Some With Arrows

Prologue

"Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps."

Act III, Scene 1, Much Ado About Nothing

It was Tuesday night. For most people, Tuesday night simply meant another work night but with Tacos. For Benedick Holden, Tuesdays were his night. Game night. Tuesdays were election nights, and this one was his Super Bowl. It was the two-minute warning on the fourth quarter, if he wanted to continue the metaphor, and it was up to the kicker to clinch the win. A year and a half of being unimaginably busy had led to this moment with Ben on the sideline, unable to do anything but wait and watch.

Ben frantically refreshed the news feed on his phone as he stepped out into the hall. He'd only set the device down long enough to sing Happy Birthday as he washed his hands, and then he was glued to it again. The traditional red and blue states were on the map, but most of the swing states were still a tossup.

His phone buzzed in his hand. A text appeared on screen.

John Balthasar: How you holding up?

Benedick Holden: I could die from this tension.

John Balthasar: Me too. Jessie has started anxiety baking to stop herself from fighting trolls on Twitter.

Benedick Holden: She has some of the worst trolls.

A door clicked down the hall, and Ben looked up from his conversation. Senator Messina's niece was stepping out of her hotel room wearing a different shirt than he'd seen her wearing earlier downstairs— this one minus food stain. Beatrice Rossi was an invaluable aid to the Vice Presidential nominee. When she'd been hired for the job six years ago, a lot of the Washington politicos had expressed their doubt. They'd called it a nepotism hire, but Rossi had proven herself to be more than up to the task.

That fact had made her a dangerous distraction for Ben since they added Leonard Messina to the ticket in August. Ben had been tasked with serving as clandestine liaison to Senator Messina's office in the months leading up to the pick. It had been fun playing secret agent, sneaking around and pulling stunts to throw the press off the trail while the Aragones campaign vetted their short list. But pretending to be on dates with the gorgeous Ms. Rossi so they could exchange documents had played with his head. How could it not? Benedick had always been hot for a competent woman in a pencil skirt.

Even now, as she turned and jiggled the handle of her hotel door to check that it was locked, Ben couldn't help but notice how the high waist of her skirt drew his eye along her hourglass figure. His eyes were lingering on her curves when she turned and locked onto him with those pale blue Messina eyes. Busted.

"Ben," she said. He jumped just a little. Maybe she wouldn't notice.

"Bea," he said, flashing a smile and adjusting his glasses. He gestured to his own chest. "Getting rid of the pizza stain?"

She looked down at her blouse and back up at him. Her crisply ironed top was a pale blue that matched her eyes, and the topmost button on it was still low enough that Ben had to try not to stare at the shadow of her cleavage. "Didn't want it to be photographed when the news comes in... if the news is good."

"Exit polls out of Texas look hopeful."

"I'm trying to temper my expectations," she replied. "Either we make history tonight or we backslide towards fascism."

"There's nothing left to do but be hopeful. If we lose, we'll be crushed either way. Might as well enjoy the idea for a few hours." Ben slid his hands into his pockets.