by Sadie Black
A rare laugh loosened itself from Ciara's soul, and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand to mask it. Lisa winked, her clumpy mascara leaving lash marks on the ridge of her puffy cheek.
"And because we value staff lives so greatly, let me show you where you can clock in. It'll help us with the body count should you ever find yourself in PR by accident." A grin was exchanged towards them.
For the first time since she'd moved to New York, Ciara felt at ease. Lisa was easy to get along with. "But, to be serious, volunteers don't get paid for their position, but we keep track of your hours. It helps us assess how much work you've been putting in should we consider hiring you on."
"I didn't realize it was such a well planned system," Ciara said. "Is it you who set everything up to run this smoothly?"
"A long time ago, back when I got my start in campaign planning. That was before Marcello was even a thought for political office. Small things have been made easier with time and advancements in technology. I've always said you can't hope to have a smooth election if your campaign headquarters is rocky."
If only her coworkers at TCD were as fun as Lisa. Although stressed from last night's event, the campaign staff were nice people who genuinely cared about their cause. A pang of regret struck Ciara in the gut at the thought that she was a double agent. Sure, she intended to do the campaign some good, but her ultimate goal was to tear Luka's name to shreds. Even after the immature outburst from the night before, did he really deserve it? Did the people who worked so hard for him deserve it? Journalistic integrity aside, Ciara began to doubt her choices.
"Mrs. Olsen." A familiar voice cut through the chaos. The fine hairs along Ciara's arms prickled, and she turned her head to find Luka Belmonte entering the office. Ryan Breece had been right when he'd called Luka out on his appearance. Even at his most disheveled, he was easy on the eyes. A shadow of stubble haunted his jaw, and Ciara recognized the suit he wore as the same one he'd worn on television the night before. The tie around his neck hung limp, its knot pulled low. Luka's hair still looked fantastic, slicked back and well-kept. Ciara wondered if he'd returned after the show last night, or if he'd taken to the streets to burn off his anger.
"Mrs. Olsen, I— ah." On his quick scan of the room he discovered Lisa and Ciara, and the sight of them cut Luka's words short. From across the room Luka's brown eyes locked with Ciara's, and the babbling of the busy office faded away.
For that moment, despite the swarm of staff around them, Ciara felt as though Luka was the only other person for miles. As crazy as he looked, her pulse picked up at the sight of him, and she became acutely aware of the beating of her heart. Lust was seldom like this, and yet what else could it be?
"I need you to bring me the man who booked my appearance on Ryan Breece. I need to talk to him about wise choices so he never makes a mistake like that one again."
Lisa ran her tongue over her teeth and nodded her head.
"Yes, Mr. Belmonte. I'll be back with him shortly. Ms. Simmons, while I'm gone, please log in so we can start clocking your hours." And then Lisa was gone, fuzzy pink slippers disappearing behind one of the doors at the back of the room. In her absence, Ciara found herself the sole focus of Luka's attention.
"You're the coffee girl," he said, approaching on casual footsteps. "The sophisticated woman with the red jacket I had the pleasure of running into on the streets. I'd never forget a face like yours."
Ciara stood before the computer terminal, momentarily at a loss for words. Had she left such a deep impression? The handful of minutes they'd shared were wonderful, but Ciara thought Luka would be quick to forget about it. She'd been wrong.
"I don't have any coffee to spill on you this time," she said, a laugh flavoring the message, "so I'd say that we're already off to a better start. Why don't we call this the start, and pretend last time never happened?"
A moment ticked between them as Luka's brow furrowed, as though what she'd said had been unsavory.
"I wouldn't want to forget any moment with you in it. All of us have our bad days."
What he'd said struck a myriad of emotions, like keys in a piano played all at once. On the one hand, selfish pride. The fires of her ego burned just a little brighter when fueled by his praise. The beat of her pulse continued to race, and she felt her cheeks flush.
