all,” she replied.
“Then join me for dinner tonight.”
As much as she might want to join Jonathan Butler for dinner, her mind cautioned her against it. He oozed charm and was dangerous to her peace of mind. Last night had been about more than just buck-wild sex; he’d gotten to her and that would never do.
At this point in her career, she couldn’t afford to get tied up in all that messy love stuff. She needed to focus her energies on becoming an anchor. Of course, a high-profile relationship with a would-be congressman just might do that. Perhaps she should reconsider. She could enjoy him as well as boost her career.
“Are you asking me out on a proper date this time?”
Jonathan grinned. “As I recall, that wasn’t what you were looking for last night.”
“Touché.”
“How about dinner?”
“Perhaps,” Ciara answered. “Only if it includes dessert.” She winked at him.
Jonathan couldn’t resist smiling at her audacity and rose to the occasion. “That could be arranged.” He grinned. “How about seven-thirty?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Great, I’ll pick you up at the studio.”
Ciara thought about that and shook her head. She in no way wanted their relationship to leak out to the rest of the press.
“No can do. Why don’t I meet you?”
“Capital Grille on Chestnut Street at seventy-thirty.”
“I look forward to it,” Ciara tossed over her shoulder and started toward the door, but Jonathan halted her.
“Wait, I still don’t know your name,” Jonathan commented.
“It’s Ciara. Ciara Miller,” she replied, sauntering over to Lance.
Ah, now there was an unusual name, Jonathan thought as he rejoined his father’s contingent, but one that fit her extremely well.
Lance joined up with Ciara at the door and asked, “So, what happened?”
Ciara turned around and noticed Jonathan watching her backside from across the room, but he quickly looked away when she caught him.
“I have a date with Jonathan Butler tonight,” Ciara said once they were outside.
Lance opened the van door and began hauling his equipment into the back of the truck before joining her inside. “I’m not surprised you snagged a date, especially after the way you out-and-out flirted with him at the press conference.”
“Who me?” Ciara asked, feigning ignorance.
“Yeah, you,” Lance said, nudging her in the middle. “You better hope Shannon doesn’t pick up on the vibe.”
“Oh please,” Ciara said. “Shannon wouldn’t know flirtation if it hit her with a ten-foot stick.”
“Son, what are you thinking?” Charles berated his overly eager son after the reporter had left. “Fraternizing with a member of the press. Do you even realize how every aspect of your life is scrutinized?”
“The press is just waiting for you to screw up. So they can be there like a pack of wild dogs to pick up the scraps,” his mother added.
Jonathan patted his father on the back. “Trust me, Dad. I know what I’m doing. It’s just dinner after all.”
Reid laughed inwardly at Jonathan’s public display. Here he was on the eve of an election that was practically guaranteed and he was hooking up with a pretty television reporter, of all people. Reid couldn’t ask for better luck for Jonathan to get his comeuppance.
“Do you even realize how lucky you are, Jonathan? To be in the position you are?” his father queried. “People are waiting for you to fail.”
“Of course I do, Dad.” Jonathan’s voice rose slightly and several reporters looked over at them. “Because you never let me forget it,” he snapped underneath his breath. All he’d heard all his life was that he was next in line. He had to do everything perfectly or be prepared for the consequences, and when his father was Congressman Butler, those were always stiff.
When he’d been in boarding school, he and a couple of other ninth graders had played a prank on the dean by toilet papering his house. Jonathan had hoped he’d be kicked out and allowed to be normal like other kids instead of going to social functions playing the dutiful son, but it was not meant to be. He’d thought he could get away without his father ever finding out, but not so. Charles Butler had shown up to the Phelps School in all his glory and had caused quite a commotion. Pretty soon, Jonathan had been back in school and under strict supervision in detention.
Reid jumped in. “Can we have this conversation in the car, please?” he implored as he directed the Butlers toward the exit.
Jonathan looked down at Reid’s hand on his arm and glowered at him. Reid quickly removed it.
Jonathan sucked in a deep breath once they were outside. He allowed his parents and Reid to precede him before entering the limousine Reid had waiting. He was so tired of his father ruling his life. He was a grown man capable of making his own decisions.
After several long moments, he got inside the vehicle. Jonathan seethed while en route back to his father’s office because his father kept hounding him.
“Who is this woman, really?” his father asked aloud. “You know absolutely nothing about her.”
“Your father’s right,” Reid agreed. “All of a sudden she shows up just when you’re about to announce your candidacy. It could be a setup. What’s her name?”
“Oh, c’mon,” Jonathan said, ignoring Reid’s question. He had no intention of giving him her name so he could treat her like a common criminal. “You guys are making too much of one date.” All of this cloak-and-dagger stuff truly wasn’t necessary. Why? Because his father may know about politics, but Jonathan knew women. He would know if he was being played.
“And you are taking this too lightly,” Reid countered.
“Maybe, Reid, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to date,” Jonathan said, taking a dig at his father’s right-hand man. “But for the rest of us, when you meet someone you like and they like you, you go out on what’s called a date. It’s as simple as that.”
“Well, I guess we’ll have to wait and see if she has an ulterior motive,” Reid replied, putting on his sunglasses and looking out the window. He couldn’t believe how arrogant Jonathan Butler was.
“Yes, we shall,” Jonathan said.
When she returned to the studio to prepare for the twelve o’clock newscast, Ciara ran right into her coworker, Chelsea Allen.
It didn’t bother her one bit that one of her closest friends at the station was Caucasian, though it may have bothered some. Ciara was color-blind. Furthermore, there was none
