Page 1 of Kiss Kiss Bang
CHAPTER ONE
Gubernatorial candidate Olivia Russo is expected to unveil her fiscal plan Saturday night at a fundraising gala amidst some pushback from her own political party. Ms. Russo currently leads incumbent Governor Harry McGregor by four points, but this speech could cause a major shift in the polls if her party decides to break ties with the unconventional candidate. President Hadley is scheduled to attend. Stay tuned for details . . .
“Seventy-one!” the pimple-faced lanky kid with hair that fell over one eye yelled out.
Olivia’s foot bobbed up and down as she glanced at the mint-green ticket with the number eighty-four on it.
As if it was a ticking time bomb, she balanced her laptop in one hand, scared that if she did anything it would break even more (if that was even possible). Her purse was sliding down her other shoulder. She was trying to maintain a semblance of sanity, but really, she just wanted to yell.
At whom? She didn’t know. She just needed to relieve some pressure, and yelling felt like the right thing to do. But she stifled the desire and just stood there, pretending to be patient.
Normally she fidgeted. In fact, her best friend, Winnie Nightingale, had bought her a fidget spinner as a joke last Christmas. Except it wasn’t a joke, she twirled that pink thing around all the time, which was why she’d stocked her house with fidget spinners after realizing it could possibly save her from chewing her fingernails down to nubs. But right now, she didn’t have any hands available, so she just stood there, in line, waiting. And waiting . . .
With the two-page, single-spaced to-do list she had sitting on top of her desk, a broken laptop was the last thing she needed.
Yet here she was, 5:45 in the evening on a Friday, doing absolutely nothing.
She had to polish tomorrow night’s speech. Her entire campaign rested on tomorrow night’s speech. Instead, she was standing in line in a popular electronic store waiting for the nerds, or geeks, or whatever they called themselves, to call number eighty-four.
When the screen had turned an infamous shade of blue and the laptop had made a click-clack noise, her heart had completely stopped. And then the computer had completely stopped. She had run out of her house not even bothering to slip the computer into its bag and headed straight here to . . . wait it in line, it seemed. And, at the rate the line was moving, she’d be here until Monday!
Her phone began to ring in her oversized purse. The others waiting, all looking as stressed out as she did, were starting to stare as she tried to reach into her bag with one hand while holding the laptop on the other, but her phone stopped before she could find it. She let out a breath, but a second later the ringing started up again. She groaned as she felt around the inside of her purse for her phone again.
“Seventy-two!” the kid yelled just as Olivia finally found her phone and yanked it out. Of course, it was too late. It had stopped ringing.
“Damn it,” she mumbled under her breath. She had an image of decorum and control she needed to display at all times. This crazed woman in sweatpants, flip-flops, a messy bun, and an oversized T-shirt did not scream gubernatorial candidate Olivia Russo. Hopefully, no one would recognize her.
But she had to be prepared for tomorrow’s campaign speech. All her efforts these last few months would be for naught if she screwed up in front of the president of the United States. And the key to her success lay in her computer.
All of this was running through her mind when her phone again began to ring, startling her out of her thoughts which caused her to lose her balance and . . . CRACK! Her laptop tumbled to the floor. “Noooo . . .” she cried as she breathlessly answered her phone and crouched down to the floor. “Hello?”
“Mommy, Winnie says I can’t have any more Oreos!” A second, more distant, voice appeared in her ear. “Sophie, did you call your mother?”
“No! . . . Okay, yes! But you won’t give me Oreos,” her daughter whined at Winnie, her nanny and Olivia’s closest friend.
“Sorry, Liv. She snatched my phone. We got this under control. You get your laptop fixed?” Winnie asked.
Olivia blew out a breath, sending her long bangs flying as she gave up and just sat down on the floor in the middle of the line, in the middle of the big store, in the middle of a possible nervous breakdown, as people stared at her.
She was so stressed out, she wasn’t even embarrassed by her out-of-character behavior.
She looked down at the laptop and shook her head in defeat. “Not yet.”
“Gotta run, Sophie’s climbing the pantry shelves,” Winnie screeched and hung up. Olivia’s rambunctious daughter, the light of her life, was also a big handful most of the time. Strong-willed and persistent, just like Olivia herself.
“Seventy-three!” the kid bellowed from the counter.
Still sitting on the floor, Olivia swiped the phone off, threw it back into her purse, and covered her face with her hands. What the hell was wrong with her? She didn’t lose her shit like this. What kind of woman sat on the floor of a store? A crazy one, was who. Something bubbled up inside of her. She wasn’t sure if it was tears or . . . laughter. Then her shoulders began to shake and a weird gurgle left her mouth. Before she knew it she was laughing hysterically.
How did she end up sprawled on the floor of an electronics store on a Friday night with a broken computer? When had her life spiraled into this, this . . . chaos?
She looked up when she heard a camera phone clicking, and normally she’d be immediately in her professionally practiced pose: Spine straight, torso at a slight angle, chin up, left hand at her waist, hair causally (although professionally done) falling down over her right (not left) shoulder. Instead, she looked right at the man and snorted out a loud laugh as tears fell from her eyes. She wanted to tell him to please stop taking photos, but she couldn’t get a word out between fits of laughter.
But suddenly, as she wiped her eyes with the heels of her palms, the older man was eclipsed by a tall—very tall—very imposing and very breathtaking man.
“Maybe instead of taking pictures you can help the lady, bud,” he said, in a gruff voice that oozed confidence and annoyance. He crouched down, his jean-covered knee right by her shoulder. “Let me help you with that, darlin’.” He extended his hand to her and helped her up, then he reached down for her laptop as she righted her purse and straightened her T-shirt.
“This doesn’t look good.” He shook the computer gently and two screws fell to the floor. When the pieces of metal hit the floor a giggle escaped her lips.
