Chapter 3
Luke
“Okay, I’ve got this,” I say, feeling refreshed after a quick shower in my hotel room.
I’ve got my backpack on my shoulders and am fully prepared for my first assignment of the trip.
Swift is all tucked in alongside my laptop too—it’s not like he’ll be doing the interview with me but I always like to have him with me on any job, just for good luck and all those positive pelican vibes!
The West Quay sun is relentless, beating down on the boulevard’s colorful storefronts as I stride toward the café where I’m meeting Senator Lowell Haynes’s aide.
As I walk, my backpack bounces against my shoulder, Swift and my sketchpad tucked safely inside with my flash drive—the one piece of evidence I’m not ready to share, not even with Robert, and definitely not with Connor Kasinski.
Ugh, Connor.
Just thinking about him in the hotel lobby, all smug with that silver-streak in his hair and those lips I swore I’d forgotten, makes my stomach flip in ways I don’t want to admit.
I’m here to nail Haynes, not rehash a three-year-old kiss that meant nothing.
Well, almost nothing.
Okay, fine—it was fireworks, but that’s ancient history, and I’m keeping this strictly professional.
The reality of the situation was that I wasn’t ready for a relationship. I hadn’t found my proper career path, and I was feeling pretty unhappy at my old network news agency. So even though Connor was all kinds of hot, there was no way I was going to get myself involved in anything real.
Could I have maybe communicated this better to Connor?
Perhaps. But the last thing I needed was some long, drawn-out relationship that was only going to end in disaster.
Being a journalist is a full-on job. For me, it’s a vocation.
And back then—and right now—I need to fly solo and be the best journalist I can be.
Anyway, speaking of which…
My phone buzzes, and I fish it out, expecting another pep talk from Robert. Instead, it’s a text from an unknown number:
UNKNOWN: Back off Haynes, or you’ll regret it. Consider this your first & last warning. You really don’t want to hear from us again, hack.
“Hack?” I exclaim, offended. “Who the hell does this asshole think he is?”
But while the use of the term hack might have got me all fizzed up like a bottle of soda ready to explode, the reality is that this is very much not the kind of message anyone would want to receive.
Breathe.
It’s all part of the job.
It means I’m onto something…
My heart stutters, but I shove the phone back in my pocket, refusing to let it rattle me. I’ve had threats before—they come with the journalist territory—but this one feels sharper, like whoever sent it knows I’m close to something big.
Haynes’s dirty, I can feel it, and this text just proves I’m on the right track.
I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Connor’s hulking frame tailing me, but the street is nothing but tourists and locals, no sign of my bossy bodyguard.
Good.
I need space to pull this off, and Connor’s “I’m in charge” vibe is a liability unless he can actually do what he said and keep his distance.
The café’s up ahead, a chic spot with glass walls and neon signs, perfect for an “off-the-record” chat—of course, there’s no such thing as “off the record”, not really.
Any information I can get on Haynes will help me build a case, lead me to more concrete evidence, and hopefully return home with a far clearer idea of how this story is going to play.
My plan is simple: play the eager reporter, gush about Haynes’s charm, and get his aide, some nervous guy named Todd, to spill something juicy.
I’ve got my cover story locked—a puff piece on Haynes’s rise to power—and my recorder’s hidden in my bag, ready to catch any slip-ups.
If Todd knows about Haynes’s cartel ties, I’ll have the lead I need to crack this story wide open.
But I know that he’s hardly likely to declare any criminal associations unprompted, so I’ll definitely need to tease around the subject, being careful not to overshoot or make my intentions too obvious.
I’ve got to be smooth, subtle, and definitely not trailed by a six-foot-something bodyguard who screams “security detail.”
“Okay, here we go,” I whisper to myself, the café only a few feet away now.
I push into the café, the AC hitting me like a cold slap, and spot Todd at a corner table, fidgeting with his coffee cup.
He’s younger than I expected, early twenties, with wire-rimmed glasses and a suit that screams “trying too hard.” But it’s not a cheap suit. Far from it. In fact, it’s almost a little too expensive for a junior aide to be wearing, even one in West Quay.
I flash a smile, channeling my drama-class charm, and slide into the seat across from him.
“Todd, right?” I ask, holding out my hand. “Luke Modine, Justice Heart News. Thanks for meeting me.”
Todd nods, eyes darting to the door.
“Yeah, uh, Senator Haynes said it’s cool to talk,” Todd says. “You’re doing a profile on him?”
“Totally,” I lie, leaning forward, all enthusiasm. “He’s such a rock star—young, charismatic, DC’s talking about him. I want the inside scoop on what makes him tick.”
