A Vote For Lust: A Bad Boy Political Romance

by Natasha Tanner

  We chose not to know if it’ll be a boy or a girl –for now, at least. We’ll know soon enough.

  The country is now entering a new period, under a new president, and things are understandably weird, as they always are under a change of ruler. It’s a challenging time, one where many talented people will be needed; I have lots of chances to make a difference. I’m outlining new proposals for legislation so that I can build a platform on them. I’ve decided I don’t need anyone to take me under their wing to start my slow but hopeful road to Congress –I can build my own team and start working on it right now. I have the ideas, and that’s what matters.

  “Hey, pretty face,” Six says, entering the room and lying beside me on the bed. He runs the back of his hand over my cheek, gently, in a loving way. “What’s up?”

  I can barely believe his transformation over the last few months. He’s gentler now, almost kind, to me at least. And speaks in longer sentences instead of short blurts. He’s still my bad boy, though. He’ll always be.

  “Not much,” I say, looking at him and getting lost, as always, in his luminous green eyes. “I’m just happy.”

  THE END

  * * *

  Thanks for reading A VOTE FOR LUST: a bad boy political romance! Stay tuned for the next story in Molly Thorne’s Hitman’s Code saga. Sign up for her mailing list to be notified when it comes out!

  BOUGHT (the Goldenhearts series / book one)

  1. HERE NOW

  2. THEO

  3. HOSTILE INTENT

  4. THE CALL

  5. WORKING FOR THE ENEMY

  6. A LESSON

  7. DANGEROUS

  8. MARCUS

  9. VANINA

  10. THE PINK SAND

  11. A RELUCTANT GOLFER

  12. BOUGHT

  13. AWOKEN

  14. ASSETS

  15. THE FRIEND ZONE

  16. THE WAY OF THE SHARK

  17. THE LOCKET

  18. THE PILL

  19. THE DATE

  20. TRICKS OF THE TRADE

  21. EATING GHOSTS

  22. HERE NOW

  HERE NOW

  I’m not like this.

  Or, at least, that’s what I like to think.

  When this all started, just a few months ago, everything was clear to me. The impulse that moved me was strong, sharp and pristine. Hate, revenge, justice. There was a target, and I was set on hitting it at the exact center, destroying it. Destroying him, for my target was a man.

  Now I feel confused and guilty. Nothing makes sense anymore. Have I failed? Am I the target now? Or is it just that he has become a different kind of target? My motivations are muddy, my hate has lost its temper and now I don’t know whether I want to slap his face or fall into his arms.

  He’s dangerous, to be sure. A cold, calculating man who’s built his success on not being afraid of using people and then discarding them; his actions warrant all the hate I can muster. But he’s also able to say the sweetest words... and there is also the matter of his imposing presence, his features, his eyes, all of what he offers to the sight and the touch.

  Am I falling under the spell of a demigod? How could I surrender myself to this powerful man when I despise him so much? And yet, there’s no way to deny it: I can’t find the strength to even want to harm him anymore. I just crave for his sweet caress.

  He’s bought me, as he’s bought everything else he’s set his eyes upon. I should be striving to get free from him. But I don’t want to be free. Deep inside, I just want to be his.

  It’s all kinds of wrong, I know. Especially in light of how he treats women. But it can’t be helped.

  At least I have a consolation: one way or the other, this will all be over very soon.

  * * *

  I was surprised when the call came, even though Callie had assured me that it would definitely come. It was as inevitable as death and taxes, she said. Powerful men never let this kind of chance slip. They take what they want, as soon as they can. In this case, she was talking about me.

  “It’s a job interview,” I objected. “He’ll be thinking about what I say and my qualifications. He probably won’t even register me physically. I bet he won’t remember my hair color.”

  “Trust me, honey, he will. And then he will want to have you sitting near his office every day. He’ll make the call,” she assured me.

