#cryingwriter

Somehow the conversation takes a left turn and he’s forced to defend his position when it comes to Fisk. Neither of the girls seem to care for the mayor. He’s okay with that. Not everyone can see the vision but part of him feels outcasted having to explain himself and a little embarrassed by his love for the guy. Deep down, there’s another part of him that can't help wanting to impress a pretty girl. So he rambles off a bit of his to-do list. He knows he shouldn’t but he’s proud to be a part of Fisk’s team and maybe if BB just saw what kind of guy he really is then she’d change her mind. About Fisk or him.

Maybe he can prove Hawke wrong too.

Cece has other plans though. Definitely not a wingwoman. “If we’re not gonna keep drinking, can we at least get some food?”

He vaguely remembers to protest but it comes weakly. His body is too tired to fight and they’re already dragging him toward the exit.

Outside, the air wakes him up a little and when they start doing some kind of girlish food-craving-chant, he finally gets the energy to put his foot down. “No, no,” he complains, sluggishly following them.

“Just a quick bite!”

“I can’t. Stop making me feel guilty.”

“Okay. Fine,” BB says with a sigh.

They start giggling and clinging to one another. He almost asks this time. They have to be lesbians or he’s high. Well, he is high. He wouldn’t care either way, he’s just curious. Are girls just like that? Oh, god! Oh, shit! What if they’re treating him like the gay best friend? His mouth is half open with drunken accusations in the chamber when he spots her.

No fuckin’ way.

Across from him in the shadowed alley, Miss Hawke hangs there, leaning against the graffitied wall like a high-class prostitute. She’s not in her normal attire, although he’s never found that to be office appropriate either. Tonight she’s dressed for the streets. Her silver dress falls mid thigh, the neckline so low he can see the curve of each breast and if she bent even slightly he’s sure he’d see her navel.

His mouth falls open and he stares. Blatantly, not even trying to hide it. Both BB and Cece turn to look. It’s that action that changes the script.

Hawke pushes off the wall and emerges from the darkness on a slow stride. Her black knee-high boots glisten like an oil spill under the street lamps as she gets closer. Something about it goes straight to his dick.

“Hey, stranger,” she says when she reaches them.

BB gives him a look. “Who’s this?”

“She’s my, uh, my, my, uh . . .”

“Just a fellow Fisk henchman,” Hawke answers for him, bitchy, tongue-in-cheek. “And you?”

Daniel glares. She knows exactly who BB is and it makes him burn with anger watching her have to introduce herself. Cece shakes Hawke’s hand and the tension between all of them ramps the longer the silence lasts.

“Uh,” BB starts, awkwardly. “We were just trying to get him a cab.”

“Oh? Where are you headed?” Hawke gives him a once over. Her tone says she’ll raise hell if he doesn’t answer this correctly.

“Home,” he grits.

“Me too, actually. We can ride together.”

Before he can protest, she’s waving down a cab. BB and Cece give him worried looks . . . or maybe skeptical. He can’t tell.

The cab pulls up and Hawke gets in first. For a moment he almost shuts the door on her but now he’s curious. They will be alone for at least half an hour. And after she’s done berating him for going out tonight, what else could they find to talk about?

BB grits her teeth, almost encouragingly. “Bye, grandpa,” she teases as he slides into the cab. There’s a moment of hesitation before the door closes and he’s locked inside with the she-devil.

He tells the driver they’re headed for the Staten Island Ferry then leans back in his seat with a heavy sigh. The silence between him and Hawke is immediately deafening. But there’s a current in the thick, hot air, something dark that speaks to brewing tension. Something tinged with sex.

Confused and uncomfortable with that, he dares a glance her way. Of course, she’s looking at him and it makes him squirm.

“Are you hot?” she asks and he feels her eyes burning a hole in his jaw, feels the way they follow the sweat rolling down his neck.

He doesn’t look. “Yeah.”

“That’s because you’re wearing this.” She reaches into his space, her hand sliding along the seam of his hoodie. “Oh, it’s a button up,” she says, surprised.

Before he knows what’s happening, she’s moving into the middle seat and has both her hands on him. One gripping his shoulder, the other thumbing open the top button of his jacket.

Then the second button.

Third.

The air in his lungs is punched out. It takes him a second to get his bearings, then he waves her off, shrinking against the door. “I know how to take off my jacket,” he says dumbly, defensively.

“I know.” The seat creaks as she leans back against it slowly and lets him do it himself. “You look different out of a suit.”

Chills roll through him as he shucks off his jacket, the perspiration on his skin making him feel moist and sticky. “Yeah, well, you look . . .” You idiot. He stops and curses himself for never knowing when to shut his mouth.

“Go on. I can take it like a big girl.”

“Are you cold? Is that why you’re trying to take my hoodie? I mean, you fuckin’ look cold.” He turns toward her, pulling his jacket from behind him. “The weather is crazy this time of year and you're practically wearing nothing.” He shoves the hoodie onto her lap. “Take it. I don’t even need it.”

Her laugh is overly loud in the enclosed space as she spreads his jacket over her legs. “Wow. I think that’s the nicest way someone has ever said I look like a whore.”

“You covered the least of your problems,” he scoffs, gesturing to her breasts.

Her thighs fall open, his hoodie sinking in between them. “You don’t like the dress?”

The traitorous thing between his legs loves this dress. He loves it so much, he wants to see it on the floor of his bedroom. He loves it so much he might make himself known if Daniel doesn’t look away.

“I don’t know. It’s kinda ugly.”

“Uh-huh. It is kind of ugly. Maybe I should take it off.”

Their eyes meet and he wants to shoot himself. She’s got him so pegged. “No, no, I know what you’re doing. You’re baiting me and I’m not gonna fuckin’ fall for that. Okay? I’m not sticking my foot in my mouth this time.”

She slides up next to him, hands moving across his chest. He squirms again but there’s nowhere for him to go. “You’re so much fun, Daniel,” she purrs, an inch from his ear.

The sound of his first name from her lips for the first time makes him shiver. She’s so close now he can smell her perfume but no alcohol. There’s no way she’s doing this sober, is there? But if she is drunk, maybe she won’t remember in the morning. He, on the other hand, is never going to forget this for as long as he lives.

Her hand clamps around his thigh. He gasps and chokes on his own spit. “Holy fuck,” he pants out between a cough, trying not to be too loud.

That godforsaken hand travels between his legs until it’s nestled there over the hard ridge in his jeans. Holy Mary mother of God. He sucks in another torturous breath. And he looks at her, eyes wildly pleading don’t do this . . . but don’t stop either. His body responds so eagerly he wants to die because she knows now exactly what this does to him. As if things weren’t bad enough, her other hand comes up to caress his cheek. Over the sweat on his upper lip. Down his chin. And oh fuck, he likes that. A lot.

“I hope Fisk keeps you around.” Her hand pumps him a few times and he sighs.

“Yep. Me too.” Hesitantly, he puts his hand over hers and stops her from moving, flicks his eyes to the driver, then back to her. “Hey so, uh, normally, if I’m gonna, ya know, go all the way with a girl, uh, woman, well, I’d know her name first,” he stutters.

“What makes you think you’re gonna go all the way?”

Heat floods into his cheeks. “Your . . . Your hand.”

“You’re so easy,” she whispers. “If I can do this, what would Miss Urich have to do to get you talking?” Her lips nearly touch his neck. “Not. Very. Much.”

That sends the heat below, down his chest, into his stomach. It churns. He hates what she’s implying but now he understands. “BB is a nice girl,” is the best he does at a counter argument.

Her hand squeezes him and he makes no effort to stop her. “No, BB is a very bad girl. And I think you’re gonna find out soon she’s played you for a chump.”

“You don’t . . .” He cuts himself off with a pleasured sigh. “Know that.”

The cab comes to a stop and Hawke pulls away from him abruptly, settling into her seat as if nothing happened. She hands him his hoodie and his dick throbs so he puts it around his waist.

