Page 161 of Hate Mates

“Bastard”

“Jackass.”

“Moron.”

“Douchebag.”

“Creep.”

“Scumbag.”

“Tool.”

Beth and I retort back and forth to each other, laughing.

“Maybe I’m mistaken, but I’m sure I can feel my ears burning.” The deep voice comes from behind Beth.

Lincoln.

He strides in like he owns the place. I can’t help but notice the brown envelope tucked under his arm.

Am I about to make a Faustian bargain?

“You’re not welcome here,” Beth snaps, folding her arms across her chest as she steps toward him.

“It’s fine,” I sigh. “I’ll hear him out.”

I gesture for her to leave the office, and she does, shutting the door behind her. The interior windows of my office are still opaque from when I switched them this morning.

Lincoln moves toward me, and I start to experience the same heat I felt earlier as he places the envelope on the desk in front of me.

“What’s this?” I ask. Not wanting to touch it.

“Something you’ve been looking for,” he replies.

I reluctantly pick up the envelope and pull out the contents. Inside is all the proof I need—leaked emails, spreadsheets, and memos that explicitly tie Mayor Weston to the developer’s bribery scheme. The emails are damning and include clear instructions to manipulate rezoning laws, promises of payouts, and there’s even a breakdown of campaign contributions funneled through shell companies.

“This is certainly incriminating,” I confirm.

But rather than feeling happy, my heart sinks. Part of me didn’t want to find definitive proof. I wanted to win this election on my own merit.

“You’re welcome,”

The relief of having the evidence in my possession is dampened by suspicion. “Why are you giving me this? You’re Weston’s campaign manager. You’ve spent years defending him. Why did you release that article this morning? What game are you playing? I don’t get it. Why now?”

Lincoln pulls out a chair and sits down, resting his left foot on his right knee in a relaxed pose. “Because I’m tired of defending a sinking ship. Weston’s gone too far this time, and I’m not going down with him. And maybe, just maybe, I’d like to see what you can achieve with a win. As for the article this morning, it was an incentive. This political world is all a game, Sophia Tucker. From the moment I first saw you, I knew you would be a worthy adversary.”

His words linger in the air between us, leaving me unsure if they carry genuine admiration or are a product of calculated manipulation.

Probably both.

Dickhead.

I’m so confused.

I put the documents down on my desk.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I tell him. “Plus, you infuriate me,”

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