Page 130 of Full Mountie

Jack just laughs. “I definitely want a beer. Unless that would be too awkward for an informal job interview.”

Gavin snorts. “This will be good. Follow me.”

We head into the kitchen and he rifles through the fridge for three bottles of beer. I’m curious as hell, but my role here isn’t to ask any questions.

Luckily Gavin asks them for me. “So what’s going on? You think my poll numbers are going to slide into oblivion and I’m going to need to be rescued after the next election? What’s your plan, Jack? Start a new environmental law firm, Strong & Benton?”

“It would be Benton & Strong, if we ever did, and that’s not a bad retirement plan.” Jack holds out his beer. “But I’m not planning to retire for a few decades yet. I’m actually here to ask you for a job, prime minister.”

Gavin silently holds out his own beer and they clink the glass necks together. His face pulls tight into a frown.

I’m not following.

Frowns are, generally speaking, not something to toast.

“You want to get into government. Foreign Affairs or International Trade?”

Jack shrugs. “Wherever you’ll have me.”

“You don’t want to run? I’d put you in my cabinet in a heartbeat.”

He shakes his head. “Nah. The limelight has never been for me. I want to get my hands messy with policy.”

“Oh, fuck me,” Gavin groans. “You want to fix softwood lumber.”

“We never got it right, and you know it. There was only so much I could do when I was running my own businesses. Now I want to make it my sole focus. And you know we owe it to them.”

“Yeah.” Gavin scrubs his hand over his face, then groans again. “Okay.” He shoots me a quick look. “Give us a few minutes alone, Lachlan.”

I take my beer and head outside.

I don’t know what this means politically. But Jack Benton is moving to Ottawa—and he flirts with Beth like he wants to lick her up for dessert.

That’s my fucking job.

Hugh’s, too.

Things on Parliament Hill are going to get awkward this summer. And just when I thought getting past the wedding would mean things got easy for a while.

46

Beth

Something isup with the prime minister. He arrived back in Ottawa late last night, but I got an email alert from Lachlan that he was on the move at half past five this morning. I’m not needed in the office when he goes in that early, but I drag myself out of bed just in case.

I stop at the coffee place on the corner just as its opening.

“Early Monday?” the barista asks.

I nod, and I must look weary, because he gives me an extra espresso shot for free.

I tip well.

Stew is already in Gavin’s office when I poke my head in and wave.

“Morning,” I say to them both. And then to the PM, “Did you eat breakfast?”

He grimaces at me.

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