“I got somewhere else to be tonight. You go on and I’ll pay for the ride.” Her eyes are so light they almost match her dress when she looks at him. “Get some sleep and take a shower. You can think of this dress if you want.”

He scoffs, peels himself off the seat, kicks open the door, and steps out.

“Oh, and Daniel,” she calls, leaning down to see him. And he catches a glimpse of her navel in the split opening of her dress just like envisioned. She stretches forward and grabs the handle. “My name is Teresa,” she says and pulls the door shut.

Chapter 8: Inherited Damage • Teresa and Daniel get closer as she unravels under the newness of her position within Fisk’s empire. (June 5th)

Chapter 9: A Poor Man's Sandwich • Daniel helps Teresa relieve a little bit of her stress. ✦ (June 8th)

“Is that what you’re doing? Thought you had a more important job.”

He smiles. When another waiter passes, he grabs the glass from her hand and replaces it with a fresh one from the tray.

“It would be nice to be reminded there’s actually a person in that beautiful shell, Miss Hawke,” he says, but there doesn’t seem to be any intention behind it. More of an observation. Doesn’t he realize the same could go for him?

Before she can think of a smart reply, he takes off, turning only for a second to wink over his shoulder then disappears into the crowd.

Before the campaign, everything was different. The parts they played, the familiarity of their relationship. Now she’s Miss Hawke instead of Teresa and she’s had to get used to sirs and ma’ams and the whole script of the thing. It’s exhausting.

The room seems to shrink on her and her legs become restless, unrooted. On the opposite corner of the room there’s an exit, so she makes her way toward it quickly. It will be easy for her to slip out if she wants to but she’s not ready to make a break for it just yet. She’s still waiting on someone.

Vanessa finds her next. She’s wearing the dark green gown Teresa picked out and it looks excellent on her. There is no wonder why the mayor is head over heels for the gorgeous brunette. Vanessa is beautiful in a classic, regal way. A way that makes Teresa feel inadequate in comparison.

“I’m so happy you could come,” she says in her smooth accent. “Are the earrings too bold?”

Teresa laughs. “I’m sure you could wear a trash bag, Mrs. Fisk, and still look just as stunning.” There’s that awful, plastic script again. It’s Mrs. Fisk, when she used to be simply Vanessa.

“You flatter me.”

“It’s well deserved.”

Vanessa links her arm around Teresa’s and takes her across the room, toward the mayor. “For our next adventure to the boutique, I think you should pick something out for yourself.” She looks her up and down. Teresa’s wearing one of her work dresses. It’s black, peplum style, from Macy’s. Nothing special. “I, of course, will still want your help with my own dress. But I think you would look wonderful in something designer.”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs.

“My treat.” Vanessa looks at her under her lashes, batting them promisingly. At least someone is still treating her like old times.

Teresa laughs. “I couldn’t.”

“I’m offering!”

They reach Mayor Fisk and Vanessa trades Teresa’s arm for his. “Wilson, wouldn’t Miss Hawke look lovely in Hermés for the inaugural ball?”

“Hm? Yes, of course,” he gruffs, distracted.

Heat comes to Teresa’s cheeks, no doubt turning them pink. She hopes her makeup is truly as full coverage as advertised. Being the center of attention has never been a good feeling for her, no matter if Fisk is just agreeing to agree with his wife. She already longs to sink back into the shadowy corners and observe the party from there. But she doesn’t want to be rude, so she follows her employers through the room, smiling politely when people glance at her, but she’s purely decorative at this point, making no effort to be a salesman for Fisk’s passion project.

They’re about to make their way into another room full of money bags, as Buck called them, when the person she’s been waiting for arrives with the aforementioned right-hand man.

Daniel ruffles his hair then slicks it back as he strides toward them on a heavy step. He looks pale. Something is wrong, she can tell immediately and everything in her wants to go to him. It’s out of character, strange and wildly inappropriate but it’s consuming, eating her whole. She wants to ask if something has happened but Buck shoulder checks her as he passes, jostling her out of the way.

Mayor Fisk turns as if shocked by the hand on his shoulder. And for some odd reason, Buck looks to Daniel to provide the answer.

“There’s something you need to see,” he says, and bows his head.

Teresa’s pulse spikes. No . . . Did he do something else? Did he fuck up again so soon? Is this the mistake that unleashes what Fisk is truly capable of? Her heart leaps into her throat and she can’t breathe. Please, not him.

“Daniel,” she bursts, and they meet eyes.

Fisk puts a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll return in a moment. Keep Vanessa company, will you?”

Air expels from her lungs with the compliant answer she’s used to. “Yes, sir.”

In the shadowy cab of the SUV, Daniel flips through disturbing pictures of the crime scene for Mayor Fisk on his tablet. This sicko serial killer has been painting murals with his victims blood and now it seems his art is mocking the police. Daniel’s stomach churns as each photo reveals more detail.

Two women lie slumped against a brick, gore-graffitied wall, with their eyes gone. And for some weird reason, he thinks of the club and Teresa in that silver dress. He thinks of her being left like garbage as a message for the cops or the mayor. The image in his head is horrible—her lying there, covered in red, her beautiful glacier-blue eyes gouged out.

He looks away from the screen. The thoughts scare him. The pictures make him want to vomit. If this is part of his job then he’s starting to question it. Even more so when Fisk speaks.

“We can use this.”

Teresa follows Vanessa around until her feet start to hurt inside her heels. She forgot this pair always rubs the back of her ankle raw. Doesn’t matter either way though, her body is on high alert. Besides being overstimulated from conversation and the cheap fabric of her dress, whatever is going on with Daniel concerns her.

Thankfully it doesn’t take them hours to return to the party because she would have resorted to heavy contemplation and what-if-spirals. But it doesn’t make her feel better that when she sees him coming down the hall, Daniel is paler than before.

The mayor takes his wife back on his arm and Buck eventually minds his business so Teresa takes the moment to grab Daniel by the arm and lead him away.

“Where are we going?” he asks, but his voice is off, not excited like he might be if his head was in the place it usually is.

She doesn’t answer, dragging him down the hall until she finds a utility closet, opening the door swiftly. It isn’t only so they can talk in private, she needs the quiet to refocus. Electricity buzzes when she pulls the string for the hanging bulb light. Then she shuts them in together.

There’s a flicker in his eye beyond the questioning look he has stapled to his face. Ah, he is still thinking about their moment in her car. She has to ignore the fact that she promised him later because right now is not the time.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Nothing.”

“Daniel.”

His shoulders slump under her demand. “You know how they’ve been finding bodies and stuff. Weird graffiti.”

She nods. “There’s a serial killer.”

“The feds sent some pictures of this guy's newest work.” He swallows hard, grimacing like he’s remembering them now. “I don’t know what it was about it. Like, I’ve seen some shit. I just . . . What if it was someone I knew, you know?”

He looks so defeated, which is an odd thing to be in this situation. She expects disgust or horror, and there's some of that too, but defeat is new. Maybe he’s thinking about whether or not he's capable of saving people. His sad brown eyes stick her straight in the heart.

There’s nothing to do then but hold him. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him against her slow and soft. It takes him a second to calibrate before his hands slide hesitantly over her hips and around her lower back.

“No one should have to see that.” She reaches up and pets the back of his head. “I’m sorry you did.”

He sighs like she let out a pin that was holding in all his tension and he relaxes against her. “I can’t imagine if something like that happened to you.”

His words honestly shake her. Because this isn’t some dumb, horny kid being sorry to see her go for the simple reason that he hasn’t had his penis in her yet. It’s different. He sounds . . . She has no idea. No one has ever said that to her before. Maybe he has the same sick worry that she does about him. That something could happen and she’d realize too late what it actually meant having him in her life.

Something is happening between them.

No. It’s too early to make that call.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, comforting him anyway. “Promise.”

