Bonnie braved the sidewalks swarming with people and narrowed her hazel eyes trying to make out shapes through the snow. Light flurries were starting to fall around the city, gathering on the people's shoulders, drifting and settling on the sidewalk. She chugged cold crisp air as the pulsating wave of a hostile crowd claimed her and held her hostage. She vanished inside a sea of people before shoving and pushing her way through to the street congested with yellow cabs. Hurrying across the street, she was deaf to the cabbies blasting their horns and the trucks polluting the air with diesel fumes.
Fighting off a cloud of exhaust from a garbage truck, she caught a whiff of roasted nuts from a newsstand and stopped to root around her bag for a wallet. She purchased a New York Times and her eyes chanced upon a New York Post headline about the Governor's race. She groaned thinking about the oncoming elections. As a political speechwriter, she was in for a long and hard season as her boss was up for re-election. Alaric Saltzman was already planning his acceptance speech and the campaigns were just beginning to sprout around New York, talk about an overzealous ego. Bonnie peered up at a banner for another candidate as it flapped in the wind high above Wall Street. The truth was that with all her complaining and scowling, Bonnie loved being a political speechwriter. She thrived on the action, lived for the drama of dirty politics. She was a slave to her passion and would've traded her soul to become a White House speechwriter. It was a thankless anonymous job but she loved it. The hours were long and strenuous, the eye-creams becoming ridiculously expensive with each year but it was all worth it when the crowds roused to their feet in applause because of something she wrote.
Tucking her chin into the high collar of her cashmere coat, Bonnie ducked into her favourite Starbucks.
..
It must have been Tuesday, Damon thought. He always saw her on Tuesdays. She seemed to stalk him from the Starbucks on ninety nine Wall Street to the food truck serving spicy jerk chicken from Trinidad and Tobago. Damon thrust his shoulders above the suits of Wall Street's financiers and brokers to get a better look at her. He watched as she ordered her coffee black, no sugar and wondered why she even bothered to come to Starbucks.
He had never approached her, never uttered a word to her beyond a grunt as they both exited the door at the same time. What would he have said? Hi, my name is Damon Desai and I'm a political speechwriter. Logically, it would have sufficed as a line, this was Manhattan after all but she didn't seem like the type of girl who got reeled by tired lines. Naturally being a Democrat, Damon had let her choose how it went at the exit and she being a feminist had elected to let him go first. Always the same tango at the door for both of them without so much as eye-contact.
Someone shoved past him carrying a vanilla latte, undoubtedly a Republican, Damon thought shaking his head. They were the only ones with no imagination. He probably subjected his poor girlfriend to a five minute missionary position every Tuesday and the lattes gave him a boost. Damon chuckled at his crazy imaginings and wished he could whip out the same enthusiasm for Nik's campaign. It wasn't that he didn't believe in his friend, heck Klaus Mikaelson was a former football hero, his father a war veteran and he himself had done a stint in Iraq. The Republicans would have killed to have him on their team. Truth was the only thing that hurt Nik's campaign was Alaric Saltzman; the man was as iconic as the charging bull on Wall Street. He spoke to the simple Americans using a simple language and voters liked him. That was politics for you, it wasn't poetry. It was fiction but it certainly wasn't Hemmingway.
"One caramel apple spice" Damon ordered then waited for the barista to come back with his much needed cup. His eyes raced, seeking through the suits inside the brightly lit coffee shop searching for the statuesque brunette in the expensive coat. Several minutes later, the barista handed him the cup topped with whipped cream and caramel drizzle. Biting back a scowl at the lack of pecan nuts, he staggered toward the door and dragged his hand down his tired face. Damon dashed toward the door as she was exiting just in time for their usual speechless dance but today would be different as fate lent him a hand. In a flash, she was crashing into him. Her knees buckled as she collided into his chest. Instinctively, Damon's arms draped around her waist and he smelled her hair, his nose buried deep in its dark pin-straight strands. Damon smelled her faint oriental perfume as her hair tickled his face and his fingers crawled down her cream coat like daring spiders. Her scent was thrilling, an escape from the stench of burning cigarettes, brewed coffee and weekend old whisky sweat from the young financiers that were passing them on the street.
