Chapter 2 - THE MORNING AFTER
Claire called Tyler eleven times.
He answered on the twelfth.
“What the hell did you do?”
“Claire—”
“No. You do not get to Claire me. Who paid you?”
Silence.
She stood barefoot in her tiny apartment kitchen wearing an oversized Northwestern sweatshirt she had stolen from an ex-boyfriend eight years ago.
Outside, somebody knocked on the building’s front door.
Then again.
Her landlord shouted downstairs.
Tyler whispered, “I didn't know it was going to become this.”
“That sentence is never followed by anything good.”
“I got approached Thursday.”
“By who?”
“A guy named Mason.”
“Mason what?”
“I don't know.”
“Of course you don't.”
“He said Moretti would be at Sullivan’s Friday.”
“How did he know that?”
“I don't know.”
“What did he want?”
Tyler breathed hard.
“A scene.”
Claire stopped.
“What kind of scene?”
“He said Adrian Moretti had a temper.”
“So?”
“He said all I had to do was embarrass him.”
Claire’s grip tightened around the phone.
“How?”
“Get somebody to mess with him. Spill a drink. Take his chair. Something.”
“And you picked me.”
“I thought the kiss would be funny.”
“You used me.”
“I didn't think—”
“No. You definitely didn’t.”
Someone shouted her name outside the building.
Claire moved toward the blinds.
A man with a camera stood on the sidewalk.
Then another.
Her stomach dropped.
“Tyler, what was supposed to happen after I kissed him?”
A long silence.
“Mason said Moretti’s security would probably rough me up.”
Claire closed her eyes.
There it was.
“You were supposed to get attacked.”
“I guess.”
“And cameras were waiting.”
“Yes.”
“You let me walk into that?”
“I thought they'd just shove me or something.”
Claire laughed once.
It sounded horrible.
“You got ten thousand dollars to get beaten up?”
“Five up front. Five after.”
“And the thousand?”
“Cash from Mason. Expenses.”
“Expenses?”
“I know.”
“No, Tyler. You really don't.”
She hung up.
Ten minutes later, her diner manager called.
His name was Carl Jennings.
Claire had worked for him for five years.
“I need you to stay home.”
“Carl, that photo will disappear by tomorrow.”
“There are reporters outside.”
“I didn't invite them.”
“Customers are calling.”
“So tell them I kissed somebody.”
“You kissed Adrian Moretti.”
Claire looked at the ceiling.
“I am learning that those are apparently two separate crimes.”
“This isn't funny.”
“My rent isn't funny either.”
Carl sighed.
“Claire, I have a business.”
“So do I. It's called paying bills.”
“I can't have this here.”
That hurt more than she expected.
“You're firing me?”
“I'm saying take some time.”
“Paid?”
Silence.
“Right.”
She ended the call before her voice could change.
Then somebody knocked on her apartment door.
Claire grabbed a heavy frying pan.
“Who is it?”
“Adrian.”
She froze.
“Adrian who?”
A pause.
Then, almost dryly:
“You've kissed only one Adrian this week, I hope.”
Claire put down the frying pan.
She opened the door three inches.
Adrian Moretti stood alone in the hallway.
No dark-coated men.
No dramatic entrance.
Just Adrian in a charcoal overcoat carrying two coffees.
“You know where I live.”
“It’s online now.”
“That's comforting.”
“I brought coffee.”
“You think caffeine makes stalking polite?”
His mouth twitched.
“No.”
Claire opened the door farther.
“Why are you here?”
“To apologize.”
That was not what she expected.
“For what?”
“You were dragged into something aimed at me.”
“I walked into it myself.”
“You didn't know the game was fixed.”
She looked at him.
“You know?”
“Victor found the photographer.”
Claire stiffened.
“You hurt him?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“He works freelance. We asked questions. He answered because he likes money more than loyalty.”
“That’s reassuring in a terrible way.”
Adrian handed her one coffee.
She took it.
“What did he say?”
“He was hired by a public-relations contractor.”
“Lakeshore Civic Strategies?”
Adrian’s eyes sharpened.
“How do you know that name?”
Claire showed him Tyler’s screenshots.
For several seconds Adrian said nothing.
“Do you know them?”
“Yes.”
“Who are they?”
“A consulting firm used by Vincent Moretti.”
Claire stared.
“Related?”
“My cousin.”
“Of course.”
Adrian stepped inside only after she moved away from the door.
She folded her arms.
“So your cousin paid Tyler to get you angry.”
“That appears likely.”
“Why?”
Adrian looked toward the window.
“My family company has a board vote Monday.”
“For?”
“Control.”
Now Claire understood slightly more.
“You're fighting your cousin for the company?”
“He's trying to force me out.”
“And a video of your security punching Tyler helps?”
“It creates exactly the story Vincent has spent six months telling.”
“What story?”
“That I’m unstable. Dangerous. Bad for legitimate business.”
Claire gave him a look.
“You are aware everyone in Chicago already thinks you're dangerous?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“But fear and evidence are different things.”
