Page 87 of Where There's Smoke

And with that, a new day begins.

“Hang on,” I called out and fumbled around in my suitcase for a shirt and a pair of jeans. No sense throwing open the door in nothing but a pair of faded boxers. The media would love that.

Once I was relatively decent, I went to the door. As I glanced through the peephole, I smiled to myself. Some company was definitely more welcome than others.

I opened the door and gestured for Ranya—and the two huge cups of coffee in her hands—to come in.

“Morning, sunshine,” she said, almost chirping.

“Morning.” I reached for one of the coffee cups, but she held it out of my reach.

“Magic words, darling?”

“Please?”

“Nope. The other ones.”

I rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh. “You’re the greatest personal assistant on the planet, I’d be lost without you, and I’ll give you a raise this year because I’m not a stingy bastard.”

“That’s more like it.” She handed me the cup. “Venti triple shot, just the way you like it.”

“You’re asaint.” I took the coffee in both hands. It was too hot to drink yet, but just having it here, within my grasp and at the ready, was enough to preemptively soothe some of the throbbing in my head.

Ranya dropped into one of the chairs beside the table. “So, you ordering room service for us?”

“Us?” I raised an eyebrow. “You have a room. Go order your own.”

“What?” she scoffed. “I thought that was one of the perks of being a celebrity’s PA.”

“Nope.” I carefully took a sip of my coffee. It wasn’t quite hot enough to burn my tongue, but close. Just the way I liked it.

“Humph.” She scowled at me. “Well, fine. Just let me know when you’ve had enough of that”—she pointed at my coffee—“to go over the reams of schedules and crap for today and tomorrow.”

I just groaned and took another sip.

Someone else knocked.

“That had better be room service,” I muttered and set my coffee on the table.

“Or Anthony.” Ranya smirked. “Same thing, really.”

“Brat.” I shoved her shoulder as I walked by, and she swatted at my leg.

I turned the deadbolt and pulled open the door, and my humor instantly faded. I knew the second our eyes met that Anthony had something on his mind. Something that fell into the category of DEFCON Not Good. His stoic, almost stern expression, coupled with the palpable tension in his shoulders, didn’t bode well for any continuation of my easygoing, relaxing morning.

I shut the door behind him. “Something wrong?”

“This is an election,” he said flatly. “There’s always something going wrong.”

Our eyes met, and he silently added,Some things worse than others.

I reached for my coffee. This morning was definitely going to require more caffeine than usual.

Ranya glanced at me, then Anthony, then me again. “You know, I think I’m going to go grab a shower.” She got up. “Do you need more coffee when I come back?”

I glanced at the coffee cup in my hand. “I think this bucket will last me, but thanks.”

“Good. I’ll catch up with you guys later.” She left the room in an enviable hurry, leaving me to whatever news was etched in the lines of Anthony’s furrowed brow.

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