Daniel pulls away like she bit him and her arms fall to her sides. “You can’t promise something like that. I’m starting to notice this job is more dangerous than I thought it’d be. That there is way more to it, working for Fisk. And if you get in the middle of something and you . . .” He can’t say it and she doesn’t make him.

The pictures he saw must’ve really rattled him. Normally she’d tease him about it, make him feel like he’s silly for worrying, but he’s starting to catch on. And Fisk is starting to let him in on things.

“I dunno,” he continues. “Maybe I’m whipped. Maybe I care about you. Either way, if something happened to you, I’d be crushed. You know . . .”

Her body feels a thousand degrees and ice cold at the same time. She shivers, reaching back out to touch him, and until she gets ahold of his shoulders again, she isn’t sure if it’s to ground herself or to comfort him. This time he surges forward to meet her, wrapping his thick arms around her waist.

He nuzzles into her neck, lips wet against her skin. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

“We don’t have to,” she whispers, trying to control her impulses.

“I don’t wanna think.”

When he pulls away to look at her, his eyes are half-lidded. The look that signals what he’s about to do. His hand goes for her face, and before he’s even gotten there, he’s leaning in with his eyes closed.

She seizes his throat and his eyes shoot open. “Ask me nicely first.”

He gasps unevenly. “May I . . . kiss you?” She holds his stare. At least he’s proper, but she’s waiting for the word that sounds so pretty from his mouth. And like sweet perfection, he doesn’t waste a second. “Please,” he breathes out, desperately.

Hesitantly, she moves forward, allowing herself the satisfaction of feeling for the first time in a long time. Lets herself press into him, seeking warmth and the weight of another body against hers. It’s almost too much.

They move into each other slowly, arms tangling and untangling until they’re slotted together without room for a thing between them. She brushes her lips against his mouth, testing, teasing, sending tingles down her own body as well as his. She feels the way he shivers.

Her belly tightens. It’s been too damn long since she’s felt someone wanting her like this. His hips shift, seeking the juncture of her legs but the skirt of her dress restricts him and they both let out a frustrated sound at that.

“Kiss me,” she says, fingers in his hair, tugging.

Daniel moans into it, his mouth engulfing hers. It’s messy and intense and she is driven to moaning herself as his tongue slides against hers. She puts a hand around his throat again and sucks his bottom lip as she pulls away to look at him.

His sleepy eyes dart everywhere he can look, panting hard, his cheeks and ears and neck all red from how bad he wants her.

The hand around his throat seems to have a mind of his own as it travels up to grip his chin. She sticks out her tongue to lick his lips and he does the same, chasing her as she retreats. Then she drops back into another kiss, open mouthed, wet, and hard.

His thick hands travel down her back to cup her ass. He pulls her against him, squeezing, and she can feel his hard cock pressed to her abdomen. She advances into the excitement. God, she could come undone right here. Her moan is broken as she rubs against him, eagerly pursuing the friction.

This has to stop but it feels too damn good.

She has to stop.

She has to.

He breaks free of her bruising kiss and nips at her jaw, following the underside until he’s settling into the curve of her neck, licking her sweat and sucking the skin. One of his hands slips between them, sliding up her thigh to knead gently. Her hips jerk at the sensation. He’s so close to touching her and she’d be done for if he did. She’s so wet, they could do it right here in the closet without a worry in the world.

His other hand comes up and paws at her breast, stroking her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. Thank God it’s so cheap. Her head falls back. There’s no stopping herself from letting this one weak moan go.

“Oh, fuck,” Daniel groans, his breath coming out in a steady rhythm against the slick stripe he’s made up her neck. “Can I touch you? Please. Christ, I need to touch you.”

Damn it.

They have to stop. She really has to. She has to stop him now because if she doesn’t she’s going to let him do exactly what he’s asking.

“We can’t do this here,” she says, out of breath, and already hating herself for it. For once she’d like to be reckless, to let him slip his fingers inside her and get her off.

He laughs awkwardly as he pulls back. “I didn’t think so.” His cheeks are still cute and pink from kissing and his slight humiliation. “Not that I wasn’t wishing,” he adds quietly.

She can’t hide her smile. “Next time we’re alone and in private, I swear I will give you what I’ve been promising. How about that?”

He gives her a hopeful look.

Her brain seems to turn back on and she realizes she’s making it too easy on him. “On one condition.”

He shakes his head, still dazed. “Totally.”

The stipulation is born of pure dominance and a ridiculous, baseless jealousy that she cannot let go on further. If it wasn’t enough dragging him into the closet, if it wasn’t enough showing him a different side of her, or putting her hands on him in that cab, then let it be known now that she is staking her claim.

“You have to stop letting Miss Urich take advantage of you,” she says in a whisper, in a voice he’s only heard when her hand is around his erection. Only she gets to take advantage.

He swallows. “Yeah. Yes. Already past that.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods, almost too eagerly. He wants his reward but that’s about the only motivation. She doesn’t expect he’ll drop contact altogether with BB, in fact she doesn’t want him to. He needs a friend his age. He needs someone outside of this circle he’s quickly falling into with Fisk. Teresa wants him to have that. But she wants to be sure that she’s the only place he comes when he wants . . . a reward.

“I want you to succeed,” she coos, combing his hair back and caressing his flushed face. “I want to see you become the man that Mayor Fisk thinks you can be. I already see it, Daniel. You’re gonna move up and it’ll be all because you owned your shit and because you’re so loyal.”

He listens intently, nodding like he’s claiming the words as subliminal affirmations.

She embraces him fully and his weight presses against her, heavy and warm, as if he’s sinking into the feeling. He sighs, lips on her throat. And the praise comes out of her unfiltered and raw. “You’re such a good boy.”

With a groan, he nuzzles into her neck. “I don’t wanna leave this closet.”

Neither does she. But she doesn’t give either of them the satisfaction of saying so. Instead, she pulls away and straightens his clothes like a mother would her son's first prom suit.

He chews his inner cheek. “I could come to your place later.”

She chuckles. He will have to take care of that tempting arousal all by himself. “You will go home, eat something moderately healthy, take a shower, and then get some sleep. Alright?”

He raises a brow. “Is that an order?”

“Yes, Daniel. That’s an order.”

Gracie Mansion is dark when Teresa finds Mayor Fisk in the dining room. He’d asked her to meet him and said they needed to talk after she got back to the party with Daniel. She worries that someone saw them leave the closet after their moment, there are eyes everywhere after all. And some of those eyes are set out to destroy what Fisk is building.

“You wanted to see me,” she says, hands clasped in front of her as she makes her way down alongside the table toward him at the head.

“Yes,” he says, no indication of what about.

She’s unable to read him and it scares her. Maybe she’s losing her touch, living on borrowed rest since the campaign began. Or maybe, more likely, she’s been distracted. Which is concerning. Normally she’s in tune with Fisk, she has been for a time longer than she can measure. Only recently has that connection started to slip.

“Have a seat.” He gestures to the chair and waits for her, folding his arms. Once she’s seated, he smiles gently but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Vanessa told me earlier that she talked to you about a new wardrobe.”

This is what he wanted to see her about? The fact that he’s out growing his clothes? Vanessa was vague about it but with this newly assigned stylist gig, she supposes it's in the job description to dress him too. “Uh, yes, sir. I’ll look around and bring some catalogues for you to look at. Would you prefer I bring them here or the office?”

“Here,” he says simply.

“Of course.”

“And if you could schedule an appointment with a tailor . . . Someone we’ve worked with before.”

“Yes. I’ll check with Sheila first thing tomorrow to see when will be a good time.”

“Thank you, Teresa,” he says with a heavy sigh.

It turns out the fundraiser hadn’t gone as well as they’d all hoped. It seems Fisk is getting tired and a bit in over his head. It would be a lot for anybody but it’s a whole other world for someone like him. He isn’t used to not getting what he wants in his preferred time frame. Though, he’s never been one to back down. Neither has Teresa.

