Ambition: A Dark Billionaire Romance Anthology (4 page)

My reception was polite, but nowhere near as enthusiastic as that for the local celebrities. I was dressed more casually than I normally did for work, in jeans and a t-shirt that had come fresh from the printer's that morning with the logo for the new community centers superimposed over the Spartan logo and the rather simple logo we'd designed for MJT. "Thank you for the flattering introduction, Councilman McCaffery," I said, taking the microphone. "Honestly, I feel a bit nervous being up here after such a great speaker. It's kind of like being the act that follows Bruce Springsteen at our own Summer UltraSonic Festival."

"You look a hell of a lot better than Springsteen though!" someone in the crowd yelled, which got a few chuckles, doubled when I visibly blushed. The jokester got a some boos as well, which also got a laugh.

"Thanks, but I hope to be more than that," I replied, earning a few smiles from the ladies in attendance. "Councilman McCaffery is right, I'm no Marcus Smiley. I just hope that I can continue his dream of making this city into a city we can all be proud to live in again, a place where everyone has the opportunity to make the most of themselves. We've shaken off some of the shackles of crime and corruption temporarily, and now we are faced with a tremendous choice. We could do the easy thing and drift back towards the way things were. We've done it before, after all. The path is so easy, all it takes is stabbing a few friends in the back, turning away when we see evil acts being done for our short term safety or profit. Sadly, as a city, that path of clean up and then a new generation of corruption seems to be cynically cyclical.”

"That's the one path we have before us. Or, we can take another path, a path that is going to be harder, one that takes a lot of risk. That’s the path of fighting out of the darkness we've been in back into the light, into a new future. It's somewhat ironic that we have with us today members of the Spartans, a group known most famously for actually losing a battle. But you know what happened less than a year later? The Spartans forces won, and led a rejuvenated Greece into a new renaissance. I say, our own losing battle is over, and we're coming into the new battle, the one we can win, and the one that will lead this city, our city, into a new era. Thank you."

The applause that greeted my comments was a lot louder than when I came on, and I had to smile when I saw Patrick McCaffery applauding when I stepped away from the microphone. "Nice speech," he said in my ear as the Spartans General Manager stepped back up to wrap up the conference. "Next time I need someone to speak with me, I'll give you a call."

"You don't have my phone number," I replied, causing him to laugh. He looked at me with a subtle challenge to his look, which I returned just as politely. He may have been handsome, but I know I'm decent looking myself. There was no need to fawn all over him, after all.

"Well, maybe this is just my way of asking for it?" he said after a second. "Of course, if you want me to just call you at your office, that's fine too."

I looked in his green eyes, which sparkled with humor and just a bit of sexiness, and made a decision.

What the hell, it was only a cell phone number. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a business card and a pen, scribbling on the back. "Call me Tabby. And here."

A
fter the press conference
, I hopped back in the car I'd borrowed to drive back to the office. I'd ridden the RIST to work that morning, and besides, there was no way I'd turn up at a press event in my real car, not with the way it looked. While being a City Councilman in a town where the Mayor and Deputy Mayor have most of the power isn't quite as stressful as, say, being a US Congressman, it's a lot more difficult than my last job, bartending. Public perception was important.

I was distracted though as I tried to sit down at my computer and work my way through the pile of e-mails that were waiting for me. I was supposed to be able to hire two staffers to help me with my job, but coming from no party and with no political background, I was still floundering. I was about two hundred unread e-mails behind, and taking a few hours out for the press conference didn't help.

Neither the local Republicans or Democrats were willing to help me either, as my grassroots campaign had upset their handpicked candidates as well. Not to mention my positions didn't quite jive with either party. I was far too liberal on the social issues for the Republicans, while the Democrats saw my personal opposition to the city's unions and gun laws as being poisonous to them. They didn't seem to understand that it wasn't the idea of unions in general I was opposed to, just that I was opposed to the particular unions that had a lot of power in the city, as they were just as corrupt as the Confederation and Owen Lynch's group. So far, the biggest offer for help I'd gotten was from the local branch of the Liberty Bell Party, which I had to look up on the Internet to see if they really existed or not.

The city's unions were forefront on my mind as I saw that Francine Berkowitz had sent me an e-mail, stating she was due to come by my office about twenty minutes after I read the message. "I've got to hire a fucking assistant," I muttered to myself as I thought about pulling off the gift Spartans jersey that Gene had given me as part of the press conference. It was emblazoned with my name across the back, along with the number of my favorite Spartan's player from my childhood, number 42, Tim "Firetruck" Follows. "Fuck it, she wants to complain I'm getting illegal swag, I'll write Gene a check for the jersey."

