Breaking Through. AM Hartnett

in the fridge-freezer so it would be cold when she got home.

      You’re turning into an old woman, she told herself as she watched the buttons above the elevator light up with its descent.

      6 … 5 … 4 …

      Every evening when she logged out, Miranda’s thoughts were consumed with the mundane. She wanted to flop down on the sofa, wriggle out of her bra and just turn into a vegetable in front of the TV.

      She’d just received an ‘OK’ from Juliet when the elevator doors slid open.

      It was like he’d performed a magic trick. His gaze was on her as soon as he was revealed to her, and that smirk was still on his face.

      Miranda pressed her lips together and took a deep breath through her nose. She wanted to be snotty and say she’d wait for the next one, but she was too stubborn. She was in danger of missing her bus, and besides, she had every right to that elevator.

      Miranda stepped forward as the doors began to shut. He leaned over and held them open, his expression as patient as it was smug.

      ‘Thank you,’ she told him in a tone that conveyed no gratitude as she stepped inside. She stared at the number panel, the lobby button already lit up, and could feel his amusement radiating throughout the car.

      One floor later, the man spoke.

      ‘I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.’

      Miranda snorted. ‘I’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m not the one who was getting my dick sucked in the toilet.’

      He laughed, and Miranda’s temper cranked up another notch. She twisted her fingers around the strap of her bag and swore that if she missed the bus, she would still take her damn bra off – and strangle him with it.

      ‘Regardless, I’m sorry.’

      She rolled her eyes. ‘I highly doubt that. You looked pretty pleased with yourself.’

      ‘Well, truth be told, I am. It’s been years since I did anything like that. It’s pretty sweet to know I can still –’

      ‘Excuse me –’ Miranda held her hands up in front of her and turned to him ‘– at what point did I give you the impression I wanted to hear any of this?’

      ‘I’m just trying to distract you from the mental picture of my hard dick.’

      Out of nowhere, his remark struck her funny bone. She turned away quickly before her smile could show, and then scowled so hard to banish it that her eyes crossed.

      The elevator reached the lobby, and Miranda hitched her bag onto her shoulder again as the door opened.

      ‘Jesus, buddy, at least blow your load on the fifth floor next time,’ she said as she scuttled to step out ahead of him.

      She took one last glance back as she threw open the glass doors leading onto the street. The man was trailing behind her, his smile a mile wide on his face and his shoulders shaking with his laughter.

       Chapter One

      It’s not that the blowjob he’d gotten the evening before was that memorable, but as Simon Reeve settled down across from Michael Roe it was those lips wrapped around his erection that came to the forefront of his mind.

      He recalled a conversation he’d once had while strolling down Bishop Street in Montréal almost twenty years ago. He’d been drunk, as had been his friends Jacques, Ryan and Nathan, and as they walked, Nathan had remarked philosophically that he wished there was a way he could press PAUSE on the best blowjobs.

      ‘For real, my friend, think about it,’ Ryan had slurred in French while Simon laughed and hoped his bladder held until they made it to the dorm room Ryan and Nathan shared. ‘Think about it: you’ve got a mouth like a Hoover wrapped around your dick, and you’re thinking to yourself, “This girl sucks like if she stops, God will kill a bunny rabbit or some shit.” No, no, listen. Listen. Stop laughing. Imagine if you could just press PAUSE right there and save the blowjob for when you really need it, like the middle of an exam when you need a mini-vacation to clear your head.’

      That’s how Simon felt now as Roe ignored him while finishing his telephone conversation.

      He was about to get his ass chewed, or at least gnawed. Once he left this office and got on the elevator and called Roe a dirty fucker in his head, he could use the kind of oral attention he’d received the day before.

      Vanessa was back in Ottawa, otherwise he’d go for seconds in that waterfront hotel room she’d tried to coax him to the night before. So now all he was left with was his hand and the memory of flooding the communications staffer’s mouth.

      Another woman sprang to the forefront of Simon’s thoughts, and he disguised his laugh as a cough into his hand.

      The pixie with the foul mouth.

      When he’d first caught her watching, he’d entertained the momentary notion that he was about to have a Penthouse moment with two women in the ladies’ room. He’d found their brief exchange afterwards far more entertaining than he should have. In fact, razzing her on the elevator later had been almost as satisfying as the blowjob.

      He hoped he ran into her again, even if it was just to give her another pinch and watch her try to stop the corners of her mouth betraying her desire to either laugh or give him hell. These days he needed all the entertainment he could get.

      Roe disconnected, and Simon quickly wiped the amusement from his face.

      ‘Simon,’ Roe said.

      His tone was light and airy, but anyone who spent any amount of time with Roe knew better. When Simon had first taken the job, Roe’s speechwriter had warned him that the Member of Parliament for Halifax was like a Komodo dragon. He’d snap and retreat, snap and retreat, waiting for his poison to take effect before he went for the guts.

      Simon settled back in his seat and tried to appear free and easy. He wasn’t about to let Roe think otherwise for a single second.

      He offered Roe a wide smile that was about as genuine as a dollar-store diamond ring. ‘Nice view, Michael.’

      Roe glanced back at the white wall of fog that obscured the harbour view. ‘I draw the goddamn curtains when the sun is shining. I can’t stand looking out at all the kitsch running up and down the waterfront. Goddamn tour buses.’

      ‘I take it you don’t have your heart set on Minister of State or Heritage.’

      ‘I won’t need an appointment if you do your job. I’ll be making the appointments.’ Roe folded his hands across his barrel chest.

      Michael Roe was a trim man with dark hair that formed a widow’s peak above bold black brows, with a confident face that was made for campaign material. Simon imagined that Roe sometimes stood in front of the mirror and practised it, even in the rear-view at stoplights. He had to; in the time Simon had been acquainted with Roe, he’d become convinced that the man wasn’t capable of smiling naturally.

      ‘I have to say, you’re not living up to the reputation that preceded you … or maybe you are.’

      He watched Simon carefully in the aftermath of his statement.

      Snap and retreat.

      Simon’s smile widened, even as the toxins began to sting in his veins.

      ‘I’m on the phone all day.’

      ‘I could say the same about my teenage daughter. Are you honestly going to sit here and tell me you have nothing on Matthew Murray?’

      ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying,’

      Murray, Roe’s rival for the party leadership, might as well have been incubated in a lab and released upon the political