Chapter 33
Max
It pained me to say no. There was nothing I wanted more than to turn onto my front and let Hunter see how hard I was.
That’s why he asked, right? It has to be.
He knows I’m less experienced than him. He saw how I hesitated the first time we slept together.
He’s so sensitive towards me that it’s almost as if he’s afraid of corrupting me.
But what if I want to be corrupted?
I guess that’s what he needs to hear me say in so many words.
Because I do want that. If he’s really open to being intimate, then I’m ready.
I know it will blow up everything, but I don’t care.
I need to taste those lips again, feel his skin against mine, get my hands on every part of him when we’re not shuffling around in the dark.
But there’s a time and a place for something I have no doubt is going to shake me to my foundations. Right now, I need to focus.
We get dressed for dinner without sharing the bathroom.
We barely speak. As we head downstairs, I’m actively glad we stopped where we did.
I can only imagine the state that would have left me in, and that’s not what this weekend is about.
My performance in this afternoon’s assessment was better than this morning, but I still feel like I’m playing catch-up. I have to be on form at dinner.
The dining room at Chevening is grand enough to impress but still intimate.
The polished wooden table is lined with candles that cast their glow onto silver cutlery and crystal glasses.
The first person I see is Wrettham. He’s getting a top-up of champagne while lecturing the waiter on what angle he should be pouring it at.
Bloody prat, I hear my mum say. She was a master of the withering insult.
I’m not sure what she would think about me working for a man like Wrettham, but I guess I’ll never have to find out.
Hunter pulls me to one side as he notices a seating plan.
‘Ooh,’ he says.
‘What?’
‘You’ve got Baroness Sharon.’
Nice one. That puts me in the hot seat but in the most fun way possible.
‘Who have you got?’ I ask Hunter.
He looks at me, deadpan. ‘I’m really going to be earning my dinner.’
I look where he’s pointing. He’s been seated next to Wrettham.
I can’t help wondering who came up with this seating plan.
Hunter and I have been placed next to the two most important people in this assessment.
That can’t be a bad thing. Maybe they feel like they know Quentin and Flora fairly well, whereas they want to get to know us better.
Or maybe it’s random, but I plan to make the most of this opportunity, and I assume Hunter will too.
Baroness Sharon arrives just as we’re told to take our seats. She has changed into a tailored jumpsuit with a sequinned blazer. Compared to her usual outfits, this is positively demure.
I settle into my chair and get ready to make small talk. But Baroness Sharon is distracted. She’s sending emails on her phone, which is not surprising for a politician at her level. But her demeanor has changed.
Gone is the spirited woman who greeted us on our arrival. She’s possessed by an anxiety that, despite her best efforts, she’s unable to conceal.
‘Sorry about that, Max,’ she says, putting her phone away. ‘Where were we?’
As the meal is served, I’m surprised by how difficult it is to make conversation.
I was expecting us to be hooting with laughter over my dating disasters and her political enemies.
Instead, it’s all very formal. She asks me about the town I grew up in, and we have a long conversation about the fact that nobody knows where eels breed, but Sharon keeps checking her phone and replying to more emails.
To make matters worse, I have a clear view of Hunter and Wrettham, who against all odds are having a blast, their laughter ringing out across the dining room.
At least Hunter is doing what he came here to do.
But it’s all so awkward between me and Sharon that by the time we reach dessert, I feel like I have nothing to lose and can bring up the subject that has been on my mind all evening.
‘I screwed up the exercise this morning, didn’t I?’
Sharon frowns. ‘I can’t discuss that, I’m afraid.’ She hesitates. ‘But you’re welcome to share how you found it.’
‘I don’t want to make it worse.’
‘You won’t.’
I sigh. ‘I just felt like . . . no one was saying what we were all thinking.’
Sharon takes a sip of her wine. ‘That’s diplomacy. Don’t mention the elephant in the room, because it could be used against you.’
I pause, deep in thought. ‘How do you cope with that?’
Sharon smiles. ‘Badly.’
I raise an eyebrow.
‘It’s true.’ She glances around, then lowers her voice. ‘Max, I’ve fucked up.’
My ears prick up.
‘We’ve been finalising the long form of the trade deal. My finger slipped and the documents got shared with the wrong people. Now I’m being accused of leaking state secrets.’
Damn. That explains her mood.
‘How are you responding?’
‘I can’t decide. Some of my team think we should claim it was a crowdsourcing initiative to get junior staff involved. Others think I should just admit to the fuck-up.’
I pause to consider. ‘Honestly, I’m not sure either of those are going to work.’
Sharon tilts her head, intrigued.
‘The first one is obvious bullshit. People can’t stand it when politicians lie.’
Sharon nods in agreement.
‘The second one is relatable, but it does risk you looking incompetent.’