While I waited for Francine to arrive, my mind kept going back to Tabby Williams. Beautiful wasn't the beginning of words I would use to describe her, with her flame red hair and creamy skin. She had dressed a lot more modestly for the press conference than she did for most of her press coverage, but still she was the sexiest woman I'd talked to in a long time.

I worked in a bar, and as Tabby had noticed, not all of my associations when I was younger were with the right crowd. I'd covered a lot of the ink up with other designs, but it took time and money to change, and I didn't yet have the money for a full sleeve on my right arm. Thank God I only was stupid enough to get the tatts on one arm.

Tabby Williams was smart, I knew that from the research I'd done on her. It’s not that I’m a weirdo stalker, I did the research strictly because I wanted to make sure that I was lending my name to a worthy group. When Gene gave me a call and told me about the program the Spartans were doing with MJT, he’d done me a favor. He wanted me to have a good start to my political career, and being involved with a good charitable program was a great leg up.

I knew about the scam charity work people like Bishop Traylor did, and refused to participate in that sort of fleecing, so I’d done what research I could on her and MJT. Everything I read about Tabby though was impressive. A good MBA, worked hard at her job prior to becoming head of MJT, with admittedly a bit of luck meeting Marcus Smiley when she did. So all in all, smart, gorgeous, and with a dedication to improving the city that hit all my buttons.

I also knew a bit about things she didn't want the public to know about, such as her seduction by Scott Pressman. Like I said, I have a lot of bad decisions to atone for.

I was still thinking about Tabby when a knock at my door interrupted me, and I looked up at the clock, noticing the time. I'd been zoning out for nearly fifteen minutes. "Come in."

Francine Berkowitz (or as I like to call her, Berkowitch, and sometimes Berkobitch) is pretty much everything that Tabby Williams isn't. With a face only a mother could love, she had connived and politicked her way to the top of the city's unions by collecting a list of black marks and dark deeds on each and every person who could be a threat to her power. I knew she would be visiting me eventually, considering who I was. Having a member of the city council in her pocket was useful, after all.

"Hello, Ms. Berkowitz," I said, getting out of my desk chair. The office had sort of old fashioned chairs that looked like they belonged in a rich man's study or library, appropriate for semi-casual meetings in it. They were a relic of the old council member who'd been indicted for bribery, and I hadn't taken the time to move them or the horrendous coffee table out. At least it was useful this time, as I indicated for her to sit before turning to my little office fridge and grabbing two Jolt Colas. "Care for a drink?"

"Uh, no thank you," she said once she eyed my offering. My tastes are unique. "I must admit Councilman McCaffery that I didn’t expect a novelty cola. Usually they serve tea or coffee at things like this."

"Forgive my inexperience, I'm still breaking in my office chair practically," I replied. "In fact, twice last week the security guards stopped me thinking I must be some sort of guest, and not that I work here. So tell me, what brings you by?"

"I wanted to offer my assistance, of course," Francine practically oozed, perching herself on the chair. She ran a hand over the upholstery, which I had to admit was nice, if not in my style. "I had such a good time picking out this pattern for your predecessor, I was sort of hoping things could be equally magnanimous between us."

"Considering that Harry Vickers is currently in Federal custody awaiting trial, I'm not sure that's a good thing although I hear he's scraped up his bail money," I replied with a laugh. "Considering he was dirty and all."

"Harry was dirty, but so is most of the rest of the council," Francine said, shrugging off my comment. "He was only stupid and dirty. I'd hate to see such a bright young superstar as yourself make the same mistakes he did."

Damn, the bitch didn't mince words. I wondered if I should set up my office for recording conversations like Nixon did, just to protect my ass. "And what mistakes were those?"

"For one, he didn't have enough buffers between himself and the money he took. Secondly, and probably more important, he didn't play ball with the right people."

Spinning the cap on my Jolt Cola, I took a long swig before replying. I wanted to make sure I chose my words very carefully, just in case Francine was trying to get me to say something incriminating as well. I may not have been recording, but that didn't mean she wasn't. "And by the right people, I assume you mean you, of course."

"Among others," she said. "Patrick, this city has been rotten to the core for generations, and the actions of one man, especially one with the unknown background of Marcus Smiley is like pissing into a hurricane, you're just going to end up covered in stench if you try."

Again, I chose my words very carefully. "So what is your advice?"

