by Alexa Davis
"I'm fine," I said shaking my head to clear the image. "Good, fine. Have you met Mo Warren?"
"No, I don't believe I have," she said as I escorted her over to where Mo stood holding court.
"Maureen Warren, this is Olivia Moore," I said as I shot Mo a warning look that told her not to say a word.
"It's so nice to meet you, Olivia," Mo said, extending her hand and smiling warmly. "You did a wonderful job with the interview with Lincoln in today's paper."
"Thank you so much, Ms. Warren." Olivia smiled then turned and shot me a look as she said, "He was a challenging subject."
"Mo, please call me Mo," she replied, then laughed lightly as she said, "Indeed he is, my dear. He's been that way since he was a child, and I'm afraid he gets more difficult with each passing year!"
"Alright, alright," I interjected. "Let's break up the 'beat on Linc' festival and enjoy the party that you so wonderfully organized, Mo."
"It was lovely to meet you, Olivia," Mo said as she shook Olivia's hand again. Then, she leaned in and kissed my cheek as she whispered, "She's wonderful."
I shook my head and rolled my eyes in exasperation. I looked over at Olivia who was scanning the room-making note of the people in attendance and who was talking with whom.
"Did you invite Davis Russo?" she asked.
"It's not my party," I said. "I didn't have a say in the invitation list, so I don't know if Russo was invited."
"I see," she nodded. "Is that Senator Bangor over there with Senator Graham?"
"Yes, I believe it is," I said trying to steer her in another direction. The last thing I needed was Olivia Moore grilling Bangor and Graham.
"Do you know them well? Well enough to know why they'd be hanging out together at a holiday party? It seems kind of odd, don't you think?"
"No idea," I said feigning ignorance. I tried to come up with a way to distract her. "More champagne?"
"If I didn't know better, I'd say that you're trying to get me drunk, Redding," she observed as she carefully watched who came and went in the corner with Bangor and Graham. "Mason just joined them. I wonder what he's up to. He's kind of a troublemaker."
"So, is that a yes or a no?" I asked as I tried to draw her attention away from the group in the corner.
"Fine, I'll take another glass; why not?" she said as I gestured toward the bar area. She and I each took another glass as I tried to come up with a distraction.
"Have you seen the new paintings in the west wing of the gallery?" I asked. "They brought in some new Italian and Dutch pieces a few weeks ago."
"Can't say that I've spent a whole lot of time hanging out in art galleries," she said. "I mean, some of us have to actually work for a living, you know."
"I work-" I began defensively before turning to see an impish grin spreading across her face. "You're a real pain in the ass. You know that, don't you?"
"Takes one to know one," she said as she shot me a side eye look. The disconnect between her princess look and her sarcastic attitude was too much and I burst out laughing. Her eyes widened, and she asked, "What on earth is wrong with you?"
"Nothing, you're just funny as hell, Olivia Moore," I said. "You can take the girl out of the reporter's clothes and all that."
"Oh, so now you're going to insult me?" she stopped walking and stood staring daggers at me. "Will the rudeness never end, Redding?"
"I'm not being rude!" I protested. "God, you are so overly sensitive and defensive; it's impossible to have a conversation with you!"
"Me? I'm the problem?" she said as she narrowed her eyes. "I'd say it's you, sunshine. You think that just because you gave me the ticket to this fancy event, it gives you the right to turn me into the butt of your jokes."
"I'm not making a joke!" I shouted drawing the attention of several party-goers who shot concerned looks at Olivia before recognizing me and scurrying off. "I'm simply trying to have a conversation with you!"
"You have a funny way of conversing," she said quietly.
"Look, can we call a truce and try to enjoy each other's company this evening?" The look of surprise that crossed her face suddenly made me wonder what she had been expecting.
"Fine, truce," she said holding out her hand for me to shake. "No more insults and no more arguing. We'll just talk about art and music or something neutral."
"Deal," I said shaking her hand. "Now, would you like to visit the Dutch gallery with me?"