And yet, on the other had, there was staggering guilt. As they spoke, Ciara was being paid to expose and pull the rug out from beneath his career. There was no doubt that what Luka had done was wrong, but no one was perfect. Maybe it was time to go back to Killian, tail tucked between her legs, to beg for an alternate story. And possibly her job.
"And—" Before Luka got through his sentence, Lisa returned from behind the closed door with a man in a suit trailing along behind her. Dark bags beneath his eyes spoke of a lack of sleep, and the brisk steps he walked screamed exhaustion.
"This is the man you asked for, Mr. Belmonte," Lisa said as they approached. "Mike Cinders has worked on various political campaigns for the last six years."
"Mike." Like a snake set to strike, Luka's attention turned from Ciara to zero in on the man who stood at Lisa's side. Short, portly, and balding, there was a real-world look to him that Ciara pegged as honest and hard working. Fear haunted his eyes, and he couldn't bring himself to look at Luka directly. "I want to talk to you about wise choices. Are you ready to listen?"
"Yes," Mike mumbled, arms stiff at his sides. Luka's eyes were set on his, narrowed, dangerous. Every inch of him was coiled tight with cool, suppressed rage.
"What you did was you scheduled me for a comedy based late night show with a history of mocking its guests. That wasn't such a wise choice. You see, organizers are supposed to look into the backgrounds of places and people so that their figurehead doesn't end up looking like a fool. You know what I looked like last night, Mike?"
"A fool?" Mike whispered.
"I looked like a fuckin' moron, Mike. Like a fuckin' moron." Luka's voice had picked up an Italian edge, but with it gained an eerie, frosted rigidity. There would be no more blowups, but Ciara felt that placid anger was much more frightening. Experiencing such vile emotion spoken so softly made her skin crawl.
"And so now it's time for me to make a wise choice. You're going to pack your things, and you're going to go. I don't care if you've got six years or sixty years of experience on the campaign trail — you ain't gonna be working for me anymore."
No one in the office made a peep. Each staff member remained frozen in place, arrested by Luka's frigid presence.
"And if anyone else decides they don't like making wise choices," Luka announced, raising his voice so the office could hear each word clearly, "then know that I'll make a wise choice concerning that individual's future, too. Now get back to work, all of you. We're going to need to pull out all the stops to get back on track after this fucking trainwreck."
Whatever guilt Ciara felt dissipated. The exposé would continue as planned. No man, especially not a man as self-absorbed as Luka Belmonte, would stop her from reaching her dreams. It was Ciara's choice to make, and she felt it was a wise one indeed.
* * *
Luka
"Now, where was I?"
The color drained from Mike's face, and the man swayed before Lisa caught his arm and held him steady. Luka snapped his eyes to his campaign manager and jerked his chin towards the door.
It was hard to take her seriously when she was dressed in pajamas, but Lisa had always been a colorful individual. The good she'd done for his father's campaign outweighed her quirks. Luka felt sure she'd do him justice.
"When he's done getting his things, see Mr. Cinders out. I don't want him loitering around here, not with the planning we're gonna have to do."
"You got it, Mr. Belmonte," Lisa said with a curt nod. With a hand on Mike's shoulder, Lisa led the ex-staffer away. Bit by bit, life returned to the office.
Business dealt with, Luka redirected his focus to a matter far more palatable. Pleasure. The un
forgettable Coffee Girl stood to his left, and she was just as radiant as the day he ran into her.
"Truth be told, as bad as my day was going, I can't help but feel like you've been sent my way to turn it all around. How is it that our paths keep crossing like this? Out of all the millions of people on the island, here we are again. And despite all the coincidence, despite all the signs, I would die a happy man to know the answer to one simple question."
Beneath the bright overhead fluorescents, her mahogany skin glowed. Dark eyes surveyed him, intelligent and hauntingly feminine. The long arch of her neck rose elegantly to meet the cusp of her jaw and framed the delicate point of her chin.
"What is it, Mr. Belmonte?" Thick lips gleaming with clear gloss caressed the words as they left her mouth. Luka had felt infatuated with them when they'd bumped into each other on the street, but now he knew he wanted them.
