Chapter 10 Isaac
Isaac
With mere hours left before we make the big announcement, my assistant pings me on the office messaging app.
Rhonda
Joyce has confirmed with all media, and we’re set to begin on time. James will be there to meet with you thirty minutes prior to go over everything.
Wonderful. Thank you, Rhonda.
Olivia probably won’t be watching, but I’ll be sure to send her a link once it’s posted online.
I refuse to steal her thunder, even if we can’t officially announce her attendance yet.
If it wasn’t for Livy, we wouldn’t be meeting here to address food insecurity on the international level.
Perhaps it’s fate—or at least I like to think it is.
The pieces have fallen into place a little too easily.
Another message appears from Rhonda.
Also, your mother called. She said you’re avoiding her and wants to ensure you’ll be there for Christmas. I assured her you’re just busy with an upcoming international event and would call her later today.
I’ll take care of it.
Fuck. I’m absolutely avoiding her, but let Rhonda know that I will call shortly. I give it ten minutes before dialing, and Mom picks up on the second ring with a huff, “I know you’re busy, but you need to make time for family.”
“Sorry, I’ve been swamped this week dealing with—”
“Olivia.”
My heart leaps into my damn throat at hearing her name. “Not exactly. After the videos of her surfaced, Taylor and Vasileiou reached out to discuss an international summit here early next year. We’re announcing today.”
“Isaac,” she snaps, “she’s always been the one that got away. You’re not concocting this whole event just to see her again, are you?”
“It wasn’t my idea.”
“Sure it wasn’t.” Mom lets out a full laugh, and while it’s genuine, there’s also a hint of sadness in it. “You’re trying to get her back, aren’t you?”
I take a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. “Technically, yes, but this summit is important. If it just so happens that I get Olivia back, what’s the harm?”
“I raised you better than this! Women have to overcome so many hurdles in politics, and you could completely destroy her career.”
“I’d never do anything to hurt her,” I growl, then clear my throat. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to get going. I’ll see you for Christmas.”
“All right,” Mom sighs.
“Love you.”
“I love you too.”
We hang up, and as I’m reviewing notes for potential legislation, my phone vibrates on my desk. I glance over, and as I’m about to leave it, I do a double take at the message preview.
Livy
It did indeed travel well. Thank you for lunch, but I thought we agreed to no gifts.
I should change her name, but so long as we keep our conversations innocent, there’s no reason to swap it out for a ridiculous pseudonym. But, to be safe, I remove her last name.
Lunch isn’t a gift, and it was technically for your Chief of Staff.
Semantics.
What are you doing for dinner tonight?
You are NOT buying me dinner!
Well, if you don’t want it to be a date, you can buy your own dinner, and I’ll buy mine. We’ll just so happen to be eating the same thing when you call me later.
You know I don’t call boys.
Grinning ear to ear like a fucking idiot, I sit back in my chair as I type out my reply.
Oh, you’ll definitely be calling me.
And why is that exactly?
I told you last night, you’ll see.
How does Italian sound?
Rewind, sir. I never agreed to dinner! And I’m not calling you.
That little word—sir—has my cock twitching in my slacks.
I’ve never been one to enjoy any sort of honorifics, but coming from her, it’s different.
After she teasingly called me Daddy Isaac last night, it took everything in me to not fist my cock in the shower this morning as I replayed it in my head.
Ignoring her comment, I take a deep breath and adjust myself before responding.
Order a side salad or soup, whatever pasta sounds good, and a slice of tiramisu. I’ll talk to you later, Livy.
I quickly exit out of the text app to avoid read receipts and make my way to the press awaiting my announcement.
After meeting with James and a few others from the communications team, I approach the podium, there are more outlets than usual, some without professional cameras. My guess is my social media manager has invited a few influencers or smaller newspapers. The more the merrier.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” I begin.
“This will be a brief announcement. As many of you have seen, the newly-elected Governor of California is making waves, bringing attention to something we here in Canada have been working to address for a long time. We’ve made major strides in battling food insecurity in school-aged children, but we need to do more.
Canada will be hosting a summit here in Ottawa early next year, including experts to discuss the issue on an international level.
I’d like to personally thank Governor-elect Harris for shining light on the matter.
While she had no intention of making service to her local community public, I’m grateful that attention was brought to the issue.
At the proposed summit, we’ll have an opportunity to meet with fellow leaders about a massive deficit many face daily.
Food is a basic necessity, and no one here in Canada should go without.
We’ll be making informed, data-driven decisions regarding policy once we’ve met with the experts.
It’s always assumed that social media is a dark place, but thanks to Ms. Harris, I can confidently say the world watching what unfolded was the best thing for Canada and our neighbors. ”
“The Prime Minister will now take questions,” Joyce announces, calling on a woman in a navy suit.
“Thank you. Christina Jones with News 7. Do you have any comment on your previous relationship with Governor-elect Harris?”
