by Alexa Davis
So, I pulled out my phone and dialed Olivia's number. It went straight to voicemail and as I sat listening to her telling me to leave a message and she'd get back to me as soon as possible, I tried to think of something witty or smart to say, but it eluded me. When the message beeped I took a deep breath and said, "Olivia, it's Lincoln Redding. Please give me a call at your earliest convenience." I disconnected and exhaled slowly, hoping that what I'd said would be compelling enough that she’d call me back, but knowing that chances were just as good that she'd ignore me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Olivia
"Nice lunch bag," Carl grinned when I walked into the newsroom.
"Thanks, my minions made it for me," I said as I tossed it on my cluttered desk and looked at him expectantly. "So, what do you have for me?"
"First, how was the gala?" he asked. "I saw your picture in the society column in the Post; you clean up good, Moore! But my pressing question is whether Cinderella made it home from the ball by midnight?"
"Funny you should ask, Jackson," I said shooting him a side eye. "I had a lovely time, despite spending most of my day confined to the inner sanctum where they did their level best to turn me into a beauty pageant contestant. Have you ever been to one of these places?"
Now it was Carl's turn to shoot me a look. "You have got to be kidding me."
"No? Okay, well, let me tell you, my friend. The Reformation had nothing on these places," I said shaking my head. "They poked, pinched, and prodded me within an inch of my life so that I'd look picture perfect. It was hell."
"You wore it well," he laughed. "And those sparklers that they said you almost made off with! How in the hell did you get those?"
"I've got friends in high places," I shrugged. "And I did not try to steal them! I just got pissed and went for a drive...and forgot I was wearing them."
Carl's booming laughter filled the newsroom causing a few of the weekend reporters to look up from across the room and shoot him nasty looks for interfering with their work. Once he'd stopped laughing, he turned to me and said, "So, what got you so pissed off that you stormed off wearing almost a million dollars worth of diamonds?"
"Davis Russo," I said. "That man is a slime bag."
"Well, that's pretty much common knowledge," he replied as he held out a sheet of paper. "Look here, this is what I emailed you about."
I took it from him and began to read. My eyes grew wide as I realized exactly what I was reading. "You've got to be kidding me!" I yelled.
"Nope, I got it from an anonymous source that I trust," he said shaking his head. "I'm working on verifying the list, but if that's true..."
"Then that bastard Davis Russo is gearing up to run for president next year!" I hissed. "Where is he getting the money?"
"Look at the list," Carl said pointing to the bottom half. "He's got donors in all fifty states and some of the most prominent business people in the country are backing him."
"This is obscene,” I said. "That guy is a menace to society. How can he claim to be someone capable of leading this country?"
"I guess if you have enough money behind you, you can claim to do anything," Carl said dryly. "Don't quote me on any of that yet, though. I haven't verified that it beyond a shadow of a doubt."
"This would explain his behavior last night, though," I mused as I looked at the list. "He was cocky and arrogant, more so than usual."
"It could have just been the shock of him seeing you decked out in a dress," Carl muttered.
"I heard that, Jackson," I said. "Seriously, what would motivate him to run for president? Does that even make sense to you?"
"I can't figure it out, either," he replied. "I've been wracking my brain trying to figure out what the underlying motive is and I can't come up with a thing."
"Doesn't he understand that if he does this, it's going to open up his entire life to outside scrutiny?" I asked. "He's going to have to turn over tax returns and all kinds of things that the AWN has never asked for. What is his deal?"
"I know, right?" Carl said as he turned back to his computer and began typing. He stopped and turned back towards me, "Hey, what happened with Redding? Did you see him at the gala?"
"Yes, I did," I said tightly. Telling Bix about the after party was one thing, but there was no way on earth I was going to let Carl know just how well I'd gotten to know Linc. "We talked, we laughed, we danced, and then we insulted Russo together. Nice guy."
"Any plans to see him again?"
"Not a clue," I replied. "Not a clue. Now, shall we dig in and see what we can find on Russo?"
Wisely, Carl stopped questioning, nodded, and then started typing. It wasn't long before Frank came bustling into the newsroom carrying a copy of the Post and wearing a look of concern.
"What is this I see in the competition this morning, Moore?" he asked as he slammed his copy down on my desk.
"Look, I'm working on it, Frank," I said cautiously skirting the issue. "I just didn't think the social calendar was the priority this morning."
"MOORE! It's the reason I sent you there!" he yelled. I knew Frank well enough to know that he would blow his top and then calm down and listen, so I waited as he read me the riot act about how irresponsible it was to be a features writer and not write features. I nodded and listened and soon he ran out of steam. "Explain yourself."
"I had a run in with Davis Russo, and now Carl's got information that he might be gunning for the presidential nomination for the Republican party," I said, trying to throw Frank off the track of society reporting. "And this morning, I heard from a reliable source that Larry Bangor is trying to sabotage the gun safety bill after promising bipartisan cooperation to pass it."
"Wait, what?" Frank and Carl both said.
"My source overheard two congressional aides talking about how Bangor was actively trying to sink the bill this past week because he knew that after the shooting, support for the bill was short. He's going to sink it. The question is why."