  Callie had come up with the plan herself. She had been working for Theo for just a few months, and she had figured out some things about him. For starters, she knew that he liked to work closely with beautiful young women. But she had dug deeper into this knowledge. And she knew that he specifically wouldn’t be able to resist a woman like me, if I played the part well. I was his type, apparently.

  So, when I told her about my father’s company and what Theo was doing to him, she started thinking about it. A couple of days later, she came to see me with the news.

  “There’s an opening,” she said. “This is your chance. How about being Theo’s assistant?”

  I jumped at the opportunity. I understood that assistant was an intentionally vague term, and what Theo really wanted was to have a young attractive woman beside him at all times, more than someone who’d help him manage his appointments and obligations. Handsome billionaires rarely need to do this kind of thing to get company, and this was certainly not his case, but every man has his weakness, and Theo’s was pretty brunettes with big eyes, sharp brains and long legs. I fit the bill perfectly.

  Of course, I couldn’t tell him who I was —not at first, anyway. I’d have to pose as someone else. I’ve never been one to live in deception, but extraordinary circumstances require extraordinary actions, and my father was lying in a hospital bed.

  “Just be sure to dress appropriately,” Callie said. Then she leant closer and whispered: “Appropriately... to kill.” She winked at me, and both of us laughed.

  THEO

  He doesn’t have a clue who I am, but I know all I need to know about him.

  That’s what I thought as I sat still in a couch on the fifty-second floor of the Lambert Tower, waiting for Theo Lambert to appear. It was the top floor, the King of Hearts: Theo’d had them all named from a deck of cards, each floor decorated according to their suit. The top floor was white and red, and the elevator buttons and other details were shaped as hearts.

  It was appropriate enough for the moment, I thought. Everything hinged on that moment, and I had to play my cards well. More accurately, I had to play myself as a card. I’d have just a few minutes to catch his eye and secure a position that was close to him. If I did it correctly, I’d become his right hand. Then I could do whatever it took to annihilate him.

  I’d been sitting there for a while, turning my attention to the sober red-on-white decoration of the room, and letting my mind wander into dark thoughts. I must smile, be courteous and agreeable, I thought... but in truth, I wanted to kill the man. He thinks I’m here for a job, but I’m here to try to stop him.

  No, not to try. I’m here to stop him, I thought. I must.

  Theo Lambert: eccentric billionaire, playboy, traveller, alpha male, owner of an economic empire, and general asshole. If everything went according to plan, I’d become his right hand in just a few hours.

  I told myself silently the words I had spoken in front of the mirror countless times. “I have what it takes” (which meant that I had a very, very revealing dress and a smile that had already taken a thousand victims). “I have it. My name is Lara Everwood, and I cannot fail. I must do this. I must do it for dad.”

  Just like half the women in town, the business magazines (and some general magazines too) were in love with Theo Lambert. They used to publish pieces about the way he’d risen to the top, hard and fast, without ever stopping to take prisoners. His strategy was to be growing always, with no mercy and making zero compromises. He’d beat one competitor after another, and if he couldn’t, he’d move their spot in the list for a future new attack. This applied both to business and l
ove. He never really lost. The narration invariably went from his riches to his wits and from there to his looks, since his attractive features were what had put him in the spotlight after all. Other billionaires tended to be more reclusive, but he couldn’t. How could he, if he had the face of an angel and the muscles of a wrestler? (Not by chance, perhaps, most of these articles were written by women. It was easy to see that they had a hard time being objective and impartial.)

  What all those magazines conveniently left out was the long list of victims that his tactics left squirming on the ground. People who’d worked hard all their lives to build a business, only to be struck by his mighty blow and end up empty handed, bleeding metaphorically as Lambert absorbed or destroyed everything they had built, sometimes in a whim.

  I happened to knew this firsthand. As I sat there waiting patiently, dad was lying in a hospital bed, in a coma, after suffering a heart attack. Theo Lambert had done that to him. Until then, Philip Everwood had always been a strong man, as strong as a bull. Even mom’s death hadn’t been enough to take him down. But the risk of losing everything he had built had taken a big toll on him. I could have lost him in a minute. I still could.