“Anyone with access to the internet could find we briefly dated in college. Ms. Harris is a remarkable woman, but we do not currently have a romantic relationship.” Saying it out loud is like a stab to my gut. If it were up to me, she’d be by my side as my wife while we announced this together.
“Follow-up. Will she be in attendance at this proposed summit?”
“We intend to extend an official invitation to Ms. Harris and her team in the coming months once she’s been sworn in,” I reply as succinctly as possible, trying to keep my emotions at bay.
The press would’ve figured out that we dated in college, and Livy deserved the credit—it’s truly the most logical response to the questions this evening.
There are no less than ten additional questions about the logistics and guest list of the conference, and thankfully Joyce can sense when we need to pull the plug.
We leave the press pool, and Joyce passes me notes to review, in addition to an interview schedule for the next few days.
I wrap up a few things in my office, and once I’m home, I finally check my phone, finding a missed call from my favorite person.
I quickly return it, loving how it only rings once before Livy curtly answers, “Mr. Prime Minister, what the hell was that?”
“Good evening, Ms. Harris.” A wide grin tilts my lips as I kick off my shoes. “I told you that you’d call. Has your dinner arrived? Mine should be here shortly.”
“Answer the question, Isaac,” she huffs, and there’s a rustling in the background.
“What are you upset about? Me giving you credit or admitting you and I were together?”
Livy sighs, taking several seconds before replying, “Neither.”
“And dinner?”
“Just arrived.”
“That’s my girl.” My mild praise earns me a small chuckle. “You better be eating more than a fistful of almonds for dinner.”
“I am. I ordered out from one of my favorite restaurants—Divine. It’s not an Italian restaurant, but they make an incredible Alfredo sauce, so I ordered it with chicken. What did you get?”
“Same, but instead of chicken, I ordered salmon.” Opening up the to-go bag, I pull out a serving of pasta and the fish.
“In the pasta?”
“No.” Propping the phone onto the counter, I click the video button.
When she answers, I struggle to breathe; she’s so fucking beautiful.
Same bright brown eyes and little wrinkles that form at the edge of them when she smiles.
I’d give anything to reach through the phone and pull her into my arms. “See. Side salad, salmon, and a penne with Alfredo.” I adjust my glasses, then lift my dinner until it’s in view.
“Damn, that’s hot.” Olivia covers her face, squealing, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
I wait for her to glance up before I make a show of adjusting my glasses again. “The food or the glasses?” She bites her lip to hide her smile, looking away from the phone for a moment. Again, I wait for her attention. Without second thought, I admit, “I miss you, Livy.”
Sadness etches into her features, but she quickly blinks it away. “I miss you too, which is why I’m not sure if we can be friends.”
“Why not?” My brows pinch as I busy myself plating my dinner.
“Do you remember the first day we met?”
“Have a bite to eat, and I’ll tell you what I remember,” I counter.
She huffs a small laugh to herself with a roll of her eyes, popping the lid off her to-go container. Stabbing a piece of chicken, she brings the fork to her mouth, slowly dragging it out with an exaggerated moan.
“Good girl.” Her cheeks flush, just like they used to. It’s always been so easy to get her flustered. “I remember walking into a coffee shop, seeing a girl I’d been obsessed with for a few semesters, and she tried to steal my drink.”
Covering her mouth, she chortles as she finishes chewing, then insists, “I didn’t steal your drink; you offered it. But what I was alluding to is how you never wanted to be my friend, and I never wanted you to be either… I think we need wine for this.”
“Good call.”
We both leave our phones to retrieve our glasses and wine.
When I return, she has a white that appears to be Chardonnay.
As I pop my cork, she does the same with her mechanical wine opener, but instead of pouring hers into a glass, she drinks straight from the bottle.
After a few gulps, she sets it down, bracing herself on the kitchen counter and taking a few deep breaths.
“I don’t want to be friends," she mutters quietly, and I pretend I didn’t hear her, slowly pouring my Pinot Grigio into my stemless wine glass. “Isaac.” At hearing my name, my eyes immediately find hers through the screen. “I don’t think I can do this.”
Yet again, I’ve likely pushed for too much, too soon, but I have to know where her head is at. “If I wasn’t here, you weren’t there, I wasn’t Prime Minister, and you weren’t Governor… would you give me a second chance?”
“Yes.” Her whispered word doesn’t hold an ounce of hesitation. “That’s why I don’t think I can be your friend.”
“You’re correct that we were never friends, but since I can’t be anything more right now, will you give me a chance to try?”
In truth, I’d marry her tomorrow if I knew she’d say yes. I never should’ve left New York and have no idea how I’ll be able to repair this, but there has to be a way. I just need time to win her back.
Livy chews on her lip, then replies, “On one condition.”
“And what’s that?”
“You can’t wear those sexy-as-fuck glasses when we’re talking.”
I huff a small laugh, then slide them off, setting them aside. “You have a deal.”