climb out from the backseat.

“I’m not climbing into the back seat of my own car in front of a reporter,” I tell Mina, my voice low, once we meet up near the trunk of my car.

“Likely excuse. Okay, quick ‘fit check,” she says, stepping back to appraise us.

Reflexively, I smooth out my navy blue polo, making sure it’s still neatly tucked into the jeans I wore so I’d look more relaxed and down to Earth—because, in the words of Mina, politicians wearing suits or even chinos to visit farms and factories always looks a little out of touch.

“Are you sure I don’t need to be more professional looking?” Adrian asks as he fiddles with the pushed-up sleeves of his henley.

I take a step closer to him and rest a hand on his lower back. “You look great,” I say, resisting the urge to press a kiss to his cheek.

“And you are dressed professionally,” Mina adds. “You’re a vet, not a politician. You’re dressed exactly how I’d expect a visiting farm vet to dress. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, but I don’t,” he mutters under his breath.

“Mina, can you give us a minute?” I ask.

She gives me a confused look, apparently not having heard Adrian, but nods. “Sure thing, boss.” She pulls out her phone and starts tapping away on it as she walks a few feet away to give us space.

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