My fingers itch to grab my notebook, but I keep my hands loose, playing the part—after all, this is “off the record.”
Todd relaxes a fraction, sipping his coffee.
“He’s the real deal,” Todd says. “Works hard, cares about people. You know he funded that youth center downtown? West Quay might be known for its millionaires and beachside mansions, but it’s not all golden here. The Senator is changing that. He wants a fair society for everyone.”
I nod, scribbling mental notes.
“I love that,” I say, smiling. “Any specific big projects he’s pushing? Maybe something a little off the radar? You know, the kind of thing that might help with election season?”
I keep my tone light, but my journalist instincts are on high alert, sniffing for cracks in his story.
Todd hesitates, his fingers tightening on the cup.
“He’s got… initiatives,” Todd answers. “Private stuff, you know? Not everything’s for the press. The Senator isn’t some ego-driven guy. Not everything is about publicity as far as he’s concerned.”
Todd’s eyes flick to the window again, and I follow his gaze, spotting a guy in a dark jacket lingering across the street. My gut twists—I clocked a similar kind of guy with this same vibe on my walk here. Haynes’s people? Or just West Quay’s shady underbelly?
Before I can press, the café door swings open, and there he is—Connor, striding in like he owns the place, his black tee stretched tight over muscles that have no business looking that good.
Crap. I don’t need this.
My cheeks burn, half from irritation, half from that stupid flip my stomach does. Connor doesn’t look at me, just grabs a table near the exit, ordering an espresso like he’s just another customer.
Yeah, right.
Subtle as a tank, Connor.
Todd’s voice drops. “Who’s that guy? He with you?”
“Nope,” I say, too quick, forcing a laugh. “Just some dude. A hot dude. But whatever, I guess there’s a lot of those in West Quay. So, about those initiatives…”
I steer the conversation back, but Todd’s spooked, his answers turning clipped.
Damn it, Connor.
You’re blowing my cover.
I shoot him a glare, but he’s staring at his phone, all casual, like he’s not ruining my whole game plan as he sips his espresso.
But before I can think of how to pivot the conversation permanently away from Connor, Todd leans in, his voice low.
“Look, Haynes’s got big plans, okay?” Todd says. “Investments, offshore stuff. But it’s legit. You do not need to dig.”
Todd’s words are a red flag, screaming cartel money, but he’s shutting down, glancing at Connor like he’s the grim reaper. It’s almost like Todd is warning me. But I didn’t come to play. I need to keep Todd going. I need to salvage this.
“Offshore? Sounds fancy,” I say, all smiles. “Like, legit business, or…?” I trail off, hoping he’ll bite, but Todd’s already standing, tossing cash on the table.
“I gotta go,” Todd mumbles, bolting for the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Luke.”
Great. My lead’s gone, and Connor’s the reason.
I grab my bag, Swift bouncing inside, and storm toward Connor’s table, my Little side itching to throw a full-on tantrum.
“What the actual total hell, Connor?” I hiss, keeping my voice low so the café doesn’t turn into a scene. “I told you to stay away! You scared him off!”
I feel my cheeks burning red, but Connor seems infuriatingly unmoved.
Connor leans back, sipping his espresso, those dark eyes locking onto mine.
“You’re welcome, young man,” Connor says, his voice low and gruff with a hint of smugness to it. “That guy outside? He’s been tailing you since the hotel. I wasn’t about to let you walk into a trap.”
I scoff, crossing my arms.
“Trap? He was just one of the Senator’s security detail. It’s standard practice” I protest, hoping that I’m right. “I had Todd eating out of my hand until you barged in like Rambo.”
My pout’s out, and I hate how my Little side slips through, making me sound more bratty than badass.
Connor’s lips twitch, not quite a smirk but close.
“Rambo? Cute,” Connor says. “But you’re not calling the shots, Luke. You’re reckless, and I’m here to keep you alive.” His voice drops—all Daddy gruffness—and my stomach does that flip again. “Keep pushing, and we’ll have a talk you will not like.”
My face flames, remembering that tone from three years ago, when his kisses lit me up and I ran scared.
“Don’t you dare go all Daddy on me,” I snap, clutching my bag tighter, the outline of Swift’s snuggly body a comfort. “I’m doing my job. You do yours and stay out of my way.”
But even as I say it, my Little side’s buzzing, drawn to Connor’s natural dominance and control, and it’s freaking me out.
Connor stands, towering over me, his scent—leather and coffee—hitting me hard.
