Page 1 of Missed Communication
1
Aubrey
I’m headed down to the hotel bar for a ginger ale. Want anything?
Livy
No, I’m fine. Thank you though!
“Idon’t need a damn ginger ale. I need to get fucked,” I grumble to myself as the elevator descends to the lobby.
I never lie to Olivia. She’s my best friend since college and, technically, my boss since she became the newly-elected Governor of California. It’s not exactly a lie that I’m going down to the hotel bar for ginger ale, but it’s also not entirely the truth either. I’m a woman on a mission.
When we were checking in, I spotted a gorgeous man who appeared to be on the staff of none other than the Canadian Prime Minister, Isaac Banks. He was tall with dark hair, impeccably dressed in all black, had a golden glow I could never replicate with a spray tan session or hours in the warm California sun, and I’m pretty sure I spotted a few tattoos peeking out from his collar and rolled-up sleeves. Basically mykryptonite. There’s a small chance I could run into him if he’s still downstairs. I just had my IVF appointment before traveling to Canada, so with my hormones all over the place, I could really use a few hours of flirting… or maybe a good pounding.
I step out of the elevator and do a quick survey of the space, disappointed to not find the handsome stranger. There are a few restaurants and a couple of bars; almost no one in the lobby. With today being a main travel day before the international summit here in Ottawa, it’s quiet, with the bars nearly empty and the restaurants only half full. The sexy-as-sin mystery man is nowhere to be found, but I’m not going to waste this excursion, and should probably eat something. Italian sounds amazing right now, but seeing as I forgot my book in the hotel room, I don’t want to look like an asshole on my phone at a table by myself, and I find an empty stool at the little bar toward the back of the restaurant to save myself the embarrassment.
The bartender isn’t behind the bar—probably retrieving food or assisting the dining room—so I snag the small menu propped up. It only features specialty drinks, happy hour specials, and a modified wine list. Again, disappointment settles in my gut. Given my current maybe-pregnant situation, alcohol is out of the question, and it’s too late for discounted happy hour appetizers. At this point, my only hope is the regular dishes aren’t massive. If I was back in California, I’d be having dinner with friends or on a date; it’s been a while since I’ve dined solo and I wish I could share a meal with someone. It isn’t just about the money, it’s the companionship, and also food waste—something Olivia and I have championed to help decrease for the past few years. Food insecurity is rampant and I always feel greedy when ordering more food than I can consume.
From the corner of my eye, I spot the bartender sliding behind the bar, heading my way. I set down the menu, but as he gets closer, I have to do a double take. It isn’t only that his large frame takes up significant space, he also has a sexy little tattoo peeking out of his shirt collar, and the slutty little mustache he has going on is doing things to me. It’s the guy I saw with Isaac’s staff earlier, but why the hell is he behind the bar?
His lips tilt up in a flirty smirk, making my cheeks heat as he greets, “Hope you weren’t waiting long. Can I get you started with a drink?” Leaning over, he points to one of the specialty drinks on the menu I set down. “This one is my favorite.”
I’m staring for entirely too long and finally tear my eyes away from the delicious man to see what he’s pointing at. It’s basically a Dirty Shirley but with a flavored vodka and ginger ale instead of lemon-lime soda. “Oh, sorry, I’m not drinking right now,” I blurt, then quickly correct myself, “I mean, I do drink. Not a lot. Sometimes I do, but not like I was in college. And?—”
“No need to explain. I can make it a virgin, if you’d like? Ginger ale with grenadine, and I’ll even throw in a few extra cherries.”
“That sounds great, thank you.” I sigh in relief; my stomach has been a little weird since Livy and I landed and I could use something to help settle it. The hot man in front of me isn’t helping matters. “I actually came down for a ginger ale and to find something to sink my teeth into.”
Fucking hell, Bree, get your shit together and stop word-vomiting all over this man.
“And what are you hoping to sink your teeth into?” he teases with a light chuckle.
Do not say him…
“I don’t know. What do you suggest?”
He pulls a regular menu from behind him, then sets it in front of me, opening it. “Are you wanting something sweet or savory?”
I glance down and scan a few of the categories. “These all seem… heavy. I was just thinking earlier that it would be great to have someone to split it with.” I inwardly groan to myself—why the hell did I say that? “I just mean like a half-portion.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You don’t seem like the kind of woman who shies away from a challenge.”
My eyes pop up, landing on his nametag. “Well, Jamie, you would be right about that.” I brave shifting my gaze to his face for his reaction and the man is full-on grinning. And, fuck, why is it so damn attractive? “Why don’t you choose for me?”
“Any allergies?”
“Nope.” I shake my head once.
“I’ll take care of you.” Jamie winks, and I shamelessly check him out as he walks away. He’s got a great ass, and fills out his button-down shirt perfectly.
Why did I think this was a good idea? Oh, right, it’s not, because I’m thinking with my pussy tonight. Flirting with him is dangerous, not only because he works for Isaac, but because he's significantly younger than I thought he’d be when I spotted him earlier; I’m probably a good decade older than him and not exactly ready to enter my cougar era.
I busy myself with my phone while he puts in the order. I really wish I had brought my ereader with me so I don’t come off as a total bitch scrolling. I shouldn’t be worried; it isn’t as if anyone would recognize me. Being Livy’s Chief of Staff, unless someonefollows California politics, I’m basically a nobody—and I prefer it that way.
There are a few other people at the bar: a casually dressed couple laughing at the end, two men in suits who are also scrolling their phones, and a woman who appears to be on the prowl like I am. She’s closer to Jamie’s age and probably has a better chance with him than I do.
Not that I’m still considering actually fucking Jamie…
