“Do you think Chivington would make a good PM?” asked Milo. “I mean, he’s nice to look at, so there is that.”
“Not really my type, Milo.”
Milo snorted, but also felt his face heat. A couple of years ago, he’d accidentally walked in on Patrick with his husband on his knees. Milo had heard the word “daddy” and couldn’t get out of there quick enough. That had been an embarrassingconversation, as his boss had apologised and then explained he had a daddy-boy relationship with his husband. He’d heard about it, but had never seen the dynamic before. He hadn’t elaborated on how it worked for them, and Milo was grateful for that. Sadly, Patrick’s husband had died not long after, and his boss hadn’t been himself for a while.
“Besides,” said Patrick. “The only other option would be Hargreaves.”
“You can’t be serious. Not after what he did. Who would vote for him?”
“You’d be surprised, Milo. My source is telling me he still has every intention of standing. If it goes to a party vote, then he’s the favourite.”
“There’s no way that transphobic arsehole could be in charge of our country,” Milo snapped.
“I agree, although that’s between us and these four walls. Outside, I have to be the impartial journalist, as do you.”
“I’m not a journalist.”
“I still don’t know why, Milo. Your writing is brilliant.”
He felt his face heat again. “Thank you, but I don’t think you’d be able to cope without me as your PA.”
Patrick chuckled. “Very true. Well, you know to talk to me if you change your mind. The one thing I would never do is hold someone back in their career. Pull me what you can on the research by the end of the day. We know it’s happening, even if we can’t prove it yet, but I want to know what the public sentiment is currently.”
Milo nodded. He then ran through Patrick’s schedule and explained how he’d moved things around to accommodate the urgent meetings he’d had to deal with this morning. After they were done, Milo went back to his desk, which was just outside Patrick’s office in his own separate area that could be locked. It was away from the action of the newsroom, but Milo could still hear the hubbub. He enjoyed being close to the action, but didn’t want to be in it. Milo loved writing, butwasn’t sure journalism was where his future was, as he preferred writing fiction. Despite what people might think, journalism needed to have a kernel of truth in it if you didn’t want to get sued, and with writing, Milo loved to let his imagination roam free.
The week had dragged, and Milo couldn’t have been happier when Friday rolled around. It had been a while since he’d done five days in the office, but it had been one of those weeks when Patrick had needed to be in. He’d not asked Milo to be in every day as well, but Milo knew it was appreciated. He was even more delighted when Patrick told him to head off early at three o’clock, given how much he’d worked this week. Milo wasn’t about to argue, and by four o’clock he was walking into his flat with two bags of food shopping. He’d stopped by the supermarket on his way back from the Tube station. Milo was looking forward to having the place to himself for a while, given all his flatmates had jobs they couldn’t do from home, although they all worked in the city. Kieran was a tattooist, Hassan was a doctor, and Liam worked as an investment manager for a private equity firm. He earned a fuckload of money, but it was his dream to move back to his hometown and run his parent’s bakery when they retired and have a family of his own. This was his way of setting himself up financially for life. He had money invested everywhere, and lived frugally, although he wasn’t tight with his friends. No doubt when he moved to the sticks, he might find the right guy to settle down with. For now, he was still conducting extensive field research.
“What are you doing home so early?” asked Kieran, pouncing on Milo before he’d even got up the stairs.
What the hell was Kieran doing here on a Friday afternoon? He’d almost given Milo a heart attack.
“Patrick said I could leave early.”
“Did you talk to him about tomorrow?”
“He doesn’t go to protests, Kieran. You know that. He has to stay neutral.”
“How can you stay neutral on something like this? Sounds like a coward to me.”
Milo prickled. If there was one thing his boss wasn’t, it was a coward, but Kieran saw anyone who went against his opinion as the enemy. He wasn’t in the mood for a debate the minute he walked in the door, so he pushed past with his shopping and went into the kitchen.
“Have you seen online that Edward Chivington is going to be the next prime minister? That has to be a fucking joke, doesn’t it? That he’s becoming prime minister without an election? The entire system is a fucking disgrace.”
“At least Chivington would be better than Hargreaves.”
“What?” Kieran shrieked. “Have you heard something?”
Fuck! He shouldn’t have said that out loud. There’d been no mention of it online, so he’d only heard it from Patrick. The speculation online was that Chivington was a certainty.
“Just a joke. You know. Who could be worse than Chivington?” he said, hoping he sounded convincing.
“Oh, thank fuck for that. Could you imagine? Don’t joke about shit like that. We’d have to leave the country if that happened. I can live on a Greek island and find myself a nice local man to look after me. Imagine being surrounded by hairy men all the time?”
Milo snorted. Body hair was Kieran’s catnip, and he liked older guys as well, but they had unique tastes, so were never in competition for the same guy. Milo put his shopping away. He always picked up his food on Fridays. They went in together on shared things like milk, butter, and bread, but they worked different hours, so it wasn’t possible for them all to eat together all the time. They tried to do it one night a week, but it had been a while since that had happened.
“Are those lasagna ingredients?” asked Kieran.
“Thought I’d make the sauce tonight and then put it together tomorrow. We’ll be hungry when we get home, and it’ll keep until Sunday if we end up going out.”