It’s felt lately that she’s been demoted entirely to the errand girl for clothing rather than an actual asset to Fisk’s empire. She’s been many things for him over the years but this has reduced her to near nothing. It pains her to feel so useless. “Sir,” she starts, cautiously. “I want to know what Daniel and Buck came to see you about.”

“It was nothing.”

“Wilson,” she says, using his name because she’s tired of the charades. It’s almost insulting having to call him sir or Mayor or even Fisk, when Wilson is what she called him for years before she worked for him, when she was a girl. “Please don’t edge me out.”

He softens only slightly. “It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

“It’s about the killer. Muse.” She doesn’t miss the way he almost snarls, thinking someone has told her when they weren’t supposed to. And she supposes they did but she keeps Daniel’s name out of her mouth. “It’s the only thing I can think of that would make Buck so tense. And the poor Blake kid looked sick. I don’t understand why you don’t talk to me about these things anymore.”

He frowns. “Your brother would want you to be kept free from the burden of these things now that you can be.”

She almost laughs. That was never a problem when he tried to turn her into her brother after he died. So why start now? “I’m capable of handling things myself and you know that.”

When things had gone badly for Wilson, when he’d been imprisoned, Teresa was the one to follow Vanessa to Europe. It was thought that no one would suspect a female bodyguard—they could pose as friends on a trip and no one would bat an eye. Except Vanessa was never friendly then. She was hurt and lonely and they both missed Wilson so it wasn’t hard for Teresa to understand and let it go.

At one time or another, she’d been a friend to him. A confidant. She’d left an entire life behind to fill a hole the great James Wesley created when he got himself shot to death. He kept her to replace her brother, someone she could never live up to. There were others too but they always fell through. She was the only one who stayed. And maybe part of that was because Wilson was all she had left of James and she all Wilson had left. Their only true connection now is the grief her brother left behind.

“Your brother would want to see you safe. I have to honor that,” he says but it feels hollow. And untrue. “In this new life endeavor, I can secure that as a promise. You do not have to see the ugly side of things anymore.”

Her throat is tight but before she lets herself get emotional, she swallows it down and says, “It’s too hard for me. I can’t be nothing.”

“You are not nothing, Teresa. Not to me.” He reaches out and places a hand over hers where they’re clasped and resting on her knees. He seems to understand exactly what she means. Whether it’s because he knows her or because he himself misses the thrill of his old life. Yet she gets the strange urge to pull away. “What position would you have me put you in?”

It doesn’t seem like he wants her anywhere near fixing level, so she leaves that to Buck. Although there isn’t much else for her to do, that doesn’t involve some kind of risk. That’s when she thinks of the only thing that she’s been thinking about for days.

“I could mentor. I could mentor Daniel Blake. Make sure he’s not going off script.”

Her heart pounds and she hopes Fisk doesn’t question it. It’s much more than just her budding need to direct Daniel in every sense, to conquer, and attract or arouse him. It’s also the attachment forming, the one that has her scared of losing him to the ugly side of this job. If she can coach him, be his master for all intents and purposes, then she can stop what happened to her brother from happening to him. Which in many ways would be worse. Daniel is innocent.

“Mentoring someone is . . . not as easy as it seems.” Fisk leans back in his chair and sighs. “But I see the boy means something to you.” Of course he can tell. She waits with bated breath. “So . . . you want him?”

Her ability to read what he means by that is gone. She has no idea what he’s truly asking and the question feels loaded, like a gun, her answer being the thing that does or doesn’t pull his trigger. Maybe the answer is yes regardless of the meaning, but she decides to play things safe and reiterate where her loyalties lie. She knows better. “I can make him ours, sir.”

“Then you have my permission.”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t want to leave you unassisted, sir.”

Buck comes up behind her, fixing his suit button. “Am I not assistance enough? Because I can assure you, I do quite the same job whether you’re within my presence or not, Miss Hawke.”

Fisk laughs tiredly. “You both provide entirely different forms of assistance. And I only trust one of you with my wife’s fashion.”

Teresa smirks, side-eyeing Buck. “Vanessa looks lovely in the gown she’s wearing tonight, by the way.”

“I’m sure,” Fisk muses. “As she always does.”

“Well,” Buck says, accent thick and teasing. “I hope you have fun scanning the aisles while I do the important job of security for the big man.”

Fisk shakes his head. “Leave her be, Buck.”

He aptly shuts his mouth.

That’s enough jovial banter for all of them. But Teresa still gives him a look that does the same job as a child saying neener neener. “Anything you’d like me to bring to the party, sir?”

“Just yourself,” Fisk answers but doesn’t look up from his desk. Guess he’s done with both of them.

She grabs her coat and sets off toward the elevators. It’s been a while since she’s been able to take time off and it’s cost her a lot to miss out on a routine she’s had since college. The last twenty years of her life have revolved around Wilson Fisk in one way or another. She’s never quite found the schedule that works to have a life of her own but she doesn’t complain. This is just the way things are.

She passes Sheila, who actually smiles at her today. Teresa turns to say something but the thought is punched out of her when a body larger than her own crashes right into her despite the hallway being quite expansive. It’s pretty obvious who it is before she gets a glimpse.

“Shit! Sorry, sorry!” Daniel catches her before she can topple over. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking.”

Teresa grits her teeth. Now her ankle and shoulder are throbbing but at least he didn’t pummel her into the ground. “It’s fine.” She straightens her dress and looks at Sheila who is still standing there, astonished by Daniel’s lack of spatial awareness. Teresa nods in agreement then gets an idea. “Can I borrow him?”

Sheila seems suspicious. “What for?”

“Field trip.”

Daniel looks between them like a lost puppy.

“You wanna take him off my hands, that’s fine with me. But he is working so be punctual. Where are you—” Sheila’s face screws up. “Never mind.” She walks away before she gets caught up in that conversation.

Teresa laughs. Oh, she’s sick sick of him.

“Did she, like, think that we were—” The words die on their way out of Daniel’s mouth.

She ignores him, taking his arm. “Come on.”

Down on the street, Daniel struggles to keep up with Teresa’s high-heeled long legs. She still has a hold of his arm as she drags him behind her like a child or dog on a leash. He doesn’t mind. But his skin is burning beneath her red tipped fingers, actually his whole body is on fire. Not even the cool breeze helps cool it down.

They stop somewhere along the street and she digs into her purse, her other hand slipping from his forearm into his sweaty palm. He doesn’t move an inch, scared she’s done it by accident and will pull away once she figures it out.

She presses a key fob and lights flash on a Lincoln across from them. Who even drives in New York?

“Nice ride. Very sexy,” he compliments awkwardly.

She lets go of his hand and gives him an even sexier smile. “Right fit for me?” She opens the car door for him and he stands there stiffly. “Come on. Not even a laugh?”

He passes her and leans against the frame. “You know, I can’t tell when you’re being funny.”

“I’m funny all the time,” she professes and takes off around the car.

Once they’re both settled in with their seatbelts on, she starts the engine and takes off into the city’s morning traffic. She’s silent as she concentrates, easily maneuvering them through the sea of vehicles. And he’s silent too because he’s about to sweat his fucking dick off. The AC is blasting him in the face and yet he’s melting under his clothes.

Teresa takes back roads, driving the wrong way down a one-way alley, and he’s too shocked to speak even then. It may be illegal but somehow she gets them to their destination in under thirty minutes when it would’ve taken a cab an hour or more this time of day. He’s impressed.

“Where are we?” he asks, gaping up at the high rise apartments they’re parked in front of.

“My place,” she says simply and gets out before he can reply.

Rushing to take off his seat belt, he chokes himself. She’s about halfway down the sidewalk by the time he manages to stumble out of the car and chase after her. “Why are we here?”

“Just keep up, Blake.”