‘You’re right,’ says Sharon, biting her lip. ‘So what do I do?’
‘Find a middle ground. Honesty with a bit of spin. Say you sent it prematurely because you’re so proud of this deal and so excited to share it with the world.’
Sharon smiles. ‘Do you know what? That is by far the best option I’ve heard.’
She pulls out her phone and fires off an email.
‘Thank you, Max.’
She switches off her phone and puts it in her handbag.
‘Right. Party time!’
That felt good. Not only because I seem to have impressed Sharon, but because it came to me naturally, unlike the knots I was tying myself in during that first assessment trying to be someone I’m not.
After dessert, everyone is shown through to the smoking lounge, as those who didn’t have prime seating spots seize their moment. Wrettham is approached by either Henry Herbert or Herbert Henry, while Priyanka Patel makes a beeline for Baroness Sharon. I race straight over to Hunter.
‘How was Wrettham?’ I ask.
‘He didn’t disappoint,’ says Hunter. ‘He’s convinced I was attacked by a baboon.
He was telling everyone. We spent most of the meal talking about homosexuality in Ancient Greece.
He’s thinking of recreating the first Olympics at the British Embassy, clothing optional.
I can’t tell if that makes him secretly gay or incredibly heterosexual. ’
I fill Hunter in on how it went with Baroness Sharon.
I can see that he’s pleased, but I’m not sure how closely he’s listening.
Even as I talk, I can only focus on what’s unsaid, the spark that reignites every time we look into each other’s eyes.
But I don’t want to leave it unsaid this time.
As I finish my update, I soften my gaze.
‘I have to be honest . . . I was missing you the whole time.’
Hunter is lost for words, stunned in the best way possible.
I waltz off towards the drinks table, grinning. It feels good to be a little reckless after how carefully Hunter and I have been tiptoeing around our mutual attraction.
Thankfully, the original plan of the brilliant Flora Forbes performing some selections from the Greek classics as after-dinner entertainment appears to have been dropped.
Instead, as everyone gets their drinks, DJ Redacta sets up her decks on top of an antique bridge table.
It is no revelation to any of us that DJ Redacta is Baroness Sharon’s club kid persona, for the simple reason that when a Member of Parliament has a club kid persona, it’s unlikely to be much of a secret.
The press have dragged her to hell and back for her partying tendencies, but Sharon doesn’t care.
She pops on some oversized shades, and within minutes, we’re all bopping along to 1990s club classics.
You’d think that a group of civil service job applicants might make for an awkward collective, and you’d be right.
They’re not the smoothest set of movers and shakers I’ve ever seen.
But I only have eyes for Hunter. I know we’re surrounded by people, but it feels like they are no more than a backdrop for a private dance between the two of us.
We move close, brushing against each other, hands grazing waists, hips nudging.
Hunter undoes a button and I catch a flash of pec before looking away.
When I glance back, he’s meeting my eyes and smiling just enough to make me wonder if he knows what he’s doing. My chest tightens.
Now every brush, every glance, feels loaded with meaning. I try to lose myself in the music, but each time I open my eyes, there he is, swaying his hips in a way that makes me weak at the knees. If this lasts much longer, they’ll have to carry me out on a stretcher.
After a while, Sharon leaves her decks and approaches us. She has a drink in her hand that one of her aides has kept topped up throughout the night.
‘Tune!’ Sharon yells.
We both enthusiastically agree, even though we’re at least a decade too young to know what tune she’s talking about.
‘Boys, I don’t care what happens with this job,’ Sharon slurs. ‘Promise me we’ll stay friends.’
I smile. ‘We promise.’
At that moment, the beat drops in the song that’s playing, and DJ Redacta dances off, pumping her fist in the air and spilling her drink everywhere. Her Chief of Staff orders a waiter to mop it up and races after her, tutting.
Hunter and I share a grin.
‘The selection committee are very invested in our relationship,’ I say.
‘Tell me about it,’ says Hunter. ‘It would be a shame to disappoint them.’
He gives me a knowing once-over, biting his lip with a devious glint in his eye.
My stomach lurches and my legs feel like jelly.
What the hell am I meant to say to that?
Flustered, I glance away and catch sight of Quentin and Flora.
They’re at the back of the room, locked in an argument.
Flora is letting rip at him in that way you can only do when you’re several drinks in, while Quentin looks shellshocked.
Hunter notices I’m distracted, and turns to see what I’m looking at.
‘Oh dear,’ he says.
‘It’s all falling apart.’
‘You never know,’ says Hunter. ‘Our argument earlier brought us closer.’
As he looks back at me, I see everything clearly for the first time. There’s no mystery to how he feels about me. We’re on the same page. And Hunter and I both know what we want to happen next.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Let’s get out of here.’