“Don’t I know it. Okay, I’m at the Courtesan. I’ll be there in two hours. Is that enough time to make the late news?” His voice went breathy and his heavy breathing carried along the phone line to me. I was losing him, and I’d had enough of these calls before to realize that.
I snorted. “Don’t let anyone see you leaving there, you pervert.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
All at once my mind was racing and I had a high, the same one I got from running or fucking. I sent a glance in my rearview mirror, almost hoping to see Bell on the sidewalk. I loved politics in New Gothenburg, the dirtier the better, and nothing was more fantastic than the serendipity we were going to capitalize on tonight.
I pulled out into traffic when I saw a break and called Jean-Paul. He answered after about point zero three of a second. “Don’t you have a life?”
“Of course not, sir.” His sarcasm was tamped down but there, and that’s why I kept him after the first day he worked in my office as a temp. His humor was so dry, most people didn’t even notice it.
“Go grab that new kid and head to the courthouse with the crime statistic pamphlets. The ones I had you get from the printer last month? About two hundred should do it. Shove one in the hand of everyone you see once you get there. I don’t care if it’s a fucking janitor, give him one.”
“Why? I thought all of the statistics had gotten worse during Midberry’s term?” There was an evil amusement in his tone, and I rolled my eyes.
“Depends on how you crunch the numbers, doesn’t it? Did you even read those pamphlets?”
He sniffed. “I’m not into fantasy.”
“Ha-ha. Move. Oh, and do me a favor? Call your redheaded stepbrother. Tell him we need him.”
He hummed and then sighed. “Mark doesn’t enjoy it when you call him that.”
“Then he shouldn’t be Ross’s assistant.”
I hung up to JP’s laughter.
Ross probably thought I waved a magic wand to make press conferences happen, since he never did any of the fucking work for them, but I was on the phone talking nonstop from the time I hung up with Jean-Paul until Ross showed on the scene hours later.
I personally directed the journalists to the courthouse steps and a masking-tape line Jean-Paul had slapped down along the portion of concrete that would provide the best camera angles for Ross’s speaking area a few steps up, while also highlighting the heavy backdrop of the stone courthouse façade in all the pictures and recordings. For once, the journalists were agreeable instead of assholes looking for any hints of weakness because this was a conference to comment on the sensitive topic of a rescued trafficking victim from our city. I had stressed the need to be kind to the victim, though I noted Roberts salivating in the front row, press badge proudly displayed, as if anyone in this city would be confused. His mustache twitched, and he had an expression on his weathered face, like he wanted to ask something woefully unanswerable, and I kept an eye on him.
At some point after the camera crews and newspaper people began to congregate, I noticed Jean-Paul handing out cups of coffee to everyone. That was another reason he was an irreplaceable part of my team. Not only was this a good news conference, for once, but we also wanted the rabid wolves to show Mayor Midberry as favorably as possible, and a little ass kissing would go a long way on a cold night when no one really wanted to be shivering out here.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Bell handing out pamphlets to a crowd of reporters, flashing that sincere smile of his, nodding and answering questions, probably toeing the party line faultlessly. Unlike Jean-Paul, he would have read the pamphlets and probably memorized the very strained statistics I’d paid a think-tank to cook up.
When everyone was ready to go, including Ross, who looked like he’d rushed through a shower and change of suit, and the last of the reporters had concluded their sound checks and sent me a thumbs-up, I strode over to the spot in front of the cameras where all the bright lights pointed. Ross nodded at me when I glanced at him, so I knew the entrance to the courthouse must be centered perfectly behind me. Nearby, Bell handed a pamphlet to Roberts and smiled at him. Roberts nodded back at Bell, and some of the ferocity seemed to leach out of him because he actually smiled too. Fuck, that kid was magic. Pride swelled in me, and I quickly swung around to face the expectant crowd.
“We’re all here for a good reason tonight,” I said, speaking to reach the ears of people all the way out on the street. “So, thanks for showing up anyway.”
I was answered by laughter, and Ross strode over to stand next to me.
“I’m not going to take up a lot of your time tonight, so without further ado, I introduce your mayor—the mayor who is cleaning up the streets of New Gothenburg, the mayor this city needs.” I smiled for the camera flashes that went off. “Ross Midberry. Mr. Mayor,” I said to him, and stepped down to join Bell in the crowd of reporters. They reluctantly moved over and let me in.
Bell started a round of applause that everyone took up, as if they were enticed by it and couldn’t help themselves. I could have fucking kissed the kid. His gaze met mine, and he bit at his lip and my stomach heated. All of the enthusiastic approval for Ross seemed spontaneous, and the fucking press would be on the news tonight applauding the mayor. It was almost unheard of.
Eventually everyone simmered down, and Ross began his version of hissomething great happened, it’s really only because of mespeech, all while giving backhanded compliments to the police.
Bell’s shoulder jostled against my arm, and I was surprised by a shiver of excitement that lanced through me. Quickly, I glanced at him to see if it had been purposeful. Like the sweet baby carrier he was, or at least, I wanted to imagine he was, he flushed and glanced away. Longing I’d stuffed down a long time ago—for someone who liked the same kinky things I did—reared its ugly head. I squashed that stupidity quickly.
He held a cardboard coffee cup in his hand, and it was on the tip of my tongue to lean down and say something to him about how “caffeine is bad for the baby,” just to see what he would say back, but instead I murmured, “You did a good job.”
Jean-Paul stood on Bell’s other side, and I leaned forward a little. “You too. Excellent.”
“No problem,” Jean-Paul said with an angelic smile, but he glanced at Bell’s face briefly before he looked ahead again. Mark, on Jean-Paul’s other side, frowned my direction, and I rolled my eyes. “You did good, too.” He ran a hand through his red curls and went back to watching Ross, although I didn’t miss his little grin. I needed to be nice to the troops more often.
Bell handed me the coffee cup, and I stood there feeling stunned as I took it.
“What—”
