“Probably best you scared him off, as this conversation is now for lady ears only,” Darcy said around sips of her Cosmo. They’d been trying to get her into less chicky drinks, but it was slow going. “So you still think Eli doesn’t believe in the sappy ever after? Because this desperate, panicked lie of his does not sound like the action of a man who merely wants to get laid. Threatening the cop, sex in the mayor’s office, the scheme to get him to date you. All evidence points to the guy being nuts about you.”

Alex reached for her stock answer. “Step back, D. You’re looking at the temp piece of ass, not perma-partner material for a politico. I’m the kind of girl who yells in a crowded blue bar about her dream to do the mayor of Chicago in a fire truck. It’s all fun and games, but he’s gonna wise up real soon and figure out I am bad news.”

“He seems to be liking unfiltered Alex just fine,” Kinsey said with a perceptive squint over her dirty martini. “And he’d have to be an idiot not to know how you feel after your throwdown with Luke at M Squared.”

Alex groaned. “Oh, God, was it that obvious?”

“That you’re in love and scared to death?” Kinsey reached across and squeezed her hand. “All you’re missing is the big scarlet EC carved in your forehead pronouncing you Eli Cooper’s woman.”

They didn’t know the half of it. How he held her so tight while they waited for Shadow to get out of surgery, those sweet moments of bliss just talking, debating, and being on his sofa—every single second pulled her so deep she could barely breathe for wanting him. No need for soft, dateable Alex Dempsey 2.0 with Eli. She could finally be herself.

Darcy looked like a squirrel who’d just discovered a fuckload of nuts that none of the other squirrels knew about. Before she could go off on one of her happy tangents and design an Eli Forever tat, Alex cut her off at the pass.

“It’s just the way it’s all come about. The campaign, how he needed me for the union endorsement. I wish he’d asked me out on a date before it all happened so I’d know that he wants me for me and not all the blue-collar votes I’m bringing in.” Eli might claim to have been obsessed with her for months, and he might have employed a few underhanded tricks to woo her, but how could she separate it out from her contribution to his campaign? “Besides, I’m not sure he has it in him to give like that. That openness I need. There’s this part of himself he keeps closed off and it’s so opposite to how I do things.”

“Here’s something novel. You could ask him how he feels,” Kinsey said, all wise and shit. “Otherwise you’re waiting for the guillotine to drop on election night.”

Darcy rubbed her shoulder. “He loves you, babe. I know it.”

Alex wished she could share her friends’ confidence. Ten days to the election, and every hour felt like a countdown to D-Day, where D stood for Dumped. When the ballots returned in his favor, would her utility to him be exhausted? Would he be looking ahead to his next career challenge? Four more years as mayor of Chicago, and then he’d turn his focus to governor or senator or . . . the White House.

Fuck-a-duck. President Eli Cooper.

She didn’t need Sam Cochrane to tell her she was not the pearls-and-Anne-Klein-shoes type.

It was going to blow chunks when it was over. But she refused to have any regrets about her decision to get involved with Eli, or at minimum, she would have the right regrets. Mercifully, Alex’s phone rang just in time to forestall a bout of sucks-to-be-her. Another number she didn’t recognize.

Kinsey looked sympathetic. “More press?”

“Yeah. When I’m bored or drunk, I answer and pretend they’ve gotten the wrong number. Usually I’m a doddering old dear who thinks the caller is trying to sell jumbo-sized condoms. It confuses the hell out of them.” She let the call go to voice mail, but of course, they never left a message. Once someone had phoned to tell her Eli was at that moment in her bed and Alex needed to lay off her man. Actually, Eli was in a live interview on the news, and as talented as the guy was, bi-location wasn’t one of his skills.

The number rang again. “Oh, screw it. Ready for some fun?” She winked at the girls and hit the answer button. “Yeeeees,” she said in her best old-lady.

“Alex, I’m Callie Benson with the Springfield Recorder. We’re calling to get a comment on the rumors about Weston Cooper.”

She started. This was a new one. “What rumors?”

“That the U.S. Attorney’s Office was investigating him on criminal conspiracy charges before he died.”

Eli loved the city in the morning, even in winter, and nowhere was it more beautiful than along the river walk on Lower Wacker. They had done wonders with this area in the last few years, turning it from a dank, soulless strip of land that even drug dealers would have reservations about visiting into a bright, safe walkway with access to restaurants and the numerous starting points for the river and lake tours during the summer. On either side, gleaming glass monoliths stretched to the sky, a gauntlet to anyone willing to take them on.

And it was about time someone did just that.

Sam Cochrane had messed with him for the last time. It was one thing to allow the tycoon to throw his weight around like an overgrown child to ensure certain decisions fell his way. If he wanted to ruin Eli, drag his father’s name through the mud at the bottom of the Chicago River, then that was his prerogative. But no one messed with Eli Cooper’s woman.

From a bench on the south side of the river, Eli looked up at the tower of steel and glass, feeling the city come alive around him. Just past seven and commuters were pounding their feet along the bridges and streets above his head as they headed for offices and the daily grind. And on the north side of the river, a bevy of construction workers were preparing to mount the last five letters of that humongous sign announcing Sam Cochrane’s ownership of a piece of prime real estate overlooking Eli Cooper’s Chicago.

Eli dialed a number on his phone. When the recipient answered, he spoke a single word. “Now.”

Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite on par with the stuff of Hollywood. As gratifyingly dramatic as that word sounded to his ears, it still took a few moments before the order went into effect. From his chilly vantage point, Eli watched as two City of Chicago employees served an injunction on the foreman to halt further construction on Sam Cochrane’s skyscraper.

He stood and turned toward the stairs that would take him to the street. No rest for the wicked, especially someone as wicked as Eli Cooper. Cochrane’s salvo had been returned.

It was on.

Three hours later, Eli strode into a city hall media room unusually packed to the rafters.

“Ladies and gentlemen, whatever could be of such interest to the fourth estate this frigid February morning?” A few chuckles greeted that. The vultures had been bored lately because his significant election lead in the home stretch left little to report on. He did so enjoy throwing them a few crumbs every now and again. “I’ll just open it up to questions. Mac.”

Mac Devlin waggled a pen between his thumb and forefinger. “People are questioning the city’s timing of this injunction, Mr. Mayor, coming so soon after a rather negative article about Alex Dempsey was published in one of Sam Cochrane’s papers. You didn’t seem overly concerned about that sign before.”

“I’m always concerned about anything that’s an eyesore in our beautiful city. I have an excellent relationship with Sam, and it’s no secret that he’s been very generous to my campaign and with his endorsement of my administration. I’d hoped we could come to an agreement. Seems that can’t happen, so it’ll be up to the courts to decide.”

“And in the meantime, the first three letters”—Mac held up his notepad and delivered an exaggerated squint—“that’s C-O-C, of Sam Cochrane’s last name are left, uh, dangling on the side of his building.”