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“Even though I make you work late almost every night? Including tonight?” I ask, grinning at her like I have won the lottery.
“Only if I can choose what takeout we get for dinner?” she sasses, lifting her brow. We have had takeout a few times this week, our day never really finishing at five. Her smile is now wide, matching those perfect sparkling blues I can’t get enough of.
“Why do you always choose Italian? I know it’s your favorite, but don’t you ever get tired of it?” I say with a pretend groan, even though I love it too.
“My mother always made me lasagna every week when I was little. It makes me think of her,” she says, her tone now more subdued, her gaze looking out at the city.
My body is telling me to touch her, but my mind is telling me to sit back down at my desk and get to work. It is the same state of flux I have been in since meeting her. I have tried to rein it in. Tried to keep these growing feelings under control.
“I got you something,” I say, and I see her head tilt to her left and can’t help but smile.
“Really?” she asks in wonder, her eyes lighting up again, her smile matching mine.
I pull out the card from my wallet. Something I grabbed yesterday, thinking that it would be a nice token now the impact on her might be something else entirely.
“It is a year’s worth of Italian takeout from Giuseppe’s, so if you want to eat Italian every lunch and every dinner for the rest of the year, you just show them this card and it is on the house,” I say, handing over the small laminated card that the restaurant put together for me. When I handed over my Amex for it, they almost lost their minds. It seemed a silly thing at the time, but now I know it means so much more.
“What?” She half-laughs, half-chokes out, taking the card from me and looking it over.
“You can have all the lasagna you want,” I offer with a little laugh of my own, putting my hands safely in my pockets so I don’t pull her to me. Her body stands close to mine, and I look down at her as she is taking it all in.
“Harrison! This is ridiculous!” she says with a giggle, and I feel like a king for making her smile.
“No. It just means you are shouting us all dinner from now on.” My smile widens as her laugh rings through my office, and just like that, my mother’s visit is a distant memory.
14
BETH
BREAKING NEWS
The campaign for governor is off and running, with Billionaire Harrison Rothschild and his team out and about in the community. Visiting schools, small businesses, and local sporting facilities.
His team has increased with the addition of Beth Longmere, a long-standing event expert from D.C. Beth is familiar with many of the media on Harrison’s campaign trail, some even saying that she brings a positive new light to the campaign and is complimentary to the charming smile we are all familiar with.
There are whispers that the two of them are a force to be reckoned with. This journalist is questioning whether it is all business, or if there is more than meets the eye.
More to come.
My new job is just as busy as I imagined it to be.
This week, Harrison and I have visited local communities, spoken at policy meetings, and visited sporting clubs, all to introduce ourselves to the people. While he was the star of the show, I stood back with Eddy and Oscar, taking notes and watching and learning. Often, he finishes my sentences, or I already have the paperwork he needs, the way we work together impeccable and not going unnoticed by the side-eyes Oscar continues to give us.
His compliments are frequent. He tells me how well I am doing, providing positive feedback on a daily basis, the attention only stoking the flame the started flickering when I started this job. I knew I was capable, and I am proud that I have managed to not only do the job, but exceed expectations on many fronts. This new confidence I have in myself, growing daily, is all because of him.
My feelings for him are developing with every smile he gives me, every brush of his hand, or the overt displays of chivalry, like helping me from the backseat of the car and holding my fingers for a beat longer than he needs to. The constant camera flashes from the media scrum is the only reason he seems to let go. Which has done nothing for my daydreaming, my thoughts now permanently in overdrive.
Today, however, we are visiting Elmwood Senior Citizens Center, and I am currently being challenged to a game of chess. All bets are off. I am a fierce chess player, and the chess pieces in front of me have my undivided attention. I want to win.
“Your move,” Garry, the older man who sits opposite me, says, as I see Harrison and the team wandering around and shaking hands, talking to people, doing all the things that I should be doing, yet I can’t step away from a chess challenge. My father would never forgive me.
I look at the board and bite the inside of my cheek. Garry is good. We have been at it for around twenty minutes now and starting to draw a crowd. He has a solid strategy for combating every move I make, but I am confident, and even though I have been holding back a little, I know I need to wrap this up soon.
“There,” I say, by way of a small challenge. He still has another move to make, and we can both see it clearly, the twinkle in his eye telling me he knows what I am up to, but he is happy to play along.
“Hey, Red!” Max, the photog, shouts, and both Garry and I look up just as he takes his photo.
“Don’t you get sick of those damn photographers?” Garry mumbles as he looks back at the board.
