Chapter 12 Marco
MARCO
As we drive to our dinner, we sit in silence. I steal glances at her as she looks out the window. At a light, I see her face's reflection; it shows she's contemplating things, just like me.
The fact is, I should be going over what my conversation at dinner with her will be and what we'll do now that she's in Chicago full-time, but I can't stop thinking about her hand.
It's stupid, really. It's just a ring meant to give off the impression we're actually a couple.
It's a necessary item for this business endeavor.
Yet, the way her hand, so soft and gentle, felt in my hand, and the moment we had—it just felt. .. strange.
It freaked me out.
And there's the red dress. Yes, I know I told her to wear it, and she did.
It's not the first time I've asked a woman to wear something and they listened, but this time, it's all so different.
It's the first time that the reality of a woman wearing something I asked not only met my expectations—it blew it out of the fucking water.
The way it clings to her. The V-neck showing just the right amount of the soft skin of her breasts. Her hips, and how they...
Stop.
I let out a subtle laugh, and she turns to look at me.
"What?" she asks.
I shake my head. "Nothing. Just, ah, never mind."
She looks at me for a moment, her eyes squinting as she observes my childlike reaction, and turns back to gaze out the window.
Get it together, man.
Oh, and of course, the only damn thing I can smell in this car is her sweet scent. All this clouds my mind. I should be thinking about how I'm going to use her, not just about her.
The car pulls up to our destination, and I don't think I've ever been happier to arrive somewhere. I grab the manila folder that was tucked in the back of the passenger seat in front of me and hop out of the car, not even waiting for someone to open it.
Alina wraps her arm around mine as we make our way inside. We're seated without delay alongside a window that overlooks the city.
"The view is beautiful," she says, looking out.
I don't. I've been here before.
"Yes, it is," I say and look away before she notices.
"So, normally I wouldn't ask, as it's my job, but given how you like to control things, it seems—have you thought about next steps?"
She asks as the waiter pours her a glass of deep red Chianti.
"Well, you're not wrong, though I'm picking up what you're getting at. Yes, I have, but," I say and pick up my wine, "I promise once things get going, I'll step back and let you shine," I say and stick out my glass. "To winning," I say.
She smiles and clinks my glass with hers. "To winning."
We take a sip, and our eyes never leave one another.
We order, and after a few moments, she looks down at the manila folder I brought.
"What's that?" she asks confidently.
I tap on it. "My control," I say with a smile and slide it across the table.
She takes it and opens it.
"Photos? Of us?"
I lean forward.
"Yes, the first time we met, and then the dinner, and in about," I stop and look at my Rolex, "10 minutes, here too."
I can see her studying them, and I start to get a bit nervous.
"Okay, I know it seems weird, but—"
"No, no, I get it. It's for a story?" she asks, looking over them.
"Damn, you are good," I say without thinking.
She sets the photos down. "It seems so are you as well, with controlling the narrative on things. And who's going to snap our pictures now?"
I turn to look at the man sitting at the bar thumbing through his phone. "Him. That's Peter Jackson. Works for the Tribune as a journalist. He's going to blow the story on us," I say using air quotes. "He owes me a favor."
I see her looking at Peter over her wine glass. "Hmm, I see. Well, one, I'm not going to ask about why he owes you a favor, and two, will it be like an exposé piece on us?"
She just keeps surprising me.
"Yes, exactly. He's going to run the article tomorrow. Our dating has been uncovered, and it'll 'force us,'" I say with air quotes again, "to make an announcement. I'll do both. About us and my running."
"Won't it be weird—your fiancée as your campaign manager?"
"Stop."
"What?"
"Stop that. What you're doing," I say.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do," I say and lean forward. "I'm starting to think you just want me to say how perfect you are for the job and how I think you're the best and so on because you like hearing it."
She thinks for a moment and then shrugs. "Fair enough. But in my defense, it was a valid question not to mention what girl doesn’t like receiving compliments?"
I take a sip of my wine and smile. "No, it wasn’t and I prefer to give them in a more intimate setting."
She gives me a look but doesn't respond.
The waiter comes and delivers our food, breaking the tension.
"So when do we announce?" she asks, unfolding her napkin.
"Story will come out tomorrow, so day after," I say and pick up my fork. "Between then and now, I still need to show you the main office and introduce you to a few of your staff."
"Wow, you're really on top of all this," she says and takes a bite of her food.
"I told you—I don't plan on losing. Now, let's enjoy dinner. Afterwards, we can swing by the new campaign headquarters."