Mr Garcia

Jesus. I take out my phone and call Warren from security.

“Can I have four security guards to the tearoom in the library, please?”

“Sure thing.”

“What do you need security for?” Theo growls.

I exhale heavily, fuck this, I don’t need this shit. “Nothing to worry about, Theo.”

Two minutes later, the security guards walk in. “Yes sir?”

I gesture to Theodore. “Keep him up here until he sobers up. Do not let him downstairs under any circumstances. He needs to sleep it off.”

Their eyes go to Theo who laughs out loud. “I’m not going to bed. I’m going to party.”

I watch Theodore. He’s off his head. “I’m going to get some intervention. He’ll be fine. I’ll be back after the press release.”

"Yes sir.”

I march out of the tearoom and back into the elevator.

“I’m going to have to book him into rehab before the press find out about this. How are we hitting the campaign trail with a coked-up Prime Minister?”

“He’s a train wreck waiting to happen,” Max mutters under his breath.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Don’t I know it.”

I return to my office, collect my speech, and then I head down to the press release. I take my place at the podium in front of the reporters.

“Hello,” I say as I shuffle through my papers.

“Where is Prime Minister Holsworthy?” someone asks.

“He’s unable to make it today. He has a prior engagement.”

“He was scheduled to take this meeting,” the male voice replies.

I glance over to who asked the question. Fuck, Gerhard. The sniffer dogs of all sniffer dogs. Reporter of the fucking year or some shit. If there’s a story, guaranteed, he’ll uncover it.

“Theodore sends his apologies. He had an important call from an overseas colleague he had to take,” I lie.

Gerhard’s eyes hold mine, and I know he doesn’t buy my story for one moment.

I fall into my role and address the press, anyway. “Thank you for coming. We are here to talk about the proposed boarder control changes.” I turn the page of my dossier. “As usual, please hold all questions until the end.”

My intercom buzzes. “Sebastian?”

“Yes, Rebecca,” I reply, typing on my computer.

“Bart is here.”

I hit enter. That means she’s here.

“Send them in.” I rearrange my tie and run my fingers through my hair. There’s a knock at the door. “Come in.”

The door opens and Bart comes into view, smiling broadly. “Hello, Sebastian.”

“Hi.” I stand, and my eyes drift past him to April. She’s wearing a fitted navy dress. Her blonde hair is down in soft curls, tucked behind one ear.

Her eyes find mine, and she gives me a soft smile.

My stomach twists.

“Hi.” She smiles awkwardly.

“Hello.” I put my hands into my pockets and try to hide the star struck look on my face.

Dear fucking God, she’s beautiful.

I gesture to the chairs in a fluster. “Please take a seat,” I tell them.

They both sit down, and April crosses her legs. I glance down and see the muscle in her thighs. I snap my eyes up to her face.

Stop it.

I shuffle the papers on my desk to distract myself. This damn woman turns me into a horny teenager.

“What’s the problem?” Bart asks as he unpacks his laptop.

I glance up at him.

You’re my problem. Get out so I can fuck April on my desk.

I get a vision of her lying naked on my desk, her legs open. She’s all pink and wet and…

My cock throbs, and I hesitate, trying to remember what I am supposed to be talking about.

Focus, fool.

“Theodore is having a few problems and I need to get him into a private facility,” I finally say.

"What kind of problems?"

"Substance abuse."

Bart pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I was. He’s turning up to work high.”

Bart closes his eyes. “For how long?”

“A few weeks. It’s been escalating, and I don’t know how much longer I can cover it up. The staff are beginning to notice.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Bart snaps. “Why haven’t I been told about this earlier? Isn’t my job here for crisis management?”

“It isn’t a crisis.” I glare at him, this man pushes my buttons sometimes. “I do not need you to tell me your position, Bart. I’m telling you now.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Don’t,” I bark, cutting him off.

My eyes float over to April who is watching me from across the desk.

I can't deny that there's an electric current between us.

She moves to the left and a little hint of her lace bra peeks through the material of her dress. I clench my jaw so that I don't look down.

How the hell could any man not want to look down?

"How bad is it?” Bart asks.

"Bad," I reply. "I don't know what I'm going to do with him. We go to election in eight weeks, with the campaigning to start on Monday, and I have a Prime Minister with a major drug problem."