"What is your name?"
The easy connection between them hardened, and Luka didn't see her fluster any further. What happened? Minutes ago she'd been eating out of the palm of his hand, and now she was cold. But he'd never been one to give up on the chase, and a woman like her was one of quality. Political celibacy be damned — a woman as stunning and as she was would be his.
"Ciara. Ciara Simmons," she replied, digging her hands into her pockets. Over the last few seconds she'd stood a little taller, posture a little stiffer. Luka read her like an open book — she was uncomfortable. What was there to be so upset about?
"I want you to come to dinner with me tonight, Ciara. We can either let our paths keep crossing, or we can take control of the situation and give fate the night off. What do you say?"
She didn't smile. Instead, the corners of her mouth creased, and her lips drew thin as they pressed one against the other.
"You know, I'm new to the city, and I've got a lot to unpack as it is... I think I need to pass."
Through the rejection, she kept her eyes on him. The woman had a backbone, and Luka found himself impressed. How long had it been since he'd heard a no? He didn't intend to hear one that morning.
"You can unpack any time, but there are only so many chances in life to go to dinner with a Belmonte. If you're new, then let me show you what New York has to offer. I know a great place in Upper Manhattan, that I think you'll love. Consider it a welcoming gift to New York, and a thank-you for volunteering on my campaign, even after my little blunder last night."
Very few women were privileged enough to be asked on a date with Luka Belmonte. Sometimes, if a trip to the bathroom stall in the club wasn't enough, Luka would allow a woman to take him home so he could screw her right, but dinner? Never. Ciara should have been on her knees with gratitude, but instead the same uneasy look persisted.
Most women, even the smart ones, turned into the same kind of babbling air heads when he made his interest known. What was so different about Ciara that he had to push for a few hours of her time? It wasn't like he'd asked her to pop her top off in public. It wasn't like he'd asked her to go down on him. Not that the pretty blonde bartender he'd bagged on his night out with Gino had any hesitations.
"Well, I guess," she murmured, averting her eyes. "I can't stay out late, though."
It wasn't a yes, but it would have to do. Luka was about to reply when a firm hand cupped his shoulder and Ciara's eyes widened in shock. A turn of his head saw Luka looking back at his father.
"Mr. Belmonte," Ciara inhaled, hand covering the surprised expression that had parted her lips. "It's an honor."
"Not as much of an honor as you do me by looking after my son's campaign," the senior Belmonte replied. Luka had learned from the best — his father's silver tongue had charmed him into office and never saw him leave it until his announced retirement. "Now if you'll pardon us, young lady, I've got to speak to my boy in private. I'm sure you understand."
"Of course," Ciara's hand dropped, and she nodded her agreement. All of the ice melted away when she talked to his dad — what was her problem?
"Luka," Marcello Belmonte said firmly, "let's go talk in my office. I want to talk solutions to your problem."
As glad as Luka knew he should feel, he felt bitter instead. All night he'd paced the city, waiting for his father to call and reel him back in, and the man left him hanging. Now that he was about to seal the deal with one of the most attractive women in New York City, in he traipsed. Luka could have used his guidance twelve hours back. The blow stung.
"Before I go, let me wrap matters up with Ms. Simmons," Luka replied. The full focus of his attention returned to Ciara, and he fixed her dark eyes with his gentle browns. "Meet me back at this spot at seven tonight. If the doors to the office are locked, meet me near the elevators. Wear something nice. Heels, a dress. Bring your appetite."
There were other matters to attend to. Now that his father had put together a battle plan, it was time to get to work.
"I'll see you then," she said. "It was nice speaking with you, Mr. Belmonte. Take care."
"And you," Marcello said. As Ciara turned and logged in, a firm hand directed Luka across the office and to the private offices. When the door closed behind them, the older man let his easy demeanor drop. A palm rose to his forehead, and he shook his head slowly.