He shuts his mouth and decides not to question what could be a good thing. There’s a lot of reasons she could be taking him home. Maybe she wants him to rearrange her living room. Who knows? But Christ, he hopes it’s something else. Like her finishing what she started in the cab. Because he’s pretty damn sure he’s been half hard since and nothing will make it go away except maybe her.

His cheeks ignite and it’s almost painful. He feels faint. Jesus. He grabs his tie and loosens it a bit, popping the top button of his shirt. It doesn’t help. They make it to her door, and thank God it’s on the main level because he would’ve died on the stairs.

She unlocks the door and walks inside, leaving him on the stoop. His eyes wander. The kitchen to the left is lit by golden pendant lights and the other side of the room has a lamp on, other than that it’s pretty dark. The couch is plush with several throw pillows and there’s a plant on a far wall bookshelf. It seems cozy but impersonal.

“Do you need to be invited in?” she teases, half obscured in shadow.

He realizes he’s still standing there and trips inside, shutting the door behind himself. “Your place is really . . . clean.”

“Thanks.” She laughs, digging through her pantry now. Her voice is muffled where she’s bent over. “I sweep and mop. I even vacuum and dust.”

Doesn’t matter what she says, he can hardly hear her because he’s staring at her ass. It’s literally perfect. He sorta feels bad because she’s trying to be funny but he can’t help that it’s in his line of sight.

Shit. Should he be helping her?

He jogs over to see what she’s looking for. As she stands back up, she knocks the pantry door open with her hip and it hits him square in the face. He yelps and stumbles backward.

“Oh my God!” She grabs him by his shoulders. “Sit down, there’s a stool behind you.”

He falls onto it, holding his head in embarrassment and pain.

She peels his hands away to look at him. “Oh my God,” she repeats.

Through watery eyes he watches her brows pull up in worry. “How bad is it?”

“You’re totally mangled.”

The bridge of his nose hurts when he laughs, realizing her concern is entirely fake. He probably deserves it. “You’re so mean. What if I was bleeding?”

She brushes the hair off his forehead with the featherlight touch of her fingertips. “You’re not bleeding,” she whispers. Her eyes search his, then drop to his lips.

“What are we doing here?” he asks. “Besides giving me a concussion.”

For a brief moment he thinks he sees her mask slip away. There’s hesitancy in the way she watches him. He wants to hang onto that, it means it’s going there again, like it did in the cab. He knows it. And Christ, he aches for it. Please, he wants to beg, please finish me.

But she turns away, grabbing whatever it was she pulled out of the pantry. It’s a large fabric-covered-thing. “I could use a hand,” she says, and pops the button on the side, folding it open until it makes a box.

“What is that?”

“It’s a cooler bag,” she says like it’s obvious.

Nothing comes to mind of what the hell they could be doing. He notices she brought some plastic utensils and plates out of storage as well. “These go in here?” he asks, holding them up.

“Yeah, put them in the side pocket.”

He does as told then watches her saunter over to the refrigerator. Still, not a clue in the world about what they could be doing. Out comes a pasta salad, a potato salad, and a fruit salad, and she packs them all into the cooler bag neatly. Then, as if she’s feeding an army, the fridge produces, like, a hundred ham and cheese sandwiches all wrapped in cellophane.

She continues packing more snacks into what little room there is left. Then hefts a giant pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge. “I’m gonna need help carrying all this,” she says before turning back around to grab ice packs out of the freezer.

He guesses he should be amused and not shocked. This is exactly the kind of labor he’s used to with women. “Where are we taking this?”

“You’ll see.” She smiles.

And he does. Twenty minutes later, after breaking his back carrying the cooler bag to the trunk of her car, they’re downtown. The seedy part of town where even the police refuse to go sometimes. But even sitting here in the mouth of an alley, he still doesn’t know what they’re doing.

Teresa gets out and pops her trunk. He follows like a lost puppy and as soon as they're beside each other, people start emerging from the alley, from doorway stoops and tents and sleeping bags .

Oh. He’s a fucking idiot. “The homeless,” he says out loud without meaning to. “That’s what we’re doing. Feeding homeless people.”

“Took you long enough,” she says, and unzips the cooler.

People line up beside her car and pass back plastic plates, cups, and forks to each other as if they’ve done this before. Daniel has to imagine that this is a regular occurrence because it’s just too neat of a system. And now he’s even more impressed and amazed by Teresa because she had to have made all this food herself. Where does she find the time?

He watches in awe as she fills plate after plate and cup after cup, making sure each person gets what they’re looking for. She doesn’t complain when people sneak back for seconds and she doesn’t turn anyone away.

When the last of the line goes back to the alley with their share, Teresa smiles at him and grabs the last two sandwiches. They weren’t as big of a hit as the salads. “Are you hungry?”

He chuckles, now absolutely wild about her, and means his next word in more ways than one. “Starving.”

She opens the back door, pushes him into the seat then has him scoot over so she can join him. They eat in silence for quite some time and thankfully it isn’t awkward. It’s actually nice, sitting here with her, watching the way she eats her sandwich with both hands, meticulously folding the cellophane down as she goes so she doesn’t get her hands dirty.

He, however, has taken the whole thing out of the wrap, letting the sauces coat his fingers. He’s too busy enjoying being fed by her to care. She laughs at him and licks her lips. And that is a sight he’s sure he’ll think about later.

He swallows his bite and clears his throat. “So how long have you been doing this?”

“Hmm, since college.”

“When was that?”

She covers her mouth with her hand before answering even though she’s done chewing her next bite. “A long time ago.”

He refrains from asking her age. He hears chicks don’t like that. “Does Fisk know?”

She shakes her head.

He can’t believe it. “What! Why not?” He sits forward, sucking mayonnaise off his fingers obscenely. “I mean, this is fuckin’ cool. And think about what you could do if you, like, made this into a program or whatever. Got other people involved. Mayor Fisk would be stoked. He loves New Yorkers!”

“Fisk loves New York.”

He shrugs. “Same difference. I mean, come on, that’s mad social cred too. Literally, you’re like Saint Teresa!”

“You’re thinking of Mother Teresa.” She laughs. “And I don’t want the recognition.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not about that. I can’t house all these people. But I can put food in their bellies and point them in a good direction, right? Doesn’t matter who I am.” She sighs and wads up the cellophane from her sandwich. “Besides, if this was tied to the mayor, they’d send news crews down here and all sorts of stuff, trying to make a story. These people don’t need that.”

He realizes he’s misjudged her completely. Though, she makes an effort to wear a mask at work, doesn’t she? She doesn’t want people to like her. Or get to know her. “I don’t understand. If you don’t want people to know, why’d you bring me?”

“I was getting tired of carrying the bag by myself.”

He kicks her ankle lightly. “Don’t deflect.”

“I don’t know.” She smiles. “Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Let me get this straight. You got me out of work to come feed homeless people with you because you’re wondering how I am?”

Her smile widens. “How are you?”

“I’m great.” He shakes his head, letting out a chuckle. “You?”

“Good.”

There’s a swell of infatuation when he thinks about the why. “You thought Fisk was going to fire me, didn’t you?” Her face says it all. “You were scared that you were getting me fired for telling me to own my shit.”

“Maybe.”

“You like having me around.”

Her eyes set him alight again, burning a hole through him. Somehow he remains confident enough to look back, to hold her eyes, and add a little challenge to the accusation. He tries desperately to send her his thoughts, willing them into her mind—hear me. See me. I know you can read me, Teresa. Finish me off.

“You’re hard working, Daniel.” It comes out soft and raspy and those words are double edged. He wants to feel them slice him right open. Just the sound of her voice turns him on. “I think you’re gonna go far.”

“I did what you said. I owned up.”

“Yes, you did.”

His heart hammers so fast he thinks it may stop altogether. And he nearly shakes when he gets the courage to say, “You said there would be a reward.”

Her eyes darken, smile turns cunning. “Your reward for doing what I said was keeping your job.” His heart sinks momentarily. “But I think you deserve another reward, for playing fetch for me today.”