"How quickly can you find out?" Frank asked.
"I don't know, how many more ball gowns are you willing to buy me," I tossed back.
"Don't be a smart ass," Frank said as he headed to his office. "Get that damn article filed by midnight tonight or I'll reject any expense account forms you submit for last night's festivities!"
"Promises, promises," I called after him and then got to work trying to track down the sources.
It wasn't until hours later that I remembered to check my phone and found a message from Linc asking me to call him at my earliest convenience. The formality of the message was off-putting, so I saved it and decided that if Lincoln Redding wanted to talk to me, he was going to have to make a little bit more of an effort than that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Linc
Around four o'clock that afternoon, Mo buzzed me from the lobby of my building saying, "Linc, I'm on my way up; I've got provisions and I need to talk to you, so start pouring the drinks." I laughed, knowing that she had sweet-talked Burt, the doorman, and probably bribed him with some kind of insanely delicious treat.
When Mo knocked on my door a few minutes later, I opened it to find that she hadn't been kidding. Two young men followed her into the apartment and waited until she said, "Set the bags in the kitchen and then we're good to go, boys," before they moved. While the helpers were unloading the groceries onto the counter, Mo grabbed me and hugged tightly.
"You okay, kiddo?" she asked. I nodded, wondering what was up with her. She was dressed more casually than I'd ever seen her dress before in a red cashmere sweater that hugged her curves and matched her lipstick and a pair of black leather pants that looked like they had been painted on her long, lean legs.
"What is up with this?" I asked as I gestured to the outfit. Mo raised her finger to her lips and shushed me then pointed toward the kitchen. I laughed, "What is wrong with you?"
The boys came out of the kitchen and the taller of the two asked, “Is that all you need, Ms. Warren?" M
o smiled warmly at them both and nodded as she handed each a bill and wished them a happy holiday. The boys didn't look at the money she handed them, but once they were outside the door I heard two shouts of joy and the sound of them jumping joyously in the hallway.
"What did you give them?" I asked, knowing that chances were good she'd tipped them some insane amount.
"I just wanted to spread a little holiday cheer," she shrugged as she looked around. "Where's my drink, buddy?"
"Oh, sorry, one martini, shaken not stirred, with four olives, coming up!" I called as I headed to the kitchen and pulled the shaker out of the freezer. I poured the martinis into two glasses, added olives, and brought them out into the living room.
"My God, this is such a beautiful place," she said. "I always forget how well decorated it is since you never invite me over."
"Mo, you know-" I began.
"I know, I know, you always meant to invite me, but you're too damn busy," she laughed. "I understand. You young people have things to do."
"From what I understand, it's you older folks who have younger people to...um..." I raised my glass and an eyebrow as I looked at her.
"Oh, that's a good one!" she burst out laughing before she raised her glass and then sipped. "Mmmm, I love a good martini. No one makes them quite the way you do, Linc."
"So, tell me how the gala went last night," I said as I offered her a seat. She chose the chaise end of the gray couch and kicked off her black leather pumps before she curled up in the corner and began to regale me with tales of clumsy waiters, tipsy guests, and an orchestra that refused to stop playing despite the fact that the gallery manager had to tell them four times that the party was over.
"It was a wonderful success and I think everyone had a wonderful time," she said then turned to me and said, "Except you and the reporter. What happened, Linc? She went running out like a bat out of hell and you followed her; you didn't even say goodnight!"
"I know, I'm sorry about that," I said. "We ran into Davis Russo in the Dutch gallery and he insulted her – well, both of us, really."
"Russo is a loathsome man," she said as she sipped her drink. "I didn't want to invite him, but I didn't have a choice. His cronies threatened to boycott the gala and refuse to donate to the children's charity if I didn't invite him. I hate Washington political circles, but they do pay the bills."
"I know, I don’t fault you. I was just trying to steer clear of him for the evening, but it seems like he has some kind of homing device when it comes to me," I said. "He accused me of hiring Olivia to be my own personal reporter and then insinuated even more inappropriate things."
"He's a disgusting little pig," Mo said and I noticed there was a hard edge in her voice when she spoke of Russo. "One of these days, he's going to get what he has coming to him."
"What do you know about him, Mo?" I asked watching her expression shift subtly from distain to a cold hard look that told me she knew something she didn't want to share.
"Bygones," she said waving me off. "He's just a pig, and I would prefer not to spend my time discussing swine behavior. Tell me what happened between you and Ms Moore. I heard that the police had to stop her outside of the loop."
"She'd been so incensed by Russo that she forgot that she was wearing almost a million dollars of Tullio's diamonds," I laughed as I recalled the way that Olivia had stormed out of the gala and gotten into the limo. "You really shouldn't piss off a redhead, you know?"
"Oh, I know," she said nodding. "But they got the jewelry back?"
"Oh, yes, her bodyguard collected it and dropped her off at her apartment," I said quickly.
"How do you know that?" Mo said raising an eyebrow. I'd been caught, but then I was pretty sure she already knew what had happened or she wouldn't have shown up with enough provisions to last a week.
"Fine, you know, don't you?" I said looking like a guilty schoolboy.