That sentence stayed with her.
Adrian explained.
The Moretti family had spent decades building clubs, freight companies, warehouses, restaurants, property holdings, and businesses carrying a reputation much darker than their current financial statements.
When Adrian's father died, Adrian took control.
He sold businesses he did not trust.
Closed others.
Brought in outside accountants.
Cleaned up payroll.
Fired men who believed the family name placed them above rules.
Vincent hated him for it.
“He thinks fear is the only asset our family has that competitors can't copy,” Adrian said.
“And you?”
“I think fear is expensive.”
Claire studied him.
“You say very billionaire things.”
“I’m trying to be vulnerable.”
“You're terrible at it.”
He almost smiled.
Claire sat at her little kitchen table.
“What happens to Tyler?”
“That depends on Tyler.”
“Meaning?”
“If he committed fraud, there may be consequences. But I have no interest in hurting him.”
Claire nodded.
That mattered to her more than she wanted Adrian to know.
“What happens to me?”
Adrian looked around her apartment.
“What do you want to happen?”
“I want my job back.”
“I can call your employer.”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“You could.”
“I know.”
“And that's exactly why you won't.”
Claire pointed at him.
“See? You're learning.”
He sat opposite her.
“The press attention will get worse before it gets better.”
“Fantastic.”
“My people can help keep reporters away.”
“Your people.”
“Security.”
“No matching black SUVs.”
“That feels unnecessarily specific.”
“I woke up famous for kissing a man people think runs Chicago from a dark room. I'm allowed requests.”
“Fair.”
She looked at him.
“Why did you come yourself?”
For once Adrian did not answer instantly.
“Because sending someone would have made this feel like another thing happening to you.”
Claire stopped joking.
The quiet stretched.
Her phone buzzed.
Megan.
Then Danny.
Then an unknown number.
Claire ignored all three.
Adrian's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
“What?”
“My board chair.”
“Good?”
“No.”
He answered.
Claire heard only fragments.
Monday.
Emergency motion.
Reputation.
Video.
Witnesses.
Then Adrian said:
“No. Do not move the vote.”
He listened.
“I’ll be there.”
He ended the call.
Claire leaned back.
“That fast?”
“Vincent filed for an emergency leadership review.”
“Because I kissed you?”
“Because he believes something else is coming.”
“What?”
Adrian looked at Tyler’s screenshot again.
“I don't know.”
Claire hated that answer.
That evening she finally met Danny at Sullivan’s.
He gave her fries without asking.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“Internet famous doesn't suit you.”
“I agree.”
Danny slid a printed bar receipt toward her.
“What is this?”
“Camera guy.”
Claire looked.
He had not ordered alcohol.
Just sparkling water.
Cash payment.
But the receipt contained a note from the bartender who started his tab.
PRIVATE EVENT — V.M.
Claire looked up.
“V.M.?”
Danny nodded.
“Friday afternoon somebody called and said a photographer associated with a Moretti private event would be stopping in.”
“Which Moretti?”
“Didn't say.”
Claire stared at the receipt.
Her phone buzzed.
Tyler again.
This time there was no screenshot.
.”
“My people can help keep reporters away.”
“Your people.”
“Security.”
“No matching black SUVs.”
“That feels unnecessarily specific.”
“I woke up famous for kissing a man people think runs Chicago from a dark room. I'm allowed requests.”
“Fair.”
She looked at him.
“Why did you come yourself?”
For once Adrian did not answer instantly.
“Because sending someone would have made this feel like another thing happening to you.”
Claire stopped joking.
The quiet stretched.
Her phone buzzed.
Megan.
Then Danny.
Then an unknown number.
Claire ignored all three.
Adrian's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
“What?”
“My board chair.”
“Good?”
“No.”
He answered.
Claire heard only fragments.
Monday.
Emergency motion.
Reputation.
Video.
Witnesses.
Then Adrian said:
“No. Do not move the vote.”
He listened.
“I’ll be there.”
He ended the call.
Claire leaned back.
“That fast?”
“Vincent filed for an emergency leadership review.”
“Because I kissed you?”
“Because he believes something else is coming.”
“What?”
Adrian looked at Tyler’s screenshot again.
“I don't know.”
Claire hated that answer.
That evening she finally met Danny at Sullivan’s.
He gave her fries without asking.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“Internet famous doesn't suit you.”
“I agree.”
Danny slid a printed bar receipt toward her.
“What is this?”
“Camera guy.”
Claire looked.
He had not ordered alcohol.
Just sparkling water.
Cash payment.
But the receipt contained a note from the bartender who started his tab.
PRIVATE EVENT — V.M.
Claire looked up.
“V.M.?”
Danny nodded.
“Friday afternoon somebody called and said a photographer associated with a Moretti private event would be stopping in.”
“Which Moretti?”
“Didn't say.”
Claire stared at the receipt.
Her phone buzzed.
Tyler again.
This time there was no screenshot.
Just six words.
I know who Mason really works for.
May you like
Then another.
And he’s scared of what they recorded.