Everything in his body is telling him to lunge across the car on top of her and grind himself between her legs but he can’t move. He wants her hands. He wants her lips. He’s so hard he's a ticking time bomb counting down its last remaining seconds.

Teresa leans forward and he hopes she’s thinking the same thing. Please, remove the space between us and give me everything. But it all comes crashing down. “Not here,” she tells him sternly because she can read him.

Disappointment paints his sigh. “Right.”

“We have a fundraiser to attend later. Perhaps, we will see each other there.”

The mask she always wears comes back over her face and he understands very well what it means. They won’t be going there again until she says so.

Once everyone is out of the SUV, she scans the lot for any signs of a threat. Buck covers most of the mayor’s security now but she still keeps a keen eye in any case. That’s what she’s good at after all, what Fisk still wants her for. Seeing all.

She puts a hand on his arm to get his attention and feels both Daniel and Sheila look. They’re probably wondering about the relationship dynamic. Wouldn’t they like to know. “Sir . . .” She still hates the title.

“Yes, Teresa,” he says, peering down at her as they walk. He’s the only man she’s ever felt small in the presence of.

“I have a few phone calls to make. Is it alright if I hang back? There was an issue with Vanessa’s dress and I wanted to iron that out.”

“Of course,” he replies with a short nod.

She squeezes his arm. “Thank you, sir.”

Before she walks away, she catches Buck rolling his eyes. They’ve had many competitions when it comes to pleasing Fisk in the past but he will never have the same history. It isn’t a brag, it’s a truth that goes without acknowledging. If it ever came down to it, Fisk would choose her in a heartbeat, and he has, time and time again when it came to other assistants. Only lately, since this epic change of career plans, it has felt the opposite. Buck gets all the good gigs now.

The air is chilly today, especially down by the water, so she pulls her peacoat tighter. Unfortunately, she remembers Daniel’s hoodie between her legs then. He probably went home smelling like her. He probably went home and did something about the little situation she caused. There’s a slight personal triumph in that.

When she locates him across the pier, his eyes are already on her. He’s trying so hard not to keep looking, shifting his weight and scratching the back of his neck nervously. Teasing him is the only option. So she lets her coat fall open and deliberately adjusts the hem of her dress with a hand between her thighs. Even from where she’s standing she can see how hard he swallows. A little laugh escapes her when he turns all the way around.

Damn, he really is fun.

Instead of wasting her time trying to entertain herself further, she pulls out her phone. The first few places she contacts are lovely but Vanessa’s dress boutique sends her to voicemail at which she leaves a strongly worded message. They’ve been giving her the run around for two days. If they want to keep the mayor’s wife as a customer they better pull their head out of their figurative ass and soon.

Buck fixes her with a look from across the lot and shakes his head. Conversation must not be going well. The three men are silent while Sheila’s mouth continues moving but her words are indecipherable from the distance and the disrupting rustle of wind. Teresa knows instinctively by Fisk’s set shoulders that it must not be the outcome he was hoping for. She sighs and looks away. This transition into mayorhood won’t be as easy as either of them hope.

She makes another phone call and is hanging up with a pleasant goodbye when Sheila and Daniel begin to make their way back.

“So, are we in for a celebration on the revitalization project?”

Sheila shakes her head incredulously. “If he’s lucky.”

Interesting. He instead of we. It certainly makes sense there’d be a separation between the two. Sheila is not a team player. Teresa has to smile though. No one has any idea just how lucky Mayor Fisk is going to be, with or without the Chief of Staff’s involvement.

Daniel sidesteps a pot hole and keeps his eyes to the pavement. That’s probably for the best.

Fisk and Buck still stand across the lot, speaking softly to one another. Buck catches her eye over Fisk’s shoulder and smirks. Maybe things went better than first thought after all.

They’re in the middle of a grade school performance of We Built This City when Teresa gets a ping on her phone. She set up a special tone for whenever The BB Report posts a new article after the other night at the club. She’d had a weird feeling, or a sixth sense rather, that the next thing published would be something Daniel blabbed about while drunk.

Her heart skips a beat as she pulls her phone out of her coat pocket. Please, let her be wrong for once.

The bright white page with BB’s yellow logo pops up when she clicks on the notification. She licks her dry lips, heart still drumming, as the article loads. A BB Exclusive.

MAYOR GARBAGE. A UNION BUSTER.

Her eyes fall closed and the back of her head bangs gently against the wall she's standing against. She hates being right all the time. This is worse than she expected.

When she opens her eyes again, Daniel is looking at her quizzically.

She lifts her phone and shows him the screen across the room. He squints trying to see. Then, pure horror floods into his features and he rushes to grab his own phone to check and make sure she isn’t screwing with him. He goes pale in the light of his screen.

There’s one last look her way and then he’s statue-still.

Daniel is pretty sure he’s about to shit himself. Or throw up. Or pass out. Or die. He isn’t quite sure, maybe all of them and he’s not sure in what order. He is so fucked. Fucked beyond repair.

Sheila is next to him, smiling, for maybe the only time he’s ever seen it, and he’s about to wipe it off her face so fast it’ll be as bad as if he slapped her. “There’s something I need to show you,” he says quietly.

She doesn’t say anything, like she already knows how he’s about to embarrass himself.

“Ma’am, you have to see this.”

“Just spit it out, Daniel. What?”

He glances at Hawke across from him and feels his stomach turn over violently. Wouldn’t that be a great way to end his entire political career—vomiting all over an entire class of third graders?

Teresa pressures him with her eyes. They tell him to come clean now or it’ll be running for your life with your tail tucked between your legs.

He turns his phone screen toward Sheila. “It was me. I totally screwed up.”

“You did this?” Her voice is tight.

“It was a mistake. I . . . I went out and I—”

“You know what? I don’t want to hear it.” The lack of outward anger is jarring for him. He’s used to blow up fights and a hand to the cheek or two. This silent fuming from Sheila almost scares him more. “Just call the schedulers and have them pull the meeting off the calendar. Now.”

He doesn’t know how to handle this type of reaction. “I’m sorry,” he says, because it usually takes the edge off.

She won’t look at him. “I said now, Daniel.”

“Yes, ma’am. Got you.” He’s quick to offer his compliance but it doesn’t make him feel any less like throwing up. His anxiety spirals. “How are we going to fix this? I mean—”

“There is no we.” She finally turns her eyes on him, stern features set, lips pursed like she might spit on him. “I was here before you and before Fisk, and I will be here long after you’re both gone. I will handle it, understand? You just keep your mouth shut.”

Welp . . . he feels like he just got verbally bitch slapped.

The awful singing of whiny third graders abruptly comes to an end and Daniel pats his chest instead of clapping. He’s too busy looking at his phone. How could BB do this to him? You idiot! You did this to yourself.

Mayor Fisk rushes out the door, eager to get away from the untalented children, and Sheila follows on a stiff stride. Then Teresa goes and he finally feels safe to move.

In the hallway, Teresa feels a hand curl around her shoulder seconds before she’s wrenched backward by a frantic chubby hand. She turns on her heel, elbow jabbing into the person's ribs.

Daniel doubles over a little. “Ow.”

Of course, it’s him. She grabs him by the arm and hauls him into one of the darkened classrooms. “I’ve had a banana and a protein shake for breakfast, so until I’ve had more carbs, I need you to refrain from pissing me off.”

He looks at her like the life force is quickly draining out of him. “I’m sorry. Okay? What do you want me to say? You were right.”

“I know I was. I always am.” She cannot help herself, she grips his shoulder. Maybe in comfort, maybe authority. She hopes it’s the latter but with him lines are starting to blur. The poor thing is just so helpless and part of her likes being a guiding hand. “I’ve been working for the Fisk’s half the time you’ve been alive, Daniel. I’ve gotten good at reading people. Not to oversell it but I am a bit better at it than the mayor himself sometimes.”