"Luka, you know I love you, but what did you think you were pulling last night?"
The office was minuscule compared to his own, but Marcello was only a part-time adviser. A desk, uncluttered, took up the rest of the space. It faced the door. An office chair sat behind it, and two simple wooden chairs waited for guests on the opposite side. Luka wasted no time in sinking down upon one of the wooden chairs, hooking his arm over the back for support. His father did not move from the door.
"Dad, did you hear what Breece said about you? Did you hear what a fool he was trying to make out of me?"
The hand fell from Marcello's forehead, and he fixed Luka with a pointed gaze.
"Ryan Breece makes a fool out of everyone, some more than others. It's to be expected. Last night's appearance was supposed to endear you in the eyes of the voter. But all you did was prove how much of a fool you really are. No one did this to you but yourself, Luka."
The observation was harsh, and Luka swallowed nervously. What his father said was true, but he expected to be coddled a little more. Bitterness from the old man was unexpected and left him struggling to reply.
"I know you didn't track me down just to scold me," Luka said at last. "Tell me that you thought of a way to fix this. Tell me you have a plan."
The old man sucked in air between his teeth, tucked his hands behind his back, and strolled across the room. The years had added girth to Marcello's once trim figure. Still, he was not an unattractive man. Silver hair left him looking distinguished, and the deep lines of his brow and in the corners of his mouth and eyes spoke of wisdom. With a sigh he settled in his office chair and fixed an older version of Luka's own eyes upon his son.
"I have a plan."
"And you can fix this," Luka stated, wanting to hear it spoken aloud. As his father crossed the room, he'd turned in his chair to keep watching him until he sat facing his father's desk. A plan could mean anything — a solution was what he was after.
"I can't fix this," Marcello said, "but I know who can."
It was the news Luka had been dying to hear. A smile betrayed his relief, and he sank back against the chair and breathed it all out. Soon the world would forget about his little outburst, and he'd have the shot at office he deserved.
"The first thing you need to do is to get back respect," Marcello continued. "No one is going to take you seriously if they think you're some frat boy with anger issues. The voters need to know that you're a man — a flawed man, sure, but not a bad man. The first step towards that is never getting caught up in another public outburst again. You're going to keep your nose clean, Luka. You're going to be boring, stay home, avoid risky situations. If we have another repeat of what happened last night, you're kaput. Got it?"
"I figured that m
uch," Luka replied. News like that was not news at all. Surely his father had to have another ace in the hole. "What's step two?"
"The second thing you need to do is to drag your opponents through the mud."
The words rung through the closed office, and for a moment Luka sat in stunned disbelief.
"What?"
"George McMillan is your biggest competitor, and as it stands, you just handed him the election wrapped in a pretty bow. What you need to do is destroy his public image so you're the top contender. Everyone loves a good story, and the sad truth of politics is that the last good story on the voter's mind is the one that's going to sway their decision. It's a good thing you fucked up at the beginning. By the end of this thing, your antics are going to be forgotten."
Marcello folded his arms upon the desk and leaned forward the slightest bit.
"This is where I can put you in touch with people that can help."
Was he hearing correctly? Luka's jaw slacked, lips parting as he struggled through the meaning. All his life he'd thought his father was a kind, reputable man who had won his rising through hard work and ample qualifications. Now...
"What are you saying?"
"Listen, I'm not going to allow you to ruin the Belmonte name, Luka," Marcello said firmly. "You need help beyond what I can offer, and I have connections that will guarantee you win this thing. Take a load off your mind — let my friends help you get the votes you need."
Connections. Friends. Shady tactics. Luka was no saint, but what his father suggested had to mean criminal activity, and that took it a step too far.
"Dad, what are you tryin' to tell me?"
"Luka, I've got solid connections to the mafia, and I want you to accept our help."
"Our help," Luka spat. "It ain't a connection if you're a part of it, dad. I can't— I can't believe you'd do something like this. All that government corruption you helped weed out all those years ago?"