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Yes, Prime Minister

By:Aria Cole

ONE

Juliette


“Juliette!” my best friend hissed, waving me over to her desk.

“What’s up? I have to get this file down to the PM’s office—”

“Did you see the shot of the prime minister’s ass that’s gone viral?” Jordan grinned up at me triumphantly. No way could I turn away after words like that.

“What?” I leaned over her shoulder, eyes on the screen.

And sure enough, there it was.

A close-up of the prime minister of Canada’s very toned, very round ass.

“He must work out.” Jordan zoomed in on the picture of his derriere, fine dress slacks stretching across the taut muscle as he stood poised to step onstage to give a speech. “I mean, look at that curve…” She tilted her head. “I want a bite.”

“Oh my God.” Who didn’t? “I’m never going to scrub this from my mind. What am I going to do the next time I’m stuck in the elevator with him?”

“Please, he takes the private elevator most of the time. I think you’re safe.” Jordan darkened the screen on her phone then tucked it away in her bag.

“Yeah, but I’m not good at hiding what’s on my mind. He’ll know I’ve seen the picture. I’ll turn tomato red!”

“He’ll know everyone’s seen that picture. But he does like to come down here once in a while, and you do blush over the slightest thing.” She tapped one long nail on her teeth. “You’re fucked.”

I shot her a death glare before spinning and waving her off. I’d been working here for six weeks and harbored a crush on the prime minister the entire time, just like every other girl who worked in this building. But I had to deliver this file then get back to analyzing the poll numbers on the speech he had given to a group of veterans yesterday. The reception so far was overwhelmingly good, but every so often someone complained that the PM was out of touch with the people or some other political buzz-phrase. Overall, the PM’s approval ratings were through the roof. He was young, good-looking, sophisticated, and well-spoken, and to top it all off, pretty much Canadian royalty. His father had been prime minister back in the day too. The guy had been born with charm in his blood, the political darling of his generation.

And here I was, only hired a couple months ago, fresh out of university and thrilled to be offered even a low-level position on the prime minister’s staff.

The fact that he was roguishly handsome made working under him that much harder. Just like every other red-blooded woman on the planet, I was drawn to the chiseled bone structure, the warm, compassionate eyes, and the charming, slightly mischievous smile of our nation’s prime minister, Bryce Gallagher.

I sighed, tucking the file under my arm, and punched the button for the elevator that would whir me upstairs to the PM’s office.

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open, and I stepped in without once raising my eyes from the floor.

Big mistake.

The biggest.

Also, maybe the best.

I spun, punched the button for the top floor, then noticed a pair of shiny, fine leather shoes just at the edge of my vision.

A throat cleared a moment later.

The doors closed, and I raised my eyes, swallowing painfully as I locked eyes with the man of the hour, Bryce Gallagher.

“Good afternoon, Prime Minister.” The words fell from my lips on instinct.

He nodded, grin twitching to one side. His gaze hung on mine for impossibly long beats, the air sucked straight out of the elevator, leaving my lungs fighting for oxygen. Was it hot in here? Suddenly, prickles were crawling up my neck and heating my palms.

One cool eyebrow rose before his eyes flicked down to the file tucked under my arm. “That for me?”

I clutched the file on instinct, heat burning up my neck and causing my ears to flame. “Yessss.”

Shit, I was pretty sure I hadn't meant for that one little word to come out so…needy sounding.

His grin deepened then, fingers dusting mine as he pulled the now slightly wrinkled file from my hands.

“Thanks for the delivery.” His words chugged like honey through my veins, slow, sticky, so sweet.

“Anytime,” I replied, mind stretching to visualize something else, anything else but the fine, round cut of his ass in those pants.

“Not up for anything more than one-word answers?” His lips turned up, his eyes twinkling as he teased me.

Oh Jesus, the prime minister was teasing me as we stood entirely too close in an elevator.

What to say? What on earth could I say? This man was everything I wasn’t: cultured, refined, the smartest human I was pretty sure had ever walked the planet, and undeniably gorgeous. Oh, and fit. The pull of his jacket across the broad expanse of his shoulders right now proved it.

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