“I just thought . . .”

“That BB was your friend? She might want to be but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have her own agenda.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair like he’s gonna pull it out. “So, what do I do now? Mayor Fisk is gonna think I’m totally useless. He’s gonna think that I—”

“Shhh.”

The side of her that cares takes the reins for a split second, and before she can stop herself, she’s caressing his cheek with her thumb. His troubled puppy eyes slowly lift to hers, shoulders rising and falling heavily with hitched breath.

What a pretty boy.

It’s sick how much she likes that he’s asking her for guidance. For help. He could be asking Sheila because she’s sure Mrs. Rivera is already thinking of ways to fix this little hiccup. But no, he’s coming to her, and he’s seconds away from saying the word she wants to hear. Oh, how she craves it—so she puts on a ‘poor you’ face and pretends not to give two shits about what happens to him.

“I know I don’t deserve it after you tried to stop me,” he says, voice laced with panic he’s no good at concealing. “But I need . . .”

Yes, he needs her. That much is very clear. You can do better than that, Blake. Come on.

“Help me,” he urges, big brown eyes glistening. So close. “I don’t wanna lose this job.”

Her whole life has been spent learning when to apply pressure and when to pull away. So she looks off, removing her hands from his hunched frame, giving him the impression that there’s no real hope without her.

He reaches for her but knows better now than to grab. “Please.”

That’s it.

For a moment she thinks about making him sweat a little but he’s already teetering the edge so she’ll be nice to him this time.

“Fisk likes people who have the backbone to own their shit. That’s all you have to do.” A tendril of hair falls onto his forehead and she allows herself the pleasure of putting it back in its place. “That’s responsibility, right?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

Hell, she really can’t help herself. “And you find enjoyment in being subservient, don’t you?”

He narrows his eyes but there’s still a shudder in each breath and blush on his cheeks. She knows without a doubt if she put her hand between his legs right now she’d see just how deep that trait of his goes.

Rolling his shoulders, he takes a deep breath. “I’m not a bootlicker, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Oh, no,” she says, hands raised mockingly. “It’s to be admired. Your obedience.”

He decides on being indifferent instead of offended. “Whatever,” he says, adding quite seriously, “If it helps me keep my job, I’ll stand on my head.”

After another terrible, now Latvian rendition, of We Built This City, they arrive back at City Hall. Tensions are running high and if Teresa really wanted to be nice she’d let Daniel know it’s not only his fault. This entire day has been hard on Fisk, he isn’t used to this kind of socializing after years of doing business in the dark underbelly of the city. And they’re all about to find out what that does to a man like him.

She stops Daniel at the door before they go in and fixes his hair, gently pushing it back with her fingers. It’s soft. And she has thoughts about it that she shouldn’t.

He frowns. “What does the mayor care about my hair? He doesn’t have any.”

She bites her lip and fails to stop her smile. “That was for me.” Her hand slips to his shoulder, and she leans in to whisper in his ear. “Just do what I said and maybe there will be a reward.”

When she pulls away, he looks at her like she’s speaking Latvian. There’s no time to question her, though, because the rest of the staff push them both into the mayor's office at once and Fisk absolutely blows his top.

Even though she knows Fisk isn’t going to crack anyone’s skull today, she has seen him kill men with his bare hands. To think Daniel could meet a fate like that because of this stupid mistake has her nervous all of a sudden. None of them know what the big man is like under this sort of pressure.

She’s about to change her mind and tell Daniel not to take any responsibility, deny as long as he can until she finds a scapegoat, when he opens his mouth.

“Damn it,” she and Sheila both whisper. They meet eyes for a second and something is exchanged in that glance. Understanding.

Daniel keeps talking and the air thickens. Maybe she was wrong to tell him to own up. Maybe she doesn’t know this new Fisk. Maybe she’s gotten Daniel killed. Anxiety creeps into her throat until she can’t breathe.

The mayor comes forward, towering over the entire room. “Everybody out! Out!” Daniel moves with the crowd but Fisk’s meaty fist clamps around his arm. “You stay! Right here.” He glances at Teresa and Sheila, both struck still by the outburst. “I said out!”

“He’s mine, sir,” Sheila starts, and for some odd reason a prickle of jealousy goes through Teresa at the word. Huh, what a silly little response that is. “Whatever he did, it’s on me.”

“Okay, fine. Suit yourself. You can go down with the ship,” Fisk growls.

Daniel glances at Teresa, a hopefulness in his eyes that she fears she created only for it to be ripped away. She wants to jump in front of him as if Fisk’s words are bullets and clamp a hand over his mouth before he says too much. Hell, she wants to turn it back around on Fisk when this is just as much his own fault.

“I . . . I wanna apologize. I didn’t mean to do it. I know that won’t make it right. I know that nothing can. But I went out to a club til 4:30, maybe even 5:00, and I had a couple of . . .” Daniel rambles, every so often looking to Teresa for support. She wants to curl into a ball. Jesus, he’s such a baby. Why did she think he could handle this? Handle Fisk. “Look, I had a lot to drink, t-tequila, and in the spirit of total honesty, there was some ketamine.”

“You should probably stop,” Fisk says uncomfortably.

Please do, she doesn’t say but prays with the devotion of a Catholic school girl that he stops talking. Please, stop talking.

“I was drunk and stupid and I didn’t mean to do it, but I did do it,” Daniel continues, steady on his feet despite the waver of his voice. “And I know that’s unforgivable, and I’m not even asking for forgiveness, because . . . I can’t even forgive myself.”

He looks to Teresa again, heart on his sleeve, bleeding. And still, she worries that this might mean worse for him than he realizes.

“‘Cause . . . ‘Cause the thing is, you’re right. I don’t deserve this job. And I never did. So, you’re right to fire me or punish me or do whatever you’re gonna do. And I just . . . I wanna say that I’m eternally loyal and forever grateful for the opportunity and I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting how badly I screwed it up.”

The pressure in her ribcage almost threatens to burst. And she has no idea what has her heart squeezing so hard, fighting to pump, to keep up. Is it the fear? No, deep down she knows why. She’s proud of Daniel. And to her surprise, Fisk seems to be softening with each long winded apology and blindly confessed allegiance. It tears her apart because now she wishes she were in the mayor’s place. She wishes Daniel was promising loyalty to her.

“I believe in you,” Daniel expresses dutifully. “You’ll have my vote forever and whatever happens to me, I’ll do whatever I can from afar to support you and your mayorship.”

His chin wobbles, and for a second, she thinks he might cry. He lets his head hang and it takes an unusual amount of strength not to go to him, to pull him into her arms and keep him there. Protected.

Fisk sighs and for once in a very long time, Teresa can’t read his expression. His voice is soft when he says, “I’m not going to fire you.” In disbelief, Daniel keeps rambling. But Fisk repeats himself, making sure Sheila knows that means her too. “I know how unreliable people can be. I’ve learned that loyalty and courage, two qualities that are . . . well . . . not easily replicated.”

Fisk looks at Teresa and she feels the weight of his statement. It’s not exactly about her but she feels a swell of pride anyway, because it’s close enough. It means more than anything he’s ever said to her because she knows who he’s talking about. It stabs even deeper—pride, hope, anxiety at the comparison—that Fisk thinks Daniel can possibly measure up. Lord knows she never has.

He puts a hand on Daniel’s shoulder and she wonders if it feels the same as when she does it. She hopes not.

“In the fullness of time, you’ll make a better man,” Fisk tells him. “That said, if you ever do anything like that again, it’ll be the last thing that you ever do.”

Her nails dig into her palm until she feels the skin pop. No one else in this room but her and Fisk himself know what it means if Daniel screws up again. She can’t stand to watch knowing the truth. She looks away and hears Fisk’s voice as if it’s far off.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Daniel says. “Loud and clear. It’ll never happen again.”

In the hallway, she yanks the phone out of his hand and deletes the text.

He snatches it back. “What the hell!”

