Page 20 of The Bonventi Rise

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.