Bataar returned:
She hung doorhangers and talked to people.
Ben texted:
Your guy Moe hear what she said?
Bataar replied:
He got close once when he saw a pit bull come around a house. Luckily, the owner was able to call the dog back. She talked about how your uncle was the right person to be mayor.
Eumie snuggled up to him.
“I’ve got to make a call,” he said, getting up.
“At least help me with my top,” she said.
He pulled her garment down her arms and went into the bathroom.
“Our hacker got into the Tribune’s server,” Stephens said. “There’s a document that looks like a draft of the article you’re looking for. I’ll send it to you.”
She was working as a volunteer and writing an article on Uncle Gordon? That had to be a conflict of interest. But he felt less anxious about the need to shut down the paper. Maybe she’d been telling the truth in that letter she’d sent him. She really did feel bad about that article on Gordon and Oakland Forward.
He hadn’t believed her. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to believe her. He hadn’t forgiven himself for what had happened, so why should he forgive her?
“See if you can find out when the article is scheduled to run,” he instructed Stephens.
Eumie entered then. She had stripped down to nothing and looked at herself in the mirror, her favorite activity of all time.
“Did you have to spank so hard?” she asked as she examined the reflection of her arse.
“Be happy I didn’t spank you hard enough to bruise,” he replied.
She pouted at him before turning on the shower. “You want to take one together?”
He instantly recalled the time he and Kimani had showered together. He had held her up by the legs to one of the jets. Her wet body quaking in his arms had been one of his favorite moments. So was the time he’d bound her to a chair on Jake’s boat. She had been wearing a bikini borrowed from Jason’s sub, Lisa, a waif compared to the other women. Kimani’s baps were overflowing the top, and the boyshorts molded her arse like second skin. He had stuffed the bikini bottom into her mouth before pumping himself into her.
He had taught her how to water-ski that day. The glow of accomplishment when she had learned to get up on the water had been beautiful. Almost as good as fucking her.
Then there was the time they’d shot hoops together on his patio. The time he’d aroused her in the bathroom of a coffee shop. Their dinner at a hole-in-the-wall in Chinatown. The first time she’d begged for his cock. The sound of her calling him “Master.”
Bloody good times.
“You go ahead,” Ben told Eumie. “I need to review a document.”
On his mobile, he pulled up the file Stephens had sent him. The article started with Gordon’s past, how he put himself through college and law school while working two low-wage jobs; his work as an attorney representing tenants, which included Maybelle, with quotes of her praising Gordon; and other pro-bono jobs he had taken on. But the article also quoted his critics, including community advocates who felt he had approved too many pro-business projects during his time on the Planning Commission. The article also cited the ongoing FPPC investigation.
As far as reporting went, Ben had to admit it was a fair and unbiased article, and it showed a side of Gordon many may not have been aware of, the human side of a man who came across as a nerdy bureaucrat.
But voters didn’t need to be reminded of the FPPC investigation. And this article was in draft form. Who knew what it would read like after it was finalized and edited?
Better to be safe than sorry.
Ben dialed the attorney. “Shut the paper down.”
Chapter Twelve
To protect the confidentiality of its patrons, The Lair required all guests to put their phones, cameras and other valuables in cubbies near the entrance. Kimani didn’t know what to expect, since Marissa had never described the place in detail, but the woman who greeted them was friendly and dressed as if she were a hostess at a restaurant.