"Love to!" she said rather unenthusiastically. I offered her my arm in a dramatic display of chivalry, but she looked at it and rolled her eyes before walking away. I inhaled deeply, bit my tongue, and forced a smile as I followed closely behind. She was infuriatingly stubborn, but that stubbornness aroused me. It wasn't often that I couldn't charm my way into a woman's confidence; in fact, I couldn't remember a time I wasn't able to.
"So, what have you been up to since I last saw you?" I asked, trying to find neutral ground on which to tread.
"Oh, I've been out in the wilds of the great wide mall," she grinned grimly gesturing toward the dress with the hand that held the champagne glass. "Hunting down the elusive 'glamourama ballgownagus' and all of its kin."
I looked at her confused for a moment until the joke sunk in and then I laughed. She grinned up at me as she took another sip of her drink. This time her smile looked real and lit up her face. I cleared my throat and forged ahead.
"What did you do before you came to the Sentinel?" I asked. I had questioned if she would consider this a neutral topic, but I had a deep burning need to learn about her, and in order to do that, I was going to have to take a chance.
"I was a freelance reporter for the Global News Network and I was stationed in Africa for most of the past five years," she said without sarcasm.
"What made you leave and come back here?" I asked. I could feel her tense up and I was immediately sorry I'd asked. Her hand gripped my arm a little tighter as she looked straight down the hall.
"It was time to come home for a while, things had gotten difficult and the stories I wanted to report were not popular with the network bosses," she said carefully. I knew she was hiding something, but I knew better than to violate our truce to try and dig it out.
"How did you wind up at the Sentinel?" I asked, trying to switch the topic away from the sensitive area and toward something more neutral.
"I've been friends with Carl Jackson, the political reporter, since forever and Frank was in the market for a features reporter, so Carl recommended me and, tah dah," she said as she sipped again. She looked up at me and tipped her head to the side and shot me a wry grin, "Here I am. I'd ask you the same questions, but I already know the answers."
"Is your family here in D.C.?" I asked, ignoring the obvious attempt to raise my hackles. I would remain calm and cool, no matter what she said. "Will you spend the holiday with them?"
"Uh, no," she said as she turned and looked at a Dutch painting of lemons piled in a silver bowl with a string of dead fowl laying next to them. She laid a hand on my arm as she deadpanned, "Now that's a lovely painting isn't it? Nothing signals great wealth like silver and dead animals, does it?"
"What?" I said as I turned and looked at the painting. She was right, and I laughed at the joke. "I've never heard that before, but it's true."
We stood there looking at the painting for a long time, but all I could focus on was her hand resting on my arm. I could feel the heat from her hand transferring itself to my arm, and every so often, I could feel her grip tighten and then release. And in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to touch her.
Our silent contemplation was interrupted when, in the other room, the orchestra began to play and the Sinatra-sound alike that Mo had hired broke into "The Way You Look Tonight." I turned and smiled, "Would you like to dance with me, Olivia Moore?"
"Uh, well..." she stammered as she looked at me and then shifted her gaze to the painting in front of us. "I'm not...um..."
"Sure, no problem, I get it," I said stepping back and dow
ning the last of my champagne. I felt my defenses going up as I realized that I'd mistaken manners for attraction and that she obviously wasn't interested. I turned and said, "Shall we-”
“Redding, don’t get your boxers in a twist, I’ll dance with you,” she said grabbing my arm and pulling me back. “I just wasn’t sure where I should set my glass, and I didn’t want to get scolded by the party police.”
“You would?” I asked and laughed as I took her glass and set it and my own down on a bench in the gallery. I turned to her and held out my arms as she flowed into them. She fit perfectly. We waited a moment, caught the beat, and then began dancing around the room.
“You really do look lovely,” I ventured as she looked up at me.
“I think Sinatra has warped your brain, but thank you,” she laughed. I was very aware of the fact that my hand now rested very close to the spot where her waist gently curved and I moved my hand up a little to avoid the temptation to move it lower. She returned the compliment, “You look very handsome in that tuxedo.”