"Careful, "Damon simpered, his breath hovering in front of him in the cold "My face is not insured" he said trying to sound charming but regretted it soon after he had uttered the sentence.
"Thank you" she said softly, barely audible in all the traffic noise, the drilling machines and the coffee orders pealing from inside the shop. The door slammed again as someone shoved past them.
"I'm Damon," he said with a smile that tried to be daring but somehow came out looking desperate.
"I'm Bonnie"
"That looks like it might stain, "Damon said handing her a napkin, his dark hair tossing in the quickening icy breeze.
"Shoot!" Bonnie cried snagging the napkin from his hand to wipe the blooming stain on her favourite coat. It had been her first luxurious purchase to celebrate her job as Alaric Saltzman's speechwriter, a Dior cashmere coat. It was three years old now but it still pulled off the clean polished look that would eventually propel her to the white house.
"Let me make it up to you" Damon smiled lazily and Bonnie was struck by the lewdness in his stark blue eyes, lascivious beneath the long lashes that fringed them. She had not had time to formulate a rebuttal before he quickly added, "I'm buying you this great lobster bisque, "he was smiling, head cocked to the side.
"There's a place around the corner" he continued, jerking his head and motioning to someplace behind him.
"I'm a vegetarian" Bonnie replied shaking her head and tossing the stained napkin inside her crocodile bag.
"Of course you are" he said, his gaze darting to her bag "did I mention their superb garden vegetable soup which comes with Lindt chocolate to complement the soup?" he quickly said suddenly coming across like a waitron in his attempts to seduce her. Bonnie opened her mouth to say something, to save him from himself but he halted her struggles for speech.
"But wait, you don't have much of a sweet tooth since you order your coffee black, no sugar" he said rapidly as a wind thrown plastic bag flew past them.
"Do I know you?" she asked, eyebrow arched as she studied him carefully.
"I should hope so; we've been having this Last Tango Dance thing by the door of this Starbucks for months now"
"Hadn't noticed, "She said pushing past him "guess you're not that noticeable"
"Hey, stop playing coy" Damon called running after her "you noticed me the moment you crashed into me, it took you precisely three seconds to form an attraction"
"I formed an attraction?" she scoffed "is there a busload of crazies touring Manhattan today?"
"Stop with hate crimes, will you?" he simpered "you like me and it took your eyes three seconds to realize that, dilated pupils and all"
She narrowed her eyes at him, casting them over his dark curls as dim sunlight and a crisp breeze pursued them. She could tell he was the type that owned too many hair products which roughly meant he never spent nights at a partner's apartment. How was he going to haul all those products around Manhattan and still look good the morning after? Bonnie could see it now, long tedious nights spent at his place watching the Yankees on his big screen and fighting over toasted bagels every morning.
"I know women" Damon said, combing a hand through his hair.
"You know I would expect that line from him maybe, "Bonnie snapped pointing to a random man in a slim-fit Armani suit and a grey tweed coat "not you, you're not the type"
"And what type is he?"
"The type who wears power suits and can get away with ridiculous statements like I know women"
"And what type am I?"
"The type that doesn't have a tailor "she said sizing him up from his navy trench coat, charcoal t-shirt to his tattered sneakers covered with sleet "you should invest in one" she added, her eyes gliding over the animal print design on his sneakers.
"I'm twenty eight"
"And yet you dress like you're thirteen"
"What are you, sixty going on twenty seven?"
"That's my cue" Bonnie said raising her right arm to hail down a cab from the scores of yellow taxis driving down the financial district" Good-bye Danny"
"What, you can dish it but you can't take it?" Damon yelled with a chuckle.
"It's Damon," he called squaring his shoulders and thrusting out his chest trying to look respectable "Damon Salvatore"
Bonnie shook her head as she climbed into the yellow taxi, carefully smoothing down the hem of her coat.
"Forty three and Sixtieth" she told the cab driver as her mobile phone came alive in her handbag. She plucked it out, vibrating and whirling around in her hand before she snapped it open.
