by Krista Holt
“I didn’t give it. Arnoldo and I are on a first name basis.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.” She picks up the phone. “It’ll just be a minute.”
I listen to her quietly speak to Arnoldo. She explains to him that I’m here, and then blanches at his reply. There’s the sense of urgency I need.
She mumbles something about doing her best to explain the situation to me and hangs up a second later. “Sir, the congressman apologizes, profusely. He’s on his way back now. A hearing ran late.”
“Good. I’ll just be over here. Waiting.”
I sit back down, unable to stop myself from tapping my finger on my knee in frustration. The last few days have been spent running errands for my father, both here and in New York. I’ve hardly slept, barely eaten, and I need to get back to Reagan. But, this can’t wait.
I watch the clock as diligently as the girl behind the desk does, tapping out the passing seconds on my knee. Our eyes meet, and hers skitter away quickly.
A full minute later, Arnoldo throws open the door to his office. A nervous expression twists his paunchy face as he fights to button his jacket over his large stomach.
“Nicola, come in. A hearing ran late. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
I ignore his apology, and unfold myself from the chair. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten our deal.”
“No, of course not.” He gestures me inside, closing the door behind us.
“Then you know why I’m here.”
He clears his throat nervously. Of course he knows. It’d be hard to forget that six weeks ago, in the dead of night, you were arrested for driving under the influences of alcohol and cocaine.
Now, usually, a politician can get out of something like that with a couple of well-placed media apologies and a trip to rehab. But, Arnoldo didn’t have that luxury. He was in the midst of re-election campaign, less than two weeks away from Election Day, and running against an anti-drug opponent who was up ten points in the polls. He would’ve lost if word of his indiscretion got out, and a loss, to a man like him, meant more than simply losing a job. It’s a blow to the ego, and the ripping away of all the prestige and power he’d come to crave. In other words, he would’ve become just another man. Or worse yet, a nobody.
Arnoldo couldn’t handle that, so he called us. I put a couple thousand in the right cop’s hands, and it was like it never happened. He won his re-election bid with my father in attendance, serving as a gentle reminder that Arnoldo only held his congressional seat because of our favor. A favor I’m here to collect.
“I need some information,” I say, noticing the sweat on his forehead.
He searches his pockets for a handkerchief to wipe his face with. “All right,” he clears his throat again, fidgeting with the white piece of cloth. “What do you want to know?”
I unbutton my jacket, and take a seat behind his desk. The desk my family’s money let him keep. “What’s going on with the committee?”
“Oversight?”
I shouldn’t need to explain further, but I nod anyway.
“We just sat through a closed door hearing,” he says. “They read a bunch of stupid shit into the record. Nothing you don’t already know.” He sits down in another, smaller chair.
“Why don’t you let me determine if it’s stupid?”
He shifts uncomfortably. “It was just their findings so far. They included financials for the two agents accused of taking bribes, a rough transcript of the whistleblower’s tip to the committee, and some data the FBI turned over on their task force.”
“Was it an audio recording of the tip? Can you get it for me?”
He shakes his head. “It was a typed transcript. I can give you that.”
He sorts through some papers on the desk, plucking one piece of paper out of a pile and handing it to me. He stays silent as I read it over. Unfortunately, it’s nothing the news isn’t already reporting, and it’s nothing new to report to my father.
Arnoldo clears his throat, probably searching for some bravado he doesn’t possess. “Is this going to be a problem for you? I know I’m in your debt, but I can’t tank a whole investigation.”
I know he’s lying. He could. Some information goes missing here, a little there, and the investigation folds over on itself. Lucky for him, I don’t need that to happen.
“I don’t want you to tank it, if that’s what you’re asking. What I need is to be kept in the loop. Are they any closer to uncovering the identity of the whistleblower?”
“No. Cameron’s staffer said the Office of the Inspector General will be opening its own investigation. So there’ll be three ongoing, the FBI’s internal review, the committee’s, and the IG’s. With all that pressure, the whistleblower’s name is bound to turn up.”
“I want to know the second you narrow down the possibilities.”
“I understand.”
“What’s happened to the FBI agents in question?”
“They’ll be suspended, without pay, until the FBI finishes its own investigation. Their findings will determine if they return to their jobs or if they get pink slips.”
“Has the FBI found any proof of the bribes?”
“No. Not yet.” He carefully meets my gaze. “Maybe they never will.”
“That would be for the best.” I stand, buttoning my suit jacket. “You have my number. I’ll expect to hear from you.”
“Of course.”
I leave his office through the private door he used to come inside. It opens directly to the hallway, letting me avoid the girl in the front office. Before I shut it, Moretti slouches in his chair, defeat slumping his shoulders. Guilt pricks my gut, nagging at what little remains of my conscience, but I force myself to shake it off. He made his bed.
I pull out my phone and hit redial as I walk down the hallway, heading to the exit.
“Do you have something this time?”
“I do.”
“I don’t ask questions to listen myself talk, Nicola,” my father snaps. “What is it?”
