Page 157 of Hate Mates

My hands drop to my sides and clench into fists.

Would it be wrong to smack the smug smile off his face on the day of the rally and election?

“This is a new low, even for you. Manufacturing lies to discredit-.”

“I didn’t manufacture anything,” he interrupts, placing his coffee down. “I just… encouraged a closer look at how you’re spending donor money. Isn’t transparency important to you? Surely, if you want to be mayor, you need to make sure you’re always honest?”

“Just like Weston is?” I snap back, my blood boiling, but I refuse to let him see me lose control.

Maybe coming here and confronting him wasn’t the best idea. He’s always rubbed me up the wrong way.

Ass. Bonehead. Scumbag.

I might need a thesaurus before the end of the day to look up more alternatives for the fucking dickhead.

“You’re so desperate to win, you’ll destroy anyone who gets in your way. It isn’t even about Weston being mayor, it’s about your reputation and need to be the man who controls the seat of power in local government. You can’t stand the thought that I could win by being honest, while you might be defeated and left out in the cold. We all know Weston is corrupt and shouldn’t be in government, but if he isn’t reelected, you lose. Think about the people of this district, for once, and not yourself.”

I’m done wasting my precious time on this reprobate. He’s shown his true colors, and I intend to do everything in my power to win. I won’t rest until I destroy him. Ha! He thought I was going to run away with my tail between my legs at his creative journalism. No, he’s just unleashed hell upon himself. I’ve had enough.

My thoughts turn to the letter burning a hole in my desk drawer at the campaign office. I received it three weeks ago, but not wanting to fight my campaign in an underhand way, I hid it. However, I’m not sure I have a choice anymore.

I swivel on my heel, preparing to leave, but at the last moment, I turn back to face him.

Leaning toward him, I threaten, “This isn’t over, Caldwell. Not by a long shot. You want a war. You’ve got it.”

Lincoln’s gaze flickers as he watches me. There’s something unreadable in his expression, but then he shifts in his chair and runs his tongue over his lips. “Good luck, Tucker. You’ll need it.” His voice remains casual as he picks up his phone and gazes nonchalantly at it.

As I storm out of the café, I can feel the heat of his stare on me, and I’m left with the unshakeable impression that, rather than being amused by my anger, he was impressed.

Why does that send an unexpected shiver of pleasure through my body?

Dick, Dimwit, Blockhead.

THREE

11:00 AM

THE LEAD

Irush into the open plan workspace that is our campaign office. It’s eleven am already, and I haven’t accomplished anything, except probably laying the foundations for a migraine later today. I can already feel it building at my temples.

All eyes snap to me as I pass through the room. Phone conversations are halted, and Beth tentatively gets up from her desk that’s strategically positioned outside my own private office.

Stopping, I address my campaign team. “These headlines will not prevent us from winning tonight. We’ve a substantial lead and are the right people for the job. Have faith and carry on. All this article has done is create a bit more work for us, but that will make the victory all the more sweeter.”

Everyone gets to their feet and starts clapping. Nodding my appreciation, I continue into my office and flick a button to set the internal glass to opaque so no one can see in. Beth follows me inside and closes the door behind her.

“Fucking bastard. He just can’t handle the fact he’s going to lose, so he’s playing dirty.” She slams her fist onto my desk.“I really wish I could…I don’t know. Castration is too good for him.”

“Public flogging seems appropriate,” I respond with a smile.

“You okay?” Beth asks, a look of concern on her face.

“Lincoln has been a thorn in my side since I first started working in government. I remember our first meeting. He looked me up and down and judged me, then and there, because I wasn’t wearing a designer suit. He decided I wasn’t worth worrying about, and his prejudice has clouded his view of me ever since. He shouldn’t be working in this sector. He should be running some cutthroat business where all he does all day is hire and fire people and make money. A man of his character shouldn’t be serving those who are less fortunate.”

I sit down on the chair at my desk, having finished my rant, and let out a long groan of frustration.

“And that’s why we’re going to win and get rid of Mayor Weston and Lincoln Caldwell tonight,” Beth proudly announces.

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