“Shh.” Her hand covers his mouth for a second and is gone again before he can decide how he feels about it. “I might agree with Sheila on this. Mayor Fisk is . . . passionate right now. So he doesn’t see your little reporter like I do.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Friends with political benefits.”

Daniel goes slackjawed. She heard that? How did she hear that? “That’s not . . .”

“I hope you’re smart enough to realize she means her own benefit.”

“Look, Mrs. Hawke—”

“Miss.”

“What?”

“Miss Hawke. I’m not married.”

Oddly, the first thing he feels is relief. Not that he has a chance—or that he wants one—but it feels better knowing she doesn’t belong to someone. That he won’t get a strong talking to from some man he doesn’t know for looking at his wife’s ass. But at the same time, he almost doesn’t believe her. How could she be single? Well, she didn’t say she was single, just not married. So the question shoots out of him before he can stop his dumbass mouth from moving. “You got a boyfriend?”

Her wine stain lips curve just slightly. “No, Blake, I do not.”

The way she says it makes him swallow hard. “Oh, good for me. Uh, you! Good for you.”

Her hands come down on his shoulders like a gavel and he resists the urge to gulp again. She’s quite intimidating, nearly his height in those sexy high heels. She’s underdressed for this kind of job. He looks at her tits pushed together.

Shit.

“You text BB Urich expecting to get one thing and you’re going to get another. She is not your friend and you are definitely not going to hit that.” Her fingers squeeze his tense muscles. “So you might as well quit while you’re ahead, huh?”

He's momentarily blinded by how she’s massaging his traps, how good it feels to have a woman’s hands on him, and almost doesn’t register what she’s saying.

Fuck her. He knows damn well he’s not going to get laid and it isn’t about that. He steps backward. He will not draw the white flag and call peace if it means relenting to her handling. Not this round.

He shrugs her hands away and gets ready to stomp off. “Mayor Fisk asked me to do something and I sorta plan on doing it, Miss Hawke.”

“I’m his personal assistant,” she tells Sheila, walking ahead of her, not even turning to give her the respect of attention. It’s cold. “You’re his Chief of Staff. Stopping him is your job.”

Sheila’s head droops and she hugs her midsection, mumbling to herself. He imagines it’s something like ‘rude bitch’. Or maybe he’s just thinking that.

Mayor Fisk orders construction workers nearby to fill the giant hole in the middle of the street and Daniel idolizes him for it. He says as much, even when it earns him a side-eye from Sheila and an irritated glance from Hawke.

Christ, he wonders what her first name is. He bets it’ll taste delicious when he finally gets to say it.

Sheila stomps over to him and flicks him in the arm. “Keep your eyes on your future, Blake.” For a moment he’s confused on what the hell that means until she adds, “And off his assistant’s ass.”

His eyes shoot to her and he swallows hard. “I didn’t even . . . I wasn’t . . .”

“There are plenty of other women in the world. Keep your sights off that one.” The way Sheila spits the last two words makes him heat uncomfortably, embarrassment and shame probably coloring his skin.

Immediately, as if he knows not what he does, his gaze falls back to the woman in front of him. She’s wearing a tight black dress this time, full hips swaying, soft curves outlined solid beside her pale arms. Jesus, he’s actually getting . . .

Fuck! Not right now.

He turns around abruptly. “I’m gonna head back to the car.”

Sheila huffs, unknowing. “Good idea.”

Before he can make it back, the mayor has finished his show of authority and is catching up with him. Followed, of course, by his lackeys, Buck Cashman and the other assistant currently causing problems for his slacks. Sheila gains on him, too, but she keeps a distance from all of them.

For a moment, he’s distracted by the mayor’s enthusiasm for change and impressed by how he’s getting shit done with heft and punctuality. It’s the best he can do to forget the problem in his pants. “Sir?” he blurts.

“Yes,” Fisk grumbles.

His eyes are drawn to Hawke. She’s looking at him, waiting for him to speak. He can’t breathe. “Solid hole work. You know, filling in that hole.”

Fisk walks into his sightline saving him from her reaction. “Ah, thank you, Daniel.”

He takes that opportunity to bolt.

As soon as he’s back at the SUV, he slips into the passenger seat and turns away from the driver. And prays to anything and everything holy that no one notices the tented front of his pants.

Later in the day, Daniel is on his way to the mayor’s office with none other than the up-and-coming journalist he’s had a minor crush on, BB Urich. His ego is a little crushed figuring out moments ago that their number exchange was purely a ploy for more information. He should’ve known better.

He decides to call her out on it. But she has an answer for everything. “I’m a journalist, bro. Besides, we can kill it here as friends with political benefits,” she explains, and her mouth keeps moving after that but he starts to tune out.

Women seem to like him for whatever it is they want to use him for—cleaning their garage, helping them with paperwork, bringing them lattes across town, and now, he guesses, political benefit. And he’s the loser who’s gonna take what he can get. Sometimes it leads somewhere, a thank you in the form of a chaste kiss, and if he’s extremely lucky, which is damn near never, a handjob. That only happened once.

BB doesn’t seem the type to pay someone back with sexual favors. Which at the end of the day is probably a good thing. He needs a friend in this weird political sphere he’s gotten himself into. It’s best not to mix business and pleasure. Although, what would he know?

He takes her phone and slips it into his pocket. “Look, play softball in there, okay? I’m calling in a favor.” He’s trying not to get his ass booted before he’s even gotten anywhere.

“Wait, I thought you said you were his guy.”

“I am.” He sighs. “I might’ve embellished a little.”

“Wow. You know, I can’t tell if you’re an idiot or an operator.”

As he stands in front of the mayor’s door, knocking like a pathetic yes-man, he realizes he doesn’t know the answer to that any better than she does. “Well, maybe, I’m . . .” he starts but either way, he’d be lying. “I don’t know what I am.”

Buck opens the door and Daniel follows BB inside the stuffy old room. Before the door shuts, Hawke joins them, carrying a stack of papers. The last person on earth he wants to see right now. Her hips still sway hypnotically and it takes everything in him not to look as she pushes past him.

Don’t look.

Don’t look.

Don’t. Look.

Damnit. She stops in front of him and her eyebrow arches as she sizes him up. The breath in his lungs feels like it turns to stone. He shouldn’t have looked.

“You gonna close the door?” Her voice is soft but it hits him like a train. She’s talking to him. Holy shit. “Are your ears malfunctioning, Blake?”

He gets the impression she spits on homeless people. She was the last one through the door, why didn’t she shut it? He frowns. How can someone that fuckin’ hot be so damn mean and miserable? She flaps her hand at him like you’d shoo away a naughty child, as if they're all meant to go along with her orbit. He rolls his eyes at her but does as she asks anyway.

If that isn’t humiliating enough, BB decides to get into topics she shouldn’t. He watches her with a pressure in his chest, tapping his foot anxiously. Every word that comes out of her mouth grates his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. What happened to softballing it?

Mayor Fisk has his hackles raised too and that makes Buck look uneasy. Hawke is the only pillar of calm in the room. She stands against the window, backlit by the afternoon sun like an angelic figure. If he weren’t about to shit himself he might laugh. She is no angel.

He wants to reach out and strangle BB for being a good journalist but he keeps his sweaty palms to himself. Fisk shuts her up for him, telling her prematurely that they’re out of time. And Daniel doesn’t follow her out.

Instead, he jumps to his own defense. “Sir, I am so sorry. She was not supposed to ask about your wife.”

“It’s okay, Daniel,” Mayor Fisk says, and the lack of anger in his tone relaxes him somewhat.

He’s used to being gripped by the back of his neck and tossed away like an untrained puppy when he fucks up. People in power are always yelling, always angry. But Fisk doesn’t do any of that. He actually excuses her behavior. For a moment Daniel feels weak for apologizing and he glances at Hawke. She gives no indication she even notices him at all. And for whatever reason, that stings more.