“Thank you,” I nodded as we glided across the floor toward the outer edges of the gallery. I could feel her body lightly pressed against mine as her hand rested on the back of my neck, and her closeness triggered every nerve in my body to go on high alert.
“Why did you invite me to this gala?” she asked as she looked up at me with those piercing green eyes.
“What?”
“You heard me,” she said as she smiled sweetly and pressed her fingertips against the back of my neck.
“I invited you because I wanted to apologize for offending you and because I thought it would be a nice chance to get to know each other a little better.” She raised an eyebrow, grinned, and opened her mouth to speak.
“Well, well, well, isn’t this a sweet little scene?” a familiar voice interrupted our dance, and I quickly let go of Olivia and turned to find Davis Russo standing a few feet away with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a smug grin on his lips. “The billionaire buys a reporter! What a wonderful little Christmas story!”
“What are you doing here, Russo?” I said in a flat voice.
“I’m celebrating the holiday season,” he grinned as he sipped his drink and gave Olivia the once over in such an obvious way that it was clear he was looking to start something.
“Davis? Davis Russo?” Olivia said as she moved toward him with her hand extended. “It’s so good to meet you. I’m Olivia Moore, a reporter for the Sentinel.”
“Yes, I know who you are,” Russo said in a bored voice ignoring her hand. “You’re the little girl that Mr. Redding has hired to spin his story in the press. I see why he hired you. You’re cute.”
“Why thank you kindly, Mr. Russo,” Olivia said in a clear voice. “You’re entirely too kind, but I think you’ve confused your own shortcomings with those of Mr. Redding. You see, he’s not like your kind. He actually has a stake in participating in the democratic process, rather than purchasing his power behind the scenes. But I realize that when one has such a limited perception of how politics actually work, it’s difficult to imagine that anyone else has a wider vision.”
Russo’s eyes grew wide as she spoke, and I watched her as she moved closer to him while she spoke. “You’re a loathsome man, Russo,” she continued quietly. “Everything you do is about destroying people, and if I have my way, once I’m done investigating the connections between you and that scumbag who killed the senators, I’ll be able to hang your sorry ass out to dry.”
And with that, Olivia turned to me, nodded, and said, “Thank you for the dance, Mr. Redding. It was quite pleasant.” She turned and walked out of the gallery, leaving both Russo and me to stare at her disappearing into the rotunda.
“So, you did her in the back gallery, then, didn’t you?” Russo said with a slimy grin.
“You son of a-" I growled as I moved toward him with a fist in the air.
"Easy, easy, Redding," he grinned. "If you punch me in here, you might not only damage a priceless piece of art, but you might also find yourself being escorted out by the D.C. police, and then how will you be able to make your way to the bed of that beautiful, young reporter if you're sitting in a jail cell?"
"Russo, you are such a bottom feeder," I said through gritted teeth. He was right about the consequences, of course, but I wasn't ready to give up the fight. "It's all going to come out in the end and then you'll be the one sitting in a jail cell, wishing you had listened to your own advice."
"We shall see, Mr. Redding," he taunted as he turned and walked back toward the rotunda. "We shall see."
I stood in gallery until I had my emotions back under control, and then I walked out to find Mo. She saw me and simply tipped her head toward the front entrance and mouthed the words, "Go after her," at me. I nodded and quickly headed for the door. I stood at the top of stairs scanning the sidewalk until I saw Olivia stepping into a waiting limo.
"Olivia!" I called as I descended the stairs. "Olivia! Wait!"
She paused for a moment, looked up at me, and then ducked into the car and slammed the door shut.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Olivia
I heard someone calling my name as I was sliding into the waiting limo, but there was no way on earth I was going to allow anyone to take a picture of us together or write a story about us in the daily gossip columns. I looked up at him for a moment and then slammed the door shut. The driver sped off toward my apartment as I ignored the frantic calls and car horns that blared as we left the gallery. Not more than a block from the party, we were surrounded by police cars with flashing lights forming a roadblock. The limo driver looked back at me and said, "What did you do back there?"