"Do you think people need sex to survive?"
"Katherine, Good morning"
"I've been lying naked in bed all morning-"
"Naturally"
"And I've been wondering if I really need sex to survive"
"I think you mean oxygen"
"No, I mean sex, passion" Katherine said "Do you think I'll die a slow miserable death if I just stop having it"
"I don't know, I'm still here…still breathing"
"Yes but you're not living Bonnie, you're just breathing"
"Same thing, listen can we put the sex talk on the back burner" she said catching the cabbie's faint smile in the review mirror. Bonnie grinned back at him, rubbing the nape of her stiff neck.
"How's your article on the governor coming along?" she asked as her eyes wandered along the driver's littered dashboard. They darted past a naked Buddha bobbing its head, a string of fat beads handing from the review mirror and settled on the burning incense that pricked her eyes.
"Oh, it came alright, "Kat chuckled huskily "it practically wrote itself" she said breathlessly.
Bonnie paused for a minute, her mind reeling over Katherine's statement, Katherine naked in bed at nine o'clock on a Tuesday morning and not at her chaotic office at the New York Times.
"Katherine, "she began slowly "what-did-you-do?"
"I might have slept with Enzo." she said over the receiver and Bonnie shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. This was Katherine's second escapade with a politician after her July affair with Klaus Mikaelson. Granted, Enzo was not a politician but he was still the governor's campaign manager.
"Sleeping with two politicians doesn't make you Marilyn Monroe, you know"
"Technically, Enzo is not a politician, he's an attorney. I'm not as ambitious as Marilyn"
"Kat, I really don't care," she puffed as she locked back a strand of hair behind her ear, "I need you to get dressed and put your journalist's hat back on then get back to work!-"
"Hey, what are you-?"Bonnie spun around as the cab door swung open and Damon darted inside, slouching down into the seat right next to her.
..
"I'm catching a cab" he said simply, shrugging his shoulders.
"This is my cab" she huffed glaring at him.
"We'll share, you don't have problem with that right Mr Sanjir?" Damon said straining his eyes to read the cabbie's name off his license on the dashboard. The cabbie shook his head with a broad grin.
"See, this is what I like about this city," Damon grinned leaning back into the seat "you come here, make money and live your dream, New York, New York"
"Where are you from Mr Sanjir?"
"India"
"Ah, don't you just love our city's open border policy"
"We don't have an open border policy, our governor is a Republican"
"Did you hear that Mr Sanjir?"
"Republicans loath the idea of immigrants breaking through their precious borders and yet here you are, an immigrant in the great city of New York and you have a Republican sticker on your bumper" Damon smiled broadly, "Is this false advertising Mr Sanjir, are you playing a shrewd game of politics or are you really a Republican?"
"You don't have to answer that Sir" Bonnie said, nudging Damon with her elbow.
"Right, he doesn't it have to answer" Damon laughed "Mr Sanjir you can plead the Fifth Amendment on everything"
"Okay, Mr Sanjir please stop the cab. I'm getting off here"
"Why do you keep running away from me?" Damon called after her.
"I don't like you" she paused, standing at the door "I don't like the way you dress, I don't like the things you say and your hair bother's me"
"Oh come on, I still owe you that soup" Damon yelled as she slammed the door in his face. Throwing his head back against the car seat, Damon sighed instantly aware of the strong scent of spicy cinnamon in the taxi. How had he managed to mess that up?
"What are you looking at?" he said, watching the driver through heavy lidded eyes.
"Do you know that lady?" the cabbie asked, evidently amused by what had transpired.
"Is this a trick question? No I don't know that lady"
"But you'd like to?" Mr Sanjir winked, his smile stretching even wider across his weatherworn face. Damon merely waved him off with his hand as he turned his attention back toward the congested streets.
"I pick her up at that spot almost every day. She has a routine and it never changes." The cabbie informed him.
With a snort, Damon rolled his blue eyes "So she's boring. I'm shocked."
"She works for the governor of New York" the driver offered and Damon bolted back up, his heart racing.
"Just my luck" he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.