5. Shoot on Sight

Celeste's POV

Anyone but me would be so excited to ride in the same convoy as the presidential candidate. And why's that? Because I'm practically guilty of so many things at once.

I don't know if it's a criminal offence, but impersonating your sister for a political campaign sounds really shady, and trust me, I was just doing her a favour. At the same time, that favour did not involve mocking the future president in his face.

That's automatic beef.

Now, who knows? He might be taking me somewhere to have my head chopped off. Everyone knows politics is a bloody game, and I might just experience it firsthand. If this is the end, let my sister know where I'm buried because she won't stop until she finds my grave.

"I'm sorry." The words leave my mouth quietly.

Jordan Rogers' eyes are fixed on the window, his expression distant, but not distant enough to miss what I said.

He slowly turns his head to face me. "Saying something?"

Does he want me to repeat myself again just to feed his ego?

"I said, where are you taking me?" I ask, shifting slightly in my seat.

I won't feed a man's ego irrespective of who he is or what he is about to become.

"You're something else, really." One eyebrow lifts higher. "I'll have to watch out for attitude like yours when hiring."

His gaze drops to my badge, and for the first time, he actually notices the name on it.

"Ciara Ian." He recites the name slowly.

Oops.

"So this is what a woman like you is named." His tone carries a hint of sarcasm. "Hm, Ciara." He gives the name another look before ridiculing it.

My biggest apology to every woman out there named Ciara. I should have kept my mouth shut from the beginning.

"Why are you staring at me like I got the pronunciation of your name wrong?" He stares back at me, probably trying to decode what I might call him next.

"No, you didn't get it wrong. Everyone needs a Ciara in their life." I say quickly, forcing a small smile because I don't want to look suspicious, and now is not the perfect time to start explaining how this isn't my identity.

His mouth twitches, like he is trying to withhold a smile.

"The only Ciara I would need in my life is the singer."

"If you say so, Mr. President." I smile at him, which is very unlike me.

He almost laughs, before shaking his head. "I'm not the president yet, and I hope I survive to become one."

His voice softens, and something about it makes me glance through the tinted windows to notice all the police escorts, motorcycles, and countless black SUVs moving alongside us.

Is this man really in danger?

What am I even saying? He is in danger, and I am right beside him, which automatically means I'm in danger too.

"You're safe." His voice breaks through my thoughts, and when I look back at him, he's watching me closely.

Am I that easy to read?

"Why did you take me with you?" I ask, and that's the most obvious question.

"Because whoever fired at me doesn’t care who got caught in the crossfire." He answers readily, sounding more serious.

It really was an assassination attack.

"Then why are the thousands of supporters not in the car with us?" I blink, realizing I'm too quick to give a response without thinking it through.

Jordan’s eyebrows pull together.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you wandering alone when my security saw you? Or did you have an idea where you were going?" He leans slightly toward me, his voice dropping. "Did you know wandering alone in that situation made you more of a threat than a victim? And more so, I instructed my security to shoot any threat on sight."

That shuts me up. My face goes pale as I stare at him.

The black SUVs surrounding us suddenly don't look so reassuring anymore because everything about me at that point was threatening, and any security officer would have asked for my ID before deciding what to do with me. I would’ve been ruled out as a prime suspect in an assassination attempt against a presidential candidate.

Well, damn. More reasons I can't even tell him that my first name isn't Ciara and the badge doesn't belong to me.

"Thank you for the witness protection." I force a small smile. Hopefully, he doesn't think I'm joking.

His eyes remain on me, and I can swear that he's wondering what kind of lady he picked up. "I'm starting to regret preventing my security from leaving you behind."

"No, no. Truly, I'm thankful to you, believe me." I raise both hands slightly in surrender.

"I don't know if I should, but anyway." He dismisses my gratitude with a small wave of his hand.

Rude.

I suck in a deep breath and sink back into the leather seat. I finally feel myself relaxing.

I can handle and take care of myself. All he needs to do is drop me off when the coast is clear.

"You asked earlier where I was taking you to?"

"Yes, I did." I nod.

"The airport."

"What?" I turn to fully face him, my eyes widening in surprise.

He doesn't flinch.

This man isn't joking. "Texas is already a shitty state." He looks out the window again. "I can't risk another second of my life here before another assassination attempt is made on me again."

"I'm so sorry Texas had to be shitty to you on your first campaign, but you know, it has nothing to do with me." I make a few hand gestures as I speak before pointing toward the door with a polite smile. "And what I mean by that is, you can just drop me off anywhere and go to the airport."

"Of course, Ciara, it has nothing to do with you." His gaze returns to me. "But I'll need a new campaign manager, and I can't start scouting for one right now."

What?

Firstly, the way he calls me "Ciara" makes the name feel more like mine, and secondly, what is he actually saying?

"A new campaign manager?" I sit up straighter. "You have a whole campaign team already."

"Oh, about that..." He casually adjusts his cuff. "I fired the entire senior campaign team already. And if you want to ask me why, it's because nothing is meant to go wrong in my campaign. But you've seen the whole chaos, which means they're all incapable."

Damn.

The Janitress wasn't exaggerating one bit. I wish she was.

"But I'm part of the campaign staff, I'm meant to be fired too." I point toward myself before quickly remembering that my sister is the one who's actually meant to be fired.

"I thought about that." His eyes move over me for a moment. "But you seem... different."

I stare at him and let him continue.

"... and tough." He folds his arms across his chest. "You're not someone who'll say anything just to make me happy but rather say something that'll make America better."

Is this man hallucinating? I only impersonated my sister, not a damn patriot.

And how ironic is it for him to think of me as a patriot when, with a past like mine, I'm far from that.

"We're leaving Texas right now, and, Ciara, you're coming with me." He pauses. "You're going to be my new campaign manager until I become president."

Hold the fuck on.

Why does this sound like a threat and a punishment?

"I—"

The words die in my throat.

How do I reject this offer? What would Ciara say?

"I have a life here already."

Do I really?

"I'm offering you a better one." He says it like it's a fact.

A better one? Or a dangerous one?

Our eyes lock. This man isn't joking about what he is saying.

Is he trying to prove that he can be a good bird, not just an angry one? But at the cost of everyone's job?

How would I handle him when he gets angry?

And how would he handle me when he finds out about my past and the fact that I'm a very bad citizen to put at the forefront of a political campaign?

Most importantly, I'm not even Ciara!

How do I correct that without him knowing I'm incapable too and firing me alongside the others?

Quadruple fuck!

"Ciara? Are you still thinking?"

No one is supposed to think when a billionaire presidential candidate offers them a job because the paycheck alone should make the decision easy. The real Ciara wouldn't even think twice.

I finally manage to make words out of all my thoughts. "I need to make a call first."