  No, no, don’t think about him now, I thought, because I was already feeling a burning sensation around my eyes: tears that were pushing from inside my soul, looking for a way out. I couldn’t let them out, not right there and then. He can’t see you crying. You must be strong, you must be cold. Revenge is a cold thing.

  I didn’t even know what the plan was. I only knew that I’d destroy Theo Lambert somehow. And save dad’s company, if possible. But in any case, I’d destroy that arrogant pig.

  “Hi.”

  I jumped in my seat and blushed a bit. His unexpected appearance had startled me. I’d been lost in my thoughts, and I hadn’t noticed when he entered the room.

  “Hi,” I said, getting up and offering him my hand. He grabbed it delicately and kissed it. I would have laughed if I hadn’t been trying to stop my face from reddening. “I’m Lara.”

  “Lara Bold,” Theo said. “I’ve read your resume. Follow me, please.”

  There was something about him, to be sure. His voice was as deep and magnetic as one could imagine. The way he moved his hands, the precision and accuracy in his gestures, the way he looked at you right in the eye, all of it was undeniably charming. I knew he was handsome because I’d seen countless pictures of him, but meeting him in person was a completely different experience. Gosh, I thought, I could even like the man if I didn’t hate him so much.

  I followed him to the adjacent room, which turned out to be his office. I found it surprisingly small, all things considered. Through the window it could be seen a strikingly beautiful view of the city from above. I’ve never suffered from vertigo, but at that moment, I felt a bit dizzy. Maybe it was because of the height, or maybe because Theo’s eyes were pale blue pools where one could easily drown.

  He sat down at his desk and invited me to take a seat in front of him. His beautiful eyes followed my body as it moved, appreciatively. I could tell he liked me more than a bit. Callie was right.

  “I must say, Lara, that you have a pretty impressive resume.” He made the slightest pause before the last word. Maybe it was unintentional, maybe not. He was a player, certainly. “I think you may be the one who takes the job. But there are things that can’t be read in a resume. My previous assistant had impressive qualifications as well, but she... tried to bite more than she can chew. Please, don’t make the same mistake.”

  I’ve confronted countless men and women, and I don’t feel threatened easily. Even so, I flushed again. He kept his polite smile and his serene look, but somehow he had changed. He was now in full-on bad boy mode. I had to admit, even through all my hate and determination, that I found that attractive as hell.

  “I’m sure I have a lot to learn,” I said. “You can rest assured that I—”

  “Do you know anything about mergers, acquisitions and the like?”

  Of course I know about that. I’ve spent the last few months reading about what you do, motherfucker.

  “No,” I lied, “but I’m sure I’ll learn a lot. I’m eager...”

  “Enough,” he cut me bluntly. “There will be no bullshit with me. Of course you’ll learn, not because you’re eager, but because I expect you to.”

  A lightning bolt rushed up from deep inside me, threatening to surge out from my eyes and shoot at his pretty smug face. Who does he think he’s talking to? But I controlled myself quickly and kept a humble expression. I even looked down, for chrissake.

  “You’ll need to know the basics. I’ll hook you up with Sandor Vandell, my head of acquisitions,” he continued. (Hook you up?) “But mostly you’ll be taking care of my appointments and going places with me. That is, if you get the job. It will be demanding, stressful, and fun. Any questions?”

  I held his gaze for as long as I could, but I had to look away after a while. It was as if his eyes could burn with their blue glow. I looked through the window, as if I was trying to think of any questions. I had none, actually. I knew what I needed to do. The rest I would make up as I went along.

  We went over my resume in detail. Half of it was fake, and all of it, including the bits that were true, was under a fake name. My good friend Maurice (well, he’s a good friend for me; I’m his crush) had made some arrangements to make Lara Bold come to life, at least on paper. Theo Lambert could never know that my last name was Everwood. At least, until it was too late. (Or that I’d worked with Callie. I’d left that bit out as well.)

