Page 6 of Hottie on Her Shelf
Chapter Two
Fitz never made the same mistake twice. Not knowingly, anyway.
So instead of tearing Derek a new one the moment the doors slammed behind the librarian, he jerked his head at the stairs and took them two at a time, which in no way burned off his anger.
He ran marathons. Lots of ’em, for charity. Was toying with doing an Iron Man in Florida in December just to escape the brutality of a Maine winter for a weekend.
He happened to know, however, that Derek’s only exercise was riding eighteen holes in his golf cart. So it was…petty? Sure. But also gratifying to hear him huffing by the time they entered Fitz’s office on the third floor.
Fitz shrugged out of his sport coat and hung it on the back of the door, then rounded his desk to settle in the big leather chair. Steepled his fingers, elbows on the desk. And waited.
For all that Derek’s common sense had checked out during their conversation with the librarian, he seemed to be recovering it now. His campaign manager had definitely picked up on Fitz’s mood. First, he paced between the coffee table and the wooden guest chairs, salvaged off a shipwreck in the 1800s. Glanced at Fitz a couple of times, a quick over-the-shoulder thing like he didn’t want to be caught doing it.
Derek blustered. A lot. But he didn’t have the spine—or the balls—to back it up when push came to shove. So Fitz let him stew in his own juices for a bit.
The man deserved it. He’d just fucking ruined the next four weeks of Fitz’s life.
Finally, Derek eased into a chair, gnawed on his lower lip. “Look, you don’t need to worry—”
“I damn well do!” Nobody would be able to hear them through the thick brick walls. “I’ve never run against anyone.”
“Right. Because once a Montgomery’s on the ballot, it’s a done deal. That doesn’t change, no matter how many names get added.” A smug smile licked across his thin lips.
Oh, he’d regret that. Fitz would make sure of it. Because if Fitz had to be miserable, he’d make damned sure the man who caused it was doubly so.
“Let’s break down how many things are wrong with what you just said.” He circled one finger in the air. “Heck, let’s toss everything in the mix. Talk about all the wrongness that’s come out of your mouth in, oh, say, the last fifteen minutes.”
Derek’s neck audibly cracked as he twitched through a double take. “There’s no need to be a jerk.”
“You led off that particular parade, Derek. You’re the drum major out there with that stupid tall hat with the fuzzy ball on top of it.” Fitz whipped a pen out of the UCLA Bruins mug. Normally, looking at the reminder of his undergrad days lifted his mood. Not this time. He shook the pen at Derek. “One? An important lesson you’d damn well better take away from this morning. You don’t trash talk anyone in a public space. Ever.”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s nobody.”
Jesus.How low of a worm did you have to be in order to actually believe that?
Fitz hadn’t liked Derek from the first day his father foisted the man on him to head up the campaign. But arguing with dear old Dad almost never ended well. Better to save up for the truly big battles.
It’d been obvious from the start that Derek was a bootlicker. Not his, of course, but to everyone in power at Montgomery Industries. The campaign manager stayed behind the scenes, though, so Fitz hadn’t worried too much.
It was his face on the poster, the billboards, the newspaper ads. He was the one who talked to constituents. And, more importantly, listened to them.
Derek did logistics. Undoubtedly reported back like a good little spy to his father. Ignoring Derek’s pretentious snobbery had become routine.
Until today. The man had crossed a line.
Fitz had a reputation for being easygoing. A smooth-talking problem solver. He didn’t bluster and yell.
Maybe it was time to turn over a new leaf…
“Hallie Scott matters because she’s employed by the town. She matters because she’s a resident of the town, a voter. Because she’s a woman voter. Because she’s a person.” Bracing fists on the desk, he half stood. “Last but not least, she matters because she is my opponent. That ought to matter to you.”
“You’re blowing this all out of proportion.”
Fitz sank back down, pulled out another pen to shake at Derek before laying it next to the first. “Second? Don’t be rude to my constituents. Any of them. Even, and especially, the ones running against me. It’s a bad look. It’s disrespectful. I won’t stand for it.”
“A campaign is a war, for God’s sake. Of course I’m going to throw down against the competition.”
It was like talking to a wall. A pasty, stubborn wall dressed up in a pinstripe blue oxford. “Third. Your big mouth was the one throwing around the mocking remarks. Now I’m the one who’ll have to pay for it, even though your job is to look out for me. You know I hate campaigning.”