“They still don’t know anything. No audio, no identifying information was left in the transcript of the call. They’re no closer to finding the whistleblower than we are.”
“This is not good news.”
“I never said it was. I said I had news.”
“My patience with this is growing thin. I want this dealt with, and soon. Fed or not. I want to know who is leaking information about our business. Then you need to shut them up, permanently. Who knows what other dirty laundry of ours he might air, and I am not going to prison. Do you understand me?”
My stride slows as I approach the Mercedes. Hitting the locks, I rest my forearms on the roof. “I understand you perfectly. But it’s going to take time.”
“Enzo could help.”
I recoil at the implication. “I don’t need Enzo in my business.”
“Are you sure? He might get better results.”
My jaw ticks as I grind my teeth, stopping myself from uttering words I know I’ll regret if they pass my lips. Instead, I let the silence speak for me.
“Fine,” he caves. “Do what you think is right, but check in more. I shouldn’t have to call you.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” The dial tone cuts in.
I hate his need to keep tabs on me. It’s a constant reminder that I’m not my own man. I’m his. That’s why California was such a relief. For the first time in my life, I was able to be my own person. Separate myself from the reputation of my family. I was able to have a life, and I want it back. Starting with Reagan.
But that means I’m going to have to grovel, and in order to do that I have to know where she is. The Bluetooth connects as I start the car, and I dial a familiar number.
“What?” he barks, not exactly evoking warm and fuzzy. It doesn’t matter though, for the results he gets, he doesn’t need to be.
“Any chance you’re still in town?”
“For the right price, I c
an be.”
This is going to be expensive, I can feel it. “I need to know where she is.”
“I’ll text you when I know.”
We disconnect, and I drive away. I’m halfway to my apartment when my phone beeps with a text from him.
She’s at TASTE, corner of Lexington and 12th. On a date.
Irritation boils up my throat, choking me. She’s on a date. My fingers grip the steering wheel as I jerk the car down a side street, dropping my foot on the gas.
I may not know where I stand with her, but I know two things for sure: one, I’m not letting her go, and two, if she’s out with that Scott guy, I’m going to bust his kneecaps.
CHAPTER 13
Reagan
The waiter has just dropped off our entrées and all I can stare at is my date’s bowtie.
It’s red and white striped. He looks like a peppermint. Complete with a navy suit, it’s hard to take him seriously. No judgments, Reagan. Suave and charming didn’t exactly work out for me last time. Not that I plan on going on a date with Nate again—I don’t. He seems nice enough. He’s just not a good fit. He’s not Nic.
Ugh. That’s depressing.
“So, Nate, where do you work?” I ask politely, hoping to distract myself as well as alleviate some of the awkwardness hanging around our table.
He gives me a perfect grin, his white teeth a stark contrast to his tan skin. “I work for Ways and Means Committee. I’m a pretty important player over there. They rely on me for a lot of things.”
I barely hold back an eye roll. It’s nice his ego keeps him company. “That’s interesting. What sorts of things?”
Becca catches my attention from across the table, silently pleading for me to be nice.
“A little of this, a little of that,” he replies. “Things I can’t talk about.”
“How intriguing.” I take a hearty swallow from my wine glass, shooting a look at Becca that I hope conveys how much payback I expect for this miserable evening.
“It can be.”
Oh, I bet it can’t. “How is work for you two?” I direct this question at Becca and Devin, who are busy whispering to each other, leaving me to fend for myself against the bow-tied Nate. “Busy?”
“Not really.” Devin shrugs. “It’s just there. Never ending.”
Polite chit-chat goes around the table until we’re all scraping our plates, and when the check finally comes, I breathe an audible sigh of relief. Thank, God.
Becca kicks me under the table.
“Ouch.” I glare at her. “Would you stop doing that?” She shrugs before turning her attention to Devin who is asking her a question.
I reach for the bill, but Nate stops me. “I’ve got this.”
“Really, I don’t mind paying for my meal,” I insist.
“Please, let me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’s no problem.” He and Devin pay the check while Becca and I gather our coats.
“He seems nice.” Becca grabs my arm.
“He does.” I button up my coat. “But I’m going home.”
“Come on, we’re going to see a movie. You have to come.”
“No, I’m so done with this week.
“Reagan,” she scolds me.
“Becca, I came. I was polite, but I’m going home now. Have fun. Stay out. Whatever. I’m going back to the apartment.”
“Fine.”
I change the subject, hoping to avoid a fight. “You and Devin seem good.”
“We are. But I want that for you, too.”
“I’m happy for you.” I hug her. “My happiness is waiting for me at home at the bottom of a carton of chocolate ice cream.”
Becca rolls her eyes before rejoining Devin, and Nate tries one more time to get me to come along.
“I’m sorry,” I reply. “It’s been a long week, but I’m sure you’ll have fun without me. Thank you again for dinner.” I step back, intent on making my escape. “Night, guys.” I wave at Becca and Devin.
Crossing the street, I walk toward the nearest metro station. My head is down as I check emails on my Blackberry, not paying attention to my surroundings.
