She might as well have raised a red flag in front of a bull that had been poked and prodded and fucking pissed off for hours on end. I wouldn’t intimidate her?
But, see, Dante was the real pissed-off bull, the one who would go crashing around like he was in a china shop. I was also a bull, but my charging would be more subtle, more abstract. The King of Diamonds knew how to make good press and get good attention; he just did so with the rage and fury of said bull.
“That wouldneverbe my goal, Miss Reyes,” I said. “I simply wish to convey the story that I know to be the truth to a beautiful journalist I know I can trust to accurately report the truth.”
“Hmm,” Delilah murmured on the other end of the line. “What are you calling about, Adrian?”
So.
She had not outright scolded me for the “beautiful” comment. Interesting. Many would have thanked me or scolded me before folding. To have no response?
That told me it had hit her, she had heard it, but she would not give me the satisfaction of a reaction. Too bad for her, no reaction was a reaction in itself, and in some ways the most satisfying one of all.
“I would like to provide further context for theAllurefundraiser,” I said. “And I would like you to listen carefully. This will all be on the record.”
“Of course.”
I proceeded to lay out well-thought out quotes that I knew were strong enough to carry an article, subtle enough to paint the Morrils in a bad light without being foolish, yet not so flowery as to be obviously contrived in our favor. The only issue with this was that it just wasn’t as fun to torment Delilah by being a good little source for her work.
But like the bull who knew how to channel his energy in a more effective, underhanded manner, I knew I had to present a pretty on-face record. That’s where countless rich people fucked up; they thought they could publicly bully their way into a positive image, but the harder you tried to curate your public image, the worse you looked. You had to finagle it, massage it, fucking be tender to get it.
Luckily, journalists didn’t always operate on the record.
“Did you have any other questions for me, Miss Reyes?”
“I think that covers it,” Delilah said before speeding up her words, “and I thank you for your time, Adrian, you have a good evening.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” I said. Someone else dictating how our time would be spent together? Not a fucking chance. “You haven’t even asked if there’s anything I wish to say off the record.Surely, you can use such information to color your piece, even if it cannot be said explicitly, no?”
Delilah sighed. It was a knowing sigh, but I swore there was also a hint of curiosity in the exhale. Like, “Shit, I don’t really want to do this… but I have to know.” I knew the sigh well.
It was the first step in bringing Delilah Reyes under my charm and into my bed.
“Do you wish to say anything off the record?” Delilah said dryly. Too dryly.
It opened up a window, but it also reminded me that anything I said here wouldn’t be nearly as effective as an in-person session. I could pull out a few charms, but I had to save my best for in-person.
“I’m most curious, Delilah,” I said, “for what you think of this situation. What you’ll really think. Not what you will write about, we all know there are rules to that. I want to know what you truly see with the Morrils and the Vales… and with me.”
Silence followed. God, how I wished I could have seen her reaction when I dropped my voice and said, “and with me.” There were a million ways she could take it, but I was ready for pretty much all of them. Take batting practice enough, and there’s not a single pitch coming that surprises you.
“I see two families bickering for power in the same way any rivals have,” Delilah said.
“Uh huh,” I said. “That answers one part of my question.”
Delilah swallowed. I could hear it through the phone.
“I see a man who wants to control everything, who wants to control the public image of his empire, and frankly is much more adept at it than the vast majority, the Morrils included. I bet that strokes your ego.”
“It’s a fact, but a pleasing one,” I said. “What are some other parts that might be fact but are pleasing?”
A silence fell. A bit too long of one, as if Delilah was contemplating deflecting the question.
“Allow me to speak to what I consider to be pleasing facts,” I said, taking charge. “I find you to be an extremely intelligent and fearless journalist, which in theory should make you like others but in reality separates you from the rest. I find you to be greatly intriguing to me, Delilah. I know what your mission is with attendingAllureand writing articles about the two families. But I want to know more about you.”
“This is strictly professional,” she said, but it was spoken weakly, as if a default response.
“Of course,” I lied reassuringly. “I’m simply trying to build a relationship. Is that not what a good journalist does?”