"I saw your little press conference on the television before I came over. Very noble of you, by the way. I suspect that regardless of the buildings that MJT is donating or footing the bill for, they're going to need extensive renovations to be able to pass city code for fire safety and other issues."

"I suspect so. I haven't talked about the details on that with Miss Williams yet," I said, taking another drink of cola. "Why?"

"Well, this city has a long and rich history of our construction workers and renovation experts having very strong union ties," Berkowitz said, smiling. "I would advise you to of course use only qualified unionized workers for the renovations. After all, better safe than sorry."

I nodded, understanding her threat. In addition to the construction union being under her control, Berkowitz was also head of the union that represented most of the city's workers, including the fire department and the city inspectors. If we were going to get our permits, we'd need their approval. "I see. Well, I’ll have to talk this over with Miss Williams, of course. MJT and the Spartans are running things, I'm just providing the political oomph to make sure we get good coverage of this."

"Of course, Councilman. I mean, such a position could be a coup for you, and turn this, what is it, two year term that you have until the next regular election for another five years? Why, you'd be the sort of young face that the city would love to see climb the ladder of politics, free from the constraints of either the Republicans or the Democrats. I would give you one more piece of advice, for free of course."

"Of course."

"If you do decide to turn this into something more than a gig in between bartending jobs, go and get those tats lasered off. Especially the ones that say you used to affiliate with the Confederation. I doubt the state Democrats would appreciate those."

She stood up and smiled at me, but there was no warmth in that smile, just the bared teeth of a shark that knew it was circling prey. "Good day, Councilman. I'll be in touch."

I watched Berkowitz go, and drained the rest of my Jolt in one long pull. I looked at the bottle she had left unopened on the table, and with a sigh put it back in the mini fridge. I had to before I sucked the whole bottle down. I couldn't be cruising on caffeine that night, I had work to do, and couldn't afford a caffeine crash at one in the morning. Sighing, I sat back down at my computer, then pushed the keyboard away.

"Fuck this," I muttered to myself. Reaching for my phone, I at the same time pulled out the card that Tabby had given me with her phone number written on the back. Dialing quickly, I wondered if the increased heart rate I was feeling was due to fear from Berkowitz's visit, the caffeine going through me from the Jolt, or nervousness from talking to Tabby again.

"Hello?" a slightly musical, sexy as hell voice said in my ear. Damn, I hadn't noticed that the last time.

"Hello, Miss Williams?" I said, trying to be professional. "It's Patrick McCaffery."

"Oh, hello Councilman," Tabby replied. "Please though, just call me Tabby. What can I do for you?"

The potential answers that ran through my mind were staggering, but I kept it professional. "Well, I kind of need your help."

"What with?" she asked. "If you don't mind, I'm going to put you on speaker. I'm heading home early today, taking some work with me. I'm in my car."

"All right, I wouldn't want you in an accident," I replied.

“Okay, so what's up?"

"I'm drowning in e-mails, and I’m in serious need of an assistant," I said, hoping my real life need would lead to a reason to see her again. "Now, you've been on your job just about as long as I have here at City Hall."

"About three weeks longer actually," Tabby replied, "but yes, I'm pretty new at this too. You don't have any staff?"

"None at all," I replied honestly, “but apparently I have the budget for two staffers. I asked one of my new colleagues, one of the ones who will talk to me, and he said that by tradition, the old staff is supposed to help with handover or even fill in until the new staff is hired, but they kind of just quit when Harry Vickers was arrested. A lot of people think they ran out of town before the District Attorney got to them as well. So I've been doing this by the seat of my pants."

"Ouch. Well, I don't know a lot about it, but I'll talk to my assistant. She's a real pro at this sort of thing, and she probably knows someone in the city who you can bring in quickly. Although if I'm not careful, she'd possibly just quit working for me and go over to you. She's into the crusader types."

"Crusader types, huh? Is that what I am?" I asked with a laugh. "Well, I've been called worse. All right. Also, while I have you on the line, would you mind if we got together for a working lunch to discuss this project? I had a visit from a certain union leader, and I think you'd like to be brought in on the loop."

"Of course," Tabby said without missing a beat. "How about my office the day after tomorrow? I know I'm asking you to come to me, but there's a place nearby that does great delivery, and you'd love it. If you do, I promise you my assistant will be able to help you with finding some staff for you too."

"Deal. So, it's a lunch date then. Day after tomorrow. Say, twelve thirty?"

"Date, huh? Why, Councilman, you do move fast," Tabby said with a laugh, and I had to admit I blushed. She had a very sexy laugh. "But yeah, twelve thirty is fine. See you then."