“Good.” Diablo steeples his fingers and leans back. “Dakarai, the floor is yours.”
“Thank you.” He pulls the agenda onto the wall screen and walks us through it.
A natural facilitator—he asks precise questions, clarifies points of agreement, works through differences to find common ground, and redirects when we drift. Not flashy or loud. Just quiet power.
Like in the bedroom.
I can be discreet.
I shove that down as we lock in on two debates, dates, and media partners. The stall comes at format. Diablo insists both follow the Oxford debate style. Too formal and stiff for what I’m building.
“I want something more hands-on,” I say. “Questions from constituents. Real interaction. A townhall allows for that.”
Diablo shakes his head. “It invites unnecessary volatility.”
“It invites accountability,” I counter. “People deserve direct access.”
“In my experience,” he volleys back, “townhalls devolve into complaint sessions that derail meaningful discussion. If there are concerns, my office is always open. A debate should remain structured.”
“Then structured public questions shouldn’t be a problem. If…” I let the pause stretch, “You stand behind your record.”
Silence drops over the room.
Anika’s expression is two-snaps-and-confetti. Diablo’s is tight-jawed displeasure.
I risk a glance at DK, who I’ve avoided making eye contact with until now, and catch the faintest glint of approval. But he schools it away so quickly, I’m not even sure it happened.
“Mayor Diablo isn’t opposed to voter engagement or defending his record,” DK says with efficiency. “We simply want to preserve flow and keep the focus on policy. The proposed Oxford-style debate allows moderated questions, timed responses, and rebuttals.”
“So can a townhall.” I hold his gaze and my ground. “I’m not suggesting a free-for-all. I’m suggesting prepared questions and a neutral moderator.”
He pauses. Wets his lips. My traitorous brain flashes to our almost-kiss at The Ship Mate and to all the ones we shared at the hotel. Soft lips. Firm pressure that’s on the right side of dominance to turn me on wildly.
“Would you be amenable to that?” he asks.
Say what now? I blink.
Anika nudges my knee—hard. When another beat passes, she jumps in for me.
“Yes, we could agree to that. Oxford style first, followed by a townhall on the second date.”
I drag myself back into the room. My campaign should be the only priority. Not thoughts of kissing DK.
“Gabriel?” he prompts.
“I’ll agree if Guy Adams moderates the townhall.”
“He’s publicly supported your waterfront expansion,” I argue, back in stride. “That’s a hard no.”
Before Diablo can rebut, DK lifts his hand. “Both campaigns can submit a list of acceptable moderators to identify overlap. Anika and I can continue format discussions offline and return with recommendations for your approval. Does that work for everyone?”
“That’s fine with me,” I say.
Diablo nods curtly.
The meeting hadn’t gone the way he hoped.
Not for me either.