  “Fine,” Theo said. “I’ll let you know if you’re chosen. Thanks for coming.”

  “Thanks for the opportunity,” I said, sitting up, and offering him my hand once more. He held it, but this time he didn’t kiss it. He just looked at me in the eye, with that expression that seemed wild and hungry and sincere at the same time. His next words were unexpected. “Wanna have lunch?”

  I declined politely, and he seemed genuinely sad. I felt his gaze upon my body as I walked out the office. As I went towards the elevator, I remembered the talk with my father, when he told me about the takeover.

  HOSTILE INTENT

  Everwood Press is located in a stylized building near the riverbank. Walking beside it, one wouldn’t guess what it contains at its heart —mainly, thousands upon thousands of books, securely stored in a big warehouse surrounded by offices and a small park. It may not be the best arrangement, dad used to say, but it’s the most beautiful one, and people who work in a beautiful environment produce beautiful works.

  I met him in his own office, a pretty small space with a view towards the river, like most offices in the building. He called his secretary and asked for two coffees, as usual. We had met there countless times. But this time things were a bit off. Instead of being cheerful, he looked depressed. He fell into silence after a few minutes, and we waited for the coffee in an quiet, awkward atmosphere.

  “What’s up?” I finally asked.

  He still stood silent for a few seconds, looking at the ceiling. He put his hand over a pile of newly printed books that lay on his desk. He didn’t look at me as he started speaking.

  “I’m about to lose the company,” he said. “All of this. The building, the catalog, the books. Everything.”

  “Lose it? Why?” I asked, surprised. From what I knew, the publishing house was doing well, more than well. Once in a while, some book in the ever-growing catalog would hit it big, and those hits sustained the growth of the whole company. The days of struggle and effort, when dad founded what was then a small press and had to fight every day to seize a portion of the market to make it viable, were well behind him, and now was the time (for him and the shareholders, since the company had gone public years ago) to reap the benefits. It was a good, clean, thriving business. Why would anyone want to get rid of it?

  “The boad received a last minute call from the Lambert Group,” dad said. “Nobody knew about it. They just picked up the pho
ne and told them they were buying shares. It’s a hostile takeover. They don’t care what I think, they only need the shareholders to get tempted and sell.”

  I knew what a hostile takeover was. As an accountant, I had never been in the middle of an acquisition, but I had read about them, and after a few years of talking to dad about his publishing house, I had an idea of the value of the company, its assets and cash flow. Even when I’d never worked at Everwood Press, as his daughter, I had a pretty good idea of its viability, and it was certainly a healthy company.

  “They would be fools if they sold,” I objected. “How much would they get, and how much would they lose in the long run? The company is profitable.”

  Dad stood up, walked around his desk, and stood in front of the window, looking at the long line of multicolored trees along the riverbank. “Maybe not so much,” he said. “I’ve been talking to Marcus, and he found some troubling signs in the books. He says we haven’t been very well managed, at the very least. At worst, someone’s been stealing from us and hiding it in the balances.”

  I knew Marcus. They had been good friends for decades; that’s why dad put him in the company to take care of the numbers. He’d never been good at that, so he needed someone he could trust, and of course, Marcus was the man. Years ago, when I was just a little girl, he’d been almost an uncle to me, staying close after mom died, taking me to the park or the theatre, procuring me distractions.

  “Is it so bad? Can’t you just resist?”

  “The shareholders won’t say no. The company is in worse situation than we thought. Marcus has run the numbers and we’re pretty fucked.”

  “Do the shareholders know? The board?”

  Dad looked at me with a sad smile. “Theo Lambert is making sure they know exactly what’s happening. His guys have been very busy on the phone this last week. They know that most shareholders will do what the board says, so they are being very persuasive.”