“Your job doesn’t mean shit if you’re dead,” Connor says, voice still low but more than capable of having an impact on me.
“I saw that guy’s moves. He’s not a random creep or standard issue security detail.
You’re in deeper than you think.” He steps closer, voice low.
“And yeah, I am your Daddy for the next 48 hours, like it or not. So behave, or I’ll make sure you do. ”
My breath catches, and I hate how his words make my knees wobbly.
“You’re not my anything,” I mutter, but it’s weak, and he knows it.
I spin on my heel, heading for the door, my heart pounding.
That text, Todd’s nerves, the guy outside—it’s all adding up, and Connor’s right about one thing: I am in deep.
But I’m not telling Connor about the flash drive or the text.
Not yet.
I don’t trust him, not after I ghosted him and he’s still so obviously holding that grudge.
Outside, the boulevard’s bustling as ever, but I feel eyes on me. I glance back, and Connor’s there, keeping his distance but close enough to pounce.
I want to lose him, to prove I don’t need him, but that text has me spooked. I get my cellphone out and scan Google Maps—it’s a fairly straightforward series of turns and side alleys. It’s time to head toward the bar where my next source is waiting, a dive joint a few blocks away.
If Connor’s tailing me, fine—he can watch me work.
But I’m not letting him derail my story.
The bar’s down a sketchy alley, neon flickering over a cracked sign. I pause, checking my phone—no new texts, but the signal’s spotty again.
As I’m about to close my backpack, my fingers brush Swift, and I whisper, “We got this, right?”
My Little side’s screaming for a coloring break, but I shove it down.
This is my shot to nail Haynes, and no bodyguard, no matter how hot or bossy, is stopping me.
Inside, the bar’s dim, smelling of spilled cocktails and broken dreams. It’s a far cry from the flashier side of West Quay, the side that Haynes seems to relish in.
My source, a disgruntled former Haynes campaign worker, is at a booth, nursing a whiskey.
I slide in, forcing a smile, but my eyes dart to the door, expecting Connor to barge in any second.
I’ve been messaging with this guy, Mike, for a while, so there’s no need for intros. It’s time to get straight to business…
“Hey, thanks for meeting me,” I say, pulling out my recorder. “Got anything on Haynes’s funding? Something… not public?”
Mike leans forward, voice low. “You’re digging a dangerous hole, kid. Haynes’s connected. Cartel money, offshore accounts. I’ve seen names—big names. But you didn’t hear it from me.”
His words confirm my suspicions, but before I can press, a shadow moves outside the window.
My pulse spikes.
Connor? Or someone worse?
I glance at the door, and there he is again, Connor, leaning against the wall like a damn statue. Mike follows my gaze, his face paling.
“You brought muscle? Shit, I’m out,” Mike says, any trust we had gone—and along with it the prospect of getting any more details on where I might get evidence of Haynes’s cartel links.
Mike doesn’t even say goodbye, he simply bolts, leaving me with half a lead and a whole lot of frustration…
“Connor!” I storm over, my pout full-on now. “Are you freaking kidding me? You’re killing my story! I told you to back off!”
Connor doesn’t flinch, just crosses his arms, his biceps flexing in a way that’s stupidly distracting.
“And I told you, young man, I’m keeping you safe,” Connor says.
“That guy outside? Same one from the café. You’re on someone’s radar, and it’s not just Haynes’s aide.
” His eyes soften, just a fraction. “You wanna play journalist? Fine. But you do it my way, or I’m carrying you back over my shoulder.
You can kick and scream all you want, but that’s just the way it is. ”
My Little side squeals at the threat, but I shove it down, glaring.
“You’re not carrying me anywhere, bossypants,” I spit. The nickname slips out, and I see his eyes spark, like he’s fighting a smile.
Damn it, why does he have to be so… him?
“Keep talking, Little Scoop,” Connor says, voice low and dangerous. “You’ll see how bossy I can get.”
Connor steps closer, and I back up, my back hitting the wall, his presence overwhelming. For a second, I’m back in that kiss, three years ago, all heat and promise. But I’m not that boy anymore. I’m Luke Modine, and I’m breaking this story… Connor or no Connor.
“Watch me,” I mutter, ducking under his arm and heading for the alley.
But as I step out, a figure moves in the shadows, and my bravado falters.
Connor’s right behind me, his hand on my arm, steady and warm.
“Stay close,” Connor growls, and for once, I don’t argue.
Haynes’s world is darker than I thought, and Connor’s the only thing standing between me and a whole world of deceit, darkness, and who the hell knows what else…