"Me? I didn't do anything!" I cried as the police officers surrounded the car and one of them opened the back door. It was on the tip of my tongue to protest the outrageous stop when a familiar face looked into the back seat and smiled.
"I'm sorry about the commotion, Miss Moore, but I'm going to need to collect your jewelry," Jacques said as he slid in next to me. Turned and waved at the officer holding the door and said, "We're good, I've got what I need! Thanks, guys!"
"I'm so sorry," I said mortified that he might have thought I was trying to make off with the diamonds. "I did not mean to...I just forgot... Oh, God, I'm so sorry."
"It happens," he laughed as he made quick work of unfastening the necklace and storing it in a velvet box before he unfastened the earrings and stored those with it. "Although, I'm not sure I've ever had to employ the police to help me stop a runaway borrower before. That'll make quite a Cinderella like story!"
"God, I'm so embarrassed," I cringed as I sunk down in my seat. "I was just so focused on escaping that circus that I didn't think about it."
"I can understand," Jacques nodded. "Those events can be overwhelming."
"It was more than I bargained for," I mumbled as I opened my purse and checked my phone. There were messages from Frank, Carl, and Bix, but I was in no mood to deal with any of them at the moment. Russo's slimy insults had left me feeling sick to my stomach and angry with Linc for his silence. It was like Africa all over again, and I had no desire to repeat that experience, even if I was more attracted to Lincoln Redding than I'd been attracted to anyone in a long time.
"I'm sorry it wasn't a good experience," Jacques said as he doubled checked the clasp on the box and then looked at his watch.
"Actually, the dressing up part was great fun," I said with a smile. "I wish dealing with people had been as much fun."
Jacques laughed heartily and told me about the time that a drunken socialite had walked into a pool wearing three million dollars worth of borrowed jewels and he'd had to jump in after her to retrieve the pieces.
"Well, at least I didn't humiliate both of us," I laughed.
Fifteen minutes later, the driver pulled up outside of my apartment building and got out to open the door. I thanked him and was headed toward the front door of my building when I thought I heard someone calling
my name. "I'm sorry, Jacques," I called as I turned back toward the car. "Did you-" Confused, I saw that the first limo had pulled away and a second limo pulled up behind it. Linc's face was in the window.
"Olivia!" he shouted. "Olivia, I need to talk to you!"
"What do you want, Redding?" I said in an irritated tone as he exited the car and walked toward me. "What is it now? You want to make sure I understand how and why you've got me in your back pocket?"
"You know that's not true," he said. "I never said I was buying your skills."
"Yeah, but you didn't stand up to Russo, either," I said turning and yanking open the door. It was cold out and my open toed pumps were not made for standing on the cold cement. "You just stood there and let him think whatever he wanted to, even though you knew it wasn't true."
"You seemed to be able to stand up for yourself just fine," he replied as he followed me into the lobby. "Despite the fact that your little boyfriend seemed too busy to intervene." The night doorman shot me a questioning look and pointed toward the phone. I shook my head before heading to the elevator.
"I don't have a boyfriend," I said in a clipped tone.
"Then who was that guy in the monkey suit using the police to chase you down to get a ride?" he challenged.
"Linc, that was...oh forget it, you're too pig headed to listen," I said waving my hand over my shoulder.
"No, no, who was that guy?" he persisted.
"If you must know, he was the security guard that came with the jewelry, and he flagged me down because I was so mad at you that I ran off wearing a million dollars worth of borrowed jewels!" I yelled at him. "I don't have a boyfriend!"
"With an attitude like that, I'm not surprised," he said dryly.
"You are so infuriating!" I yelled as I smashed a finger into the elevator button in a futile attempt to make it hurry up. "Look, I get it. You're the big man in Washington, you have an agenda, and you need to get things done. What I don't get is why you are such a complete wimp when it comes to Russo."