Lucy didn’t know how long it would end up taking her to unravel everything jumbled in her mind, and then decide from there what she wanted to do. One day turned into two, which ultimately turned into two weeks before she made her way to Final Slumber. It was the firs time she had ever actually gone to Luis’s place/business, considering most of their prior interactions took place in her cafe. Initially,s he wasn’t sure if it was more appropriate to knock, or if she could simply walk in. She hesitated for a moment while trying to figure out which was more appropriate before going ahead and trying to doorknob, not the least bit bothered by the funeral home setting.
Once inside, she looked around, heart beating a little bit faster in hopes of seeing Luis. Her pulse calmed a little bit with the mild disappointment that he was nowhere to be seen. Upon finding the directory for the apartments however, a flutter of nervousness started back up in her chest. She found Luis’s and used the keypad to buzz his apartment, and then waited, hoping that he was home.
Featuring: DJ Holt & Clark Sampson; mentions of Zach Sampson, Antoinette Sampson, Chris Grimaldi & an allusion to Juniper Wilson
Location: The Regency Ballroom, the night of A Winter’s Ball
Notes: DJ does what she does best
Immediately after the texts with Chris, DJ stepped away from the main festivities to make a phone call. A few, actually. Thankfully, it wasn’t too difficult to get a hold of her main media contacts even with it being New Years Eve. Once she was finished, she placed her phone back into her clutch and reentered the fray, eyes viciously scanning the ballroom’s guests. As soon as she zeroed in on Clark Sampson, she calmed her expression and strode over to him with cool confidence. He was in a small circle of others, talking, laughing, drinking and appearing to be completely oblivious to the recent up-to’s of his son. Good, DJ thought to herself. It would make her plan that much more satisfying.
Slowing her steady strides once she was close by, she gave a polite smile and cleared her throat. “Mr. Sampson?” she spoke, certain that she was loud enough to get his attention. The older man, along with a few other eyes fell on DJ, including the woman on his arm, whom DJ recognized from some of the Google images as his wife, Antoinette Sampson.
“I was hoping to have a moment of your time. May I have a dance?”
She knew it was gutsy to ask to dance with the man, especially with his wife right there. But Antoinette’s tight smile fell with a crooned, patronizing, “Awwww, a politician’s job never ends, does it?” before she looked to her husband. “Go on, Clark. I need a refill on my champagne anyway.”
Clark chuckled, “Well alright. Sure...uh..your name?” he asked, offering his now vacant, bent arm.
“My name is DJ Holt.” DJ followed the man towards the center of the dance floor. So he clearly likes the spotlight. Perfect.
“DJ? Nice to meet you. Are you hoping to get into the world of politics, or was there something you wanted to address with me?” he asked, taking a polite, traditional stance with a hand in DJ’s and another on her waist. The two began to sway to the music. “I hope it’s on of the two there, because as I’m sure you’ve guessed now, I’m a married man.”
While he chuckled at his own joke, DJ gave two very fake chuckles back, “Ah hah. No. Presumptuous as that is, I haven’t really been interested in dicks.”
His brows shot up while his chuckle turned more surprised. “Well then.”
Unfazed by her own vulgarity and the double meaning behind her retort, she said, “What I was actually hoping was to first ask you something.” While keeping her voice low for just the two of them, her tone was fake innocence. “How much do you think a scandal around you might affect your career in the future?”
Clark, who was clearly not expecting that line of question, giving her with a wide gaze, brows shooting up to his hairline. “Excuse me?” He kept his voice low. “What did you say you do?”
“I didn’t say, but I’m in Public Relations,” DJ answered.
“Well, not that I have done anything scandalous, but why are you asking? Are you fishing for some sort of salacious story for the local tabloids?”
“No, actually, but you might want to pose that last question to your son.” Seeing the confusion quickly color his face, DJ went on. “You see, while you were enjoying you evening--as all of us have been hoping to do--your son was assaulting a guest here.”
“How do you know he--”
“I’m not finished,” DJ told him. He pinned her with a glare but she steeled her own gaze. “As I said, your son assaulted a guest here. Forcing himself, more specifically, his lips, on a guest here. Obviously, this is something that you don’t want getting out. Frankly, I don’t either since no one benefits from this--except maybe him if he’s attempted to do so for blackmail, clout or what have you.”
“Clout?” Clark sneered, reluctantly continuing to participate in their dance.
“Yes. You know that there’s plenty of high profile individuals and their significant others here. Kissing somone who’s already known to be involved with someone else? You don’t see that as a problem?”
Clark said nothing but DJ could tell he was seething.
“So here’s where we go from here. You need to talk to your son. Tonight. If he secured some sort of payment, bribe or incentive for doing what he did, you need to make sure that he gets the idea out of his head. Not only that but he needs to make sure that if he has any proof of what he’s done--since he didn’t do this right here on the ballroom floor, I have to assume he arranged some sort of proof--then the proof needs to disappear before he lays his head on a pillow tonight.” DJ kept her voice sounding light and conversational. “And if he doesn’t, then I will reach out to every single media contact I have and I will make sure that they know what your son did. I will drown out whatever efforts he makes to profit off of the unwanted advance he made. And I will make sure every media outlet reminds each reader who he’s the son of. You’d be welcome to try to defend him from there, but in this day and age of cancel culture, I will let the court of public opinion take care of the rest.”
Eyes narrowed into slits with a tightly set jaw, Clark hissed, “Is that a threat?”
DJ smiled and shrugged, “Mr. Sampson, I don’t make threats. I just do my job and make sure that I deliver on it. So consider it a promise that I will most definitely make good on.”
She could see his jaw working as he repeatedly clenched his teeth and swore under his breath before telling her, “Fine.”
Again, DJ smiled, “Good.” And as the orchestra’s cover song came to a close, she slipped her hands away from him. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Sampson.”
He barely gave her a curt nod before stalking off in the opposite direction that she’d gone.
