“Yeah well, it’s not your job to give a shit about her either, beyond keeping her out of trouble.”
Harsh. “What the hell is Mitchell up to anyway that he can’t come with me?”
“Wife’s getting an operation. He’ll be taking some time off while she recovers but it won’t be long. Some outpatient procedure. Then he’ll be on part-time duty for the remainder of the campaign,” Byron explained.
Lucky bastard.
“Getting her out of here is the right thing, Russell. Trust me on this. We don’t need any trouble. It’s not looking good right now, you know. We’ll have a new regime in here come January, I feel it in my gut.” Byron shook his head. “In the meanwhile, we need to make them happy. And Hewitt will be happiest when his daughter’s out of his hair.”
“She’s not the pain in the ass he makes her out to be,” Mason muttered. Why the hell he couldn’t stop defending Blake, he didn’t know.
“Not according to her father.” Byron jabbed a finger close to Mason’s chest. “You need to get your shit together and get her the hell out of here.”
Right. He hadn’t had a day off in a week and could really use a break. He wondered if he even had any friends anymore beyond work acquaintances. It had been a long time since he’d done something socially, let alone go out on an actual date. Women had become a thing of the past and not necessarily by choice.
“Can’t send anyone else with me?” he asked hopefully.
“Nope, it’s just you.”
Having Jerry—hell, anyone with him would’ve been the buffer he needed between Blake. The idea of going it alone scared the hell out of him.
He wasn’t sure he could trust himself. That was a hard fact to take.
“Don’t fall for her flirtation tactics either. That’s what sent the other guy packing. And I don’t think you’re willing to lose your job over a hot piece of ass. Am I right?”
Anger surged through Mason and he clenched his fists at his sides. It was one thing to irritate his superior. It was another thing entirely to be tempted to punch his face in.
He needed to get a grip.
“That’s the biggest problem with Blake Hewitt. She’s beautiful and sexy and it’s like she doesn’t even know it,” Byron continued, not even noticing the dark look on Mason’s face. “Men look at her and immediately picture undressing her. She’s not necessarily the wholesome, good Republican daughter image Hewitt wants to portray, no matter how hard he tries. She questions his political party’s issues despite working for him on the campaign trail. Most of his staff wishes Hewitt would’ve canned her a long time ago.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Byron said grimly. “I’ll talk to Mitchell. Let him know you need the rest of the afternoon off to pack and handle personal matters. He’ll cover for you. It’s an easy detail since Blake is confined to her condo at the moment. We’re flying the two of you out in the morning.”
“How long will we be staying?” He knew, but needed to hear it again. Hear his torturous sentence slapped down upon him like some sort of criminal being sent off to prison.
“Three weeks, tops. Right up to the election. Not like you have plans, right? You knew it would be busy this time of year.”
Of course, he didn’t have plans. His life had become nothing but his job. But spending a solid twenty-one days with Blake all alone?
He didn’t know if he could take it.
Chapter Three
“I bet you’re not happy being here with me.” Blake watched Mason carefully, curious to see his reaction.
She, on the other hand, was ecstatic he was the agent accompanying her on this new adventure. So ecstatic, she’d started to form a plan since the moment she learned he was coming with her during her banishment to the family cabin.
He shrugged, didn’t offer a reply. Merely took her suitcases from the trunk of the rental car and wheeled them into the cabin. She followed him, letting her gaze linger on his backside. A shame she couldn’t see it since his ass was covered by his suit jacket.
And didn’t he stick out like a sore thumb on the island? Everyone around here dressed country casual and she’d come accordingly. Chunky knit ivory sweater and tight dark rinsed jeans tucked into knee high black boots, she certainly fit in better than he did.
She glanced down at herself and grimaced. Rich country casual was more the look she sported. Something she needed to work on. And Mason looked like exactly what he was. A Secret Service agent arrived on island to serve and protect.
“Maybe you want to be back in DC? The election is almost over. Everything’s pretty exciting right now.” All she wanted was a reaction. A clue that maybe, just maybe he was happy to be with her.
She was certainly glad to be back on the island, where she could gain some peace and quiet, maybe indulge in her painting. She’d converted one of the bedrooms in the main cabin into a studio a couple of years ago just for it.