Free True North (Compass series Book 4) by Tamsen Parker Page A

last glance at me, performs this flirty half-twirl that calls attention to exactly how short her skirt is, and then flounces into the room, shutting the door after her.
    I stand there, dumbfounded, until Rey clears his throat.
    “I really do apologize about that. She’s never here on Tuesdays. Ever.”
    “But she does come here sometimes?”
    He gives me that slightly exasperated look that I hate, the one that doesn’t quite say Do the math, dumbass . But close. Too close.
    “Yeah, right. Need-to-know and I don’t need to know.”
    “How would you feel if your positions were reversed?” He’s trying to get me to think rationally, but that’s a stupid way to put it. I’d want him to help her track me down, give her access to my daily schedule so she could run into me as much as possible, give her a key to my house—our house—so she’d be there when I got home from work. Yes, it had been painful to see her, but I want to do it again and again.
    I grunt because I can’t say that. “But you knew—”
    “Yes. And I didn’t mention you to her. At some point I would’ve because I wanted to avoid this.” His elegant hand flails between us, the only indication left that he’s flustered by what happened. “But, yes, I know her. And I know you’re her ex-husband.”
    An insecure, desperate part of me claws at my throat. What else did she say? How does she think of me? If she thinks of me at all? But I know that’s not allowed. I’ll make myself look bad, like someone who can’t be trusted, if I pursue it. So I let it drop, for now.
    “Wasn’t there some rope thing you wanted me to see?”
    Not that I care, but I need a distraction and this will be as good as any. Rey nods and gestures down the hall. “Follow me.”
    *
    Becky’s done a bang-up job and gotten me in to see Senator Johnson before he goes back to Texas at the end of this week. At least if this fails, I won’t have to see his smug-ass face around in the depressing aftermath. If the world were a perfect place, Johnson would give me a big ol’ yes in the here and now, but I know that’s unlikely. Even if he’s going to agree in the end, he likes to torture people. Or, as he puts it, consider his options .
    Well, he can consider my face because I made the trip to his offices when I didn’t have to. Give a little, get a little. I can play that game if it’ll get me his goddamn vote. To be sickeningly honest, I’d do anything for it, but to let him know that would be to hand over all my leverage and that, I’m not prepared to do. So I sit at the conference table, my own staffers flanking me, and wait for Johnson to arrive.
    I can hear his booming voice when he’s outside the thick wood door, but honestly it sounds like he’s right next to my ear. I know he’s from Texas, but does the man have to be big and blustery about everything?
    When he walks in, though, I can tell the answer is yes. He’s wearing a Stetson for god’s sake, with heeled leather boots and a bolo tie. I try not to prejudge, but come on. Could the guy be any more Texas? All he needs is a gun tucked in a holster, but thankfully those aren’t allowed in the Senate office buildings. We’d probably have way more duels if they were.
    He settles his bulk on the other side of the conference table, a young guy coming in and planting himself beside him. Unlike his boss, Junior’s wearing a Washington uniform, and I wonder if he’s from Texas at all. But when Johnson introduces him as Rusty Winston, it’s clear he’s from back home but dresses the part of a DC staffer.
    “If you don’t mind, we’ll wait another minute. Jose’s whizbang with this policy stuff, and he’s running a little behind. You know how it is.”
    I do—staffers are constantly on the move—but that doesn’t curb my annoyance much. “Look, Senator. You may be my first stop, but you’re not my last. We’ve got half an hour to make this conversation happen and then—”
    My scolding’s cut off