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"Man, I’m all for a good curry. The spicier, the better." JJ smirks.
I look at the three of them. "I’m definitely missing something aren’t I?"
"Of course, not. You’ll know when it’s time for an exceptional curry. Nothing like getting your own recipe right for it, too." JJ’s grin widens.
"What are you guys talking—"
The door opens and Lord Alan walks in. "Gentlemen, Minister." He nods his head in the direction of the assembled men.
JJ, Michael and Sinclair exchange glances, then as one, rise to their feet. "We were on our way out." Sinclair yawns, then shakes his head as if to clear it. He looks like he’s about to keel over any moment.
JJ walks over and shakes Lord Alan’s hand. "Good seeing you here. I’ll leave the Minister in your capable hands."
He heads toward the door, when it opens again and Zara steps in. Her gaze arrows straight to mine, and her face pales. She opens her mouth, then shakes her head. She glances at Lord Alan, then at me, and understanding dawns on her features.
JJ dips his chin in Zara’s direction, then walks out. Sinclair and Michael, too, shake Lord Alan’s hand. They nod toward Zara before they follow JJ out.
"Good chat, Hunter, keep me posted how things develop." Declan signs off.
Lord Alan waddles over and lowers his bulk into one of the seats facing me. He waves his hand in Zara’s direction, "I do believe the two of you have met?"
Zara’s gaze narrows. "I believe we may have met on one or two occasions." She squares her shoulders and walks into the room.
"Ms. Chopra, a pleasure." I tilt my head.
She pauses next to the empty chair opposite me and next to Lord Alan. "Mr. Whittington." She jerks her chin.
"Please take a seat."
"I’m not sure I’ll be here long enough for that."
"Oh?" I cross my arms over my chest.
"I plan to be out of here as soon I have a word with Lord Alan." She turns to the older man. "I’m not sure I’m the right person for this project."
Lord Alan places his elbows on the arms of his seat, then locks his palms under his chin. "So, you’re going to let your ego get in the way of managing a campaign that’s going to put a breakthrough candidate in Downing Street?"
She swallows. "I’m not right for this role."
Lord Alan barks out a laugh. "I don’t mentor fools, nor losers. And you are neither of the two. You’re not the type to give up without a fight, Zara, so what’s making you do so now?"
"I’m not giving up," Zara splutters.
"Aren’t you?" Lord Alan lowers his arms to his sides.
"Of course, not. It’s just, I don’t want to work with him." She stabs her thumb in my direction.
I drag my thumb under my lower lip. "I’m afraid, I have to admit, the two of us are incompatible."
"Or maybe you haven’t dug deep enough to find common ground." Lord Alan glowers in my direction. "We need you in number ten, Whittington. And you" —he jerks his chin in Zara’s direction— "we need your brains, madam, and your spin doctor skills, not to mention your acumen in getting the media to dance to your tune."
Zara flushes. "You give me too much credit, Lord Alan."
"Oh, take the praise when it’s due."
She draws herself up to her full height. "You’re right. I’m damn good at what I do. There’s no one better placed than me to run the Minister’s PR campaign. Without me, he may as well give up any hope he has of closing in on the leadership position."
"Now, hold on a second—"