"I know nothing," she smiled. "So, tell me everything."
I'd never hidden anything from Mo before, and I wasn't about to start now, so I told her the entire story from start to finish, including the message I'd left on Olivia's phone.
"You are an idiot, my boy," she said laughing as she held out her empty glass. "And if you'll make me another martini, I'll tell you exactly why."
I quickly whipped up a second round of stiff drinks and then returned to the living room to hear what Mo had to say. She accepted the glass with a smile and then gestured to the spot next to her on the couch. "Sit, dear boy."
"It was obvious to me from the moment that I met your young woman that she is someone special," she said smiling. I opened my mouth to speak, but Mo put her hand up and said, "Don't interrupt me." So, I sat back and listened.
"You, my boy, are going to have to be bold with that girl. You can't play that silly, male game of holding back and waiting to see if she's going to take the bait, then deciding whether to go all in. No way. This time, you're going to have to jump in and swim around if you want to convince her that the water is fine."
"What the hell are you babbling about, Mo?" I laughed. "Swimming, fishing, water? This makes no sense."
"C'mon, you're not that clueless, Lincoln," she scolded gently. "This woman is cautious and wary, you can see it in the way she approaches people, and if you want to get anywhere with her, which I absolutely recommend that you do, then you, my darling, are going to have to be brave and bold. Not arrogant, mind you, but bold."
"I don't understand what you are saying, Mo," I said shaking my head. "Put it in plain English, please."
"Linc, you need to give her a reason to want to be with you," she said as she sat up and grabbed my hand. "You need to show her that you want her and that you are willing to be the first one to say the hard things or be vulnerable."
"That's insane, Mo," I said. "I'm not going to act like a sissy in order to attract a woman who obviously has very little interest in communicating with me." I held up my phone to indicate Olivia had not returned my call.
"God, you are so dense," Mo said as she squeezed my hand. It was as if she was trying to transmit knowledge through my skin. "Listen to me, look at Brant. Do you see what he does?"
"Yeah, he chases after you like a lovesick schoolboy, despite the fact that you have a boyfriend and are not interested in leaving him," I said in exasperation.
"Never say never," she said quietly.
"Wait, what?" I said eyes widening as I looked at her. "You are?"
"Brant, bless his soul, had the courage to spill his guts and tell me what he really felt," she said. "I don't know what I'll do or if we'd ever to be able to make something like that work because there are so many factors working against us, but he let me know he'd been giving it thought for a long time and had tried to think past most of those obstacles. I was moved."
"So, you're just dumping the other guy just like that?"
"No, I didn't say that," she said then grinned, "But we are really just kind of a friends with benefits thing anyway."
"God, Mo, you are one hell of a lady," I laughed.
"My point is that if Brant had not taken the initiative to let me know what he was feeling, then I never would have even considered taking a chance because it wouldn't have been an option," she said triumphantly. "And if there's anything I've learned in my sixty-five years on this earth, it's that you will always regret the chances you didn't take, but very rarely will you regret the ones you did."
"So, I should just bare my soul to Olivia and tell her she's my one true love?" I said dryly.
"No, silly, but you do need to say more than 'call me back at your earliest convenience!' What the hell kind of message is that?" she muttered. "You need to ask her out on a real date and impress the hell out of her. You can do that, you've got all the money in the world!"
"She's not impressed by money. She's made that incredibly clear."
"Then use your money to plan an unpretentious date that will dazzle her," Mo said. "You've got an imagination; look at what you've done
thus far. Now put it to good use and woo the girl!"
"Mo, I think you're getting drunk," I laughed as I listened to her rattle off a list of possible dates that all seemed over the top to me, but it got me thinking.
"I believe I might be, so let's have a little dinner. Shall we?" she said as she tried to push herself up off of the couch with one hand. I took her martini glass and helped her up. Together, we went into the kitchen and pulled together dinner out of the bags of groceries the over-tipped boys had left on the counter.
We sat down at the kitchen table and talked about all of the dates I might plan for Olivia as we ate and laughed. After we'd finished, we cleaned up the kitchen and loaded the dishes in the dishwasher together, laughing about the old days when my parents had claimed that they'd had a child simply so that they'd always have someone to set the table and clean up after the meal was done. Mo told me about how my mother had called her the first time I'd refused to do either and wanted to know what she should do with the sullen boy I'd become at thirteen.
"I told her to send you to military school," Mo grinned.
"You did not," I laughed. "Did you?"
"Did too," she grinned. Then suddenly, she grabbed my shoulders, shook me lightly, and said, "Lincoln, you can't live for your company. It's an honorable thing you've done to try and right a terrible wrong and avenge a loss, but to continue to make that the center of your world is causing you to miss out on so many other things. Please, my darling boy, do not miss this chance to fall in love."
I nodded solemnly, even though on the inside, my stomach was churning. Love? Who said anything about love?
#
I thought about what Mo had said all night; the next morning, I called my florist and ordered a big, beautiful bouquet of winter flowers to be delivered to Olivia's apartment.
"Do you think she'll like the arrangement?" I asked once I'd told her what I wanted.