“Who the hell was that?” a voice cuts through the darkness.
I stop and close my eyes, letting the sound of his voice roll over me. My heart leaps. Because it remembers. All his smiles and soft words. The way it felt safe in his arms. The way it felt to be loved by him.
“Reagan, tell me who that was.”
And then, my chest squeezes tight, tight enough to send pain shooting through me. Because my heart also remembers how it felt when he ripped it all apart. How he made me feel worthless, stupid, and cast aside.
I spin around. “It’s none of your business.”
“Who was he?” Nic asks, stepping out of the shadows. Anger sharpens his face, jutting out his jaw. Lines pinch his forehead as he scowls at me.
“It doesn’t concern you.”
“Everything you do is my concern.” He moves closer. “Tell me who he is to you.”
“No one,” I snap. “He’s nobody. It was a dumb blind date Becca set up. That’s it. Are you happy now?”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and my eyes narrow into a glare. “What are you doing here? Or better yet, why do you keep showing up everywhere I am?”
“Come here.” That’s all he says. Two words. One command. But the words are rough with relief and it’s smothering my desire to stay angry. I hate it.
“No.” I shake my head, ignoring the tears that are welling up. I want to cry. I want to scream, hit him and hurt him. But even more than that, I want him to take me in his arms and smother me with apologies and promises that he’ll fix this. Fix me.
“Come here.” His gaze softens. Like he’s staring at something precious. Something valuable. But it’s not me.
“What do you want, Nic?” Hurt sharpens my tone, giving it an edge.
He catches it, his expression turning intense as he moves even closer. “You are so damn difficult. From the first night, I’ve had to chase you.”
“Don’t you dare.” I plant my hands on his chest, and shove. “I am not the one who left. You did. Do not come back here and accuse me of being difficult. Don’t you dare!”
He grabs my hands, holding them to his chest. “Let me explain.”
“I don’t want to know. I’m over it.”
His brow rises. “You haven’t gotten any better at lying, have you?”
“It would take a master to know, now wouldn’t it?”
“I have never lied to you,” he says harshly.
“Are you kidding?” My mouth drops open.
“No. I didn’t explain everything, but I never told you a lie. Let’s talk about this.”
I jerk my hands out of his grasp, and step back. “You want to talk? Now? Where was this guy all those months ago when I found an empty apartment and no explanation?”
He winces. “I didn’t know you went to my place.”
“What did you expect me to do? You weren’t taking my calls. I hadn’t heard from you in days,” I blurt out. “Imagine my surprise, opening the door to find that you, the same man who said he was in love with me, the same one who swore we weren’t breaking up, had packed up your entire life and left. Sending me a cryptic note, days later, that didn’t explain anything, didn’t tell me anything. You just left.” My voice cracks, much to my frustration. I don’t want to be weak right now.
“Reagan.”
I look up at his face and try not to drown in what I see. His dark eyes convey something I can’t handle. It’ll unravel me if I take what he’s offering. It’s that powerful.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
“I had to see you. I want to explain.”
“You don’t have to explain anything. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t need to see you ever again.” I push my hair out of my face. “I mean—”
Before I say anything else, he grasps the open edges of my coat and slowly
draws me to him. My hands land on his chest, trying to keep some distance between us. “Let me go.”
“Never.” He invades my space, dropping his face dangerously close to mine. Close enough that his breath brushes against my skin. Close enough to make me question every promise I made myself to put what I felt for him in the ground and never unearth it. “I am never letting you go,” he whispers. “Don’t ask me to.”
“Nic . . .”
He kisses me, hard, setting off a series of frantic thoughts.
How can he do this? How can a harsh kiss make me want to beg him never to leave me again? How can I forget what he put me through? How?
I’m so mad at him for doing this, for coming back, for even leaving in the first place. I can’t do this again. It’s insane.
My head doesn’t seem to be in control of my body though, because I find myself taking his shirt in my hands, holding him to me as his hand slides around the back of my neck, pressing me to him.
We’re such a mess. We shouldn’t be together, but neither of us can stay away. We move across the country, far away from where this all began, and still, we find our way back to each other. It’s got to be fate. Or a date with disaster.
He pulls away, leaving us both gasping for air. “I’m going to explain myself, and you’re going to come around, Reagan. Because you don’t kiss someone like you just kissed me if you don’t have feelings for them.”
And just like that, I remember—he’s an asshole. I push him away, and my hand flies up to slap him again. But he’s quicker. His hand shoots up, catching me by the wrist before I can touch him.
“One slap is all you get, sweetheart.” He squeezes my wrist. “Get in the car.” He tilts his head toward a black Mercedes at the curb not far from where we stand.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Oh, but, sweetheart, you are.” His hand slides around my lower back. “Do you want to walk or should I carry you?” A smirk plays on his lips. “Seems to me I did that last time.”
My gaze narrows. “You wouldn’t dare . . .”
“I think you know me well enough to answer that.”
He would. I know he would.
I spin on my heel, walking toward the car. He tries to open the door for me, but I push his hand away, jerking it open enough so I can slide inside.