Missed Communication (First Loves and Second Chances #2)

Chapter 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 my kryptonite. 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 someone follows 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…

Okay, maybe I am.

Tonight is my only night solo, since our social media manager, Tracy, will be rooming with me for the rest of the summit starting tomorrow.

Even if it doesn’t work out with the sinfully handsome bartender, worst case, I packed my trusty vibrator for the trip.

At some point I’ll just tell Tracy to leave me alone for an hour while I fuck myself, pretending it’s Jamie’s face between my legs.

He’s too pretty to not use as masturbation inspiration.

As he makes his way back over, the woman to my right sits up taller, but he doesn’t so much as glance over at her as he prepares my drink. While he shoots the soda into the ice-filled glass, his eyes meet mine for a moment, and I swear there’s a glint of mischief in them.

“Are you ready for the summit?” he asks coyly.

An idea strikes me—I can pretend to be a tourist, give a fake name, and he won’t be the wiser until the morning. I can probably blend in with the rest of the attendees and avoid him for the better part of the conference. A night with only a few strings attached could be fun.

“Oh, I’m not here for the summit,” I finally reply as he slides the drink to me.

“You’re not Aubrey Raine?”

My heart skips a beat and I suck in a breath. So much for my plan to stay anonymous…

“You work for Olivia Harris, right?”

“How did you—”

“I do my research,” he answers before I can finish my question.

Since the cat is out of the bag, I may as well admit I know who his boss is as well and find out what his deal is. Why on earth is he on that side of the bar tonight? Does Isaac not pay a living wage? Also, I don’t recall ever talking to a Jamie on Isaac’s staff. Maybe he’s new?

“And you work for the Prime Minister,” I retort, sipping my drink.

He begins loading a small dishwasher and explains, “I know what you’re thinking.”

“No, you don’t. Or I guess maybe you do. Why are you working here if you also work for Isaac?”

He lightly bites his lip to stifle a soft laugh that escapes anyway. “If you must know, I’m saving up to travel more and to eventually move to California. And, no, Isaac doesn’t know I work here.”

“California? Whereabouts?” Please do not say Sacramento.

“Probably the Bay Area.”

“Then you definitely need the second job. It’s quite expensive out there.” I take a sip of my drink, and the bite of the ginger mixed with cherry is tastier than I thought it would be. “So, how are you going to hide your moonlighting gig from one of the most powerful men in the world?”

“It’s not that I’m hiding it, I’m just not advertising it.

But I suggested this location for the summit during a planning meeting, since I can vouch for the staff and amenities.

I only have two more shifts this week, so there’s a good chance he won’t notice if I’m not attending a few of the evening dinners planned. ”

“Are you an intern or…?”

“No,” he chuckles, bracing himself on the counter. “I’m the communications manager, specifically social media.”

“Fuck, that was incredibly rude of me.” It finally clicks—Jamie is James Wilson…

and I just implied he’s a fucking intern.

Though our conversations have been brief, I’ve spoken to him on the phone a few times, and he’s been working with Tracy on social media marketing for the summit. “I’m sorry. I’m such an asshole.”

“Not at all.” Thankfully, he doesn’t appear offended; his perpetual smile hasn’t faltered. “It’s okay. It’ll be our little secret.”

Pushing off the bar, he makes his way to the end to check on the couple, still ignoring the hot woman to my right.

He glances back at me, and I quickly look away, hating how I was caught staring.

I’m never this flustered talking to a man, or anyone for that matter.

As Chief of Staff to one of the most influential women in America, I speak to world leaders daily without an ounce of nervousness.

So why the hell can’t I hold a normal conversation with this man? And why is my heart racing?

Probably because I’m horny as hell and my pussy is practically fluttering from just looking at him.

Jamie isn’t my usual type. I normally date men older than me with a stacked portfolio and who rely on an assistant to ensure I get flowers for my birthday. He’s so much younger than me, it should be a red flag, and I should be one for him.

When I was his age, I did what any New York socialite did—married a rich man with a flexible prenup.

I was able to walk away with half of everything he owned, simply because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.

But being a millionaire is only fun and games until you realize that while money makes the world go round, it can’t buy love or a family.

Well, it technically can, except those means are either frowned upon or downright illegal.

Hard pass. So, I gave up waiting for Prince Charming to settle down and have a family, and decided to become a mother on my own.

Now here I am, in my mid-thirties, divorced, and pumped full of so many hormones for my IVF treatment that if I don’t have a fat cock inside me soon, I’m confident I’ll end up mauling Jamie or some other unassuming conference attendee.

While Jamie seems to be flirting with me, I’m not going to risk pushing for anything.

He could just be a friendly guy; part of his job description.

If it ever got back to Isaac or Olivia that I came onto someone on his staff, I would not only lose my dignity, but there’s a chance I could lose my job.

As fun as the idea initially was to have a fling with a hot Canadian I’ll never see after this week, perhaps there are better options to satiate my libido.

To be fair, neither Isaac or Livy should judge me.

We all went to college together, and these past few months have been filled with me putting out fires while Isaac tries to not-so-subtly woo my best friend.

I can’t say I blame her for encouraging it; he’s incredibly attractive with his slutty little glasses.

They can deny it all they want that nothing has happened, but I’m ninety-percent sure they’re at least having phone sex.

Livy has been way too chipper around the office since we returned from D.C.

for President Taylor’s inauguration a few months ago.

Sadly, even though I’m rooting for it, I don’t see a happily ever after in their future any time soon.

He’s the Prime Minister, and Livy is the Governor of California.

How the hell would that ever work? News flash: it doesn’t.

Just like how Jamie and I shouldn’t flirt right now.

I open my dating app and switch my location to Ottawa, then swap the age range to 25-40. In less than a minute, it pings that there’s a potential match nearby. Turns out today is my lucky day, after all. I click on it, but at spotting the first name and photo, I quickly swipe out of the app.

So much for it being my lucky day.