By Your Rules (New York City Fixers Book 1)

  Contents

  By Your Rules

  About This Book

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Copyright

  BY YOUR RULES

  New York City Fixers #1

  Ally Decker

  Website | Newsletter

  She hates the public eye.

  Claire Dowson is focused on her career as an NYPD detective and avoids media attention. She gets enough slack at work for being the mayor’s daughter, she doesn’t need anything more. But when her father announces his Senate run, her mother asks for one meeting with the fixers team, and Claire, against her better judgment, gives in.

  He’s not ready to watch her leave.

  Nate Urban is a fixer for the New York’s rich and powerful, and after years in the business, he’s a hard man to surprise. But when the client’s daughter comes into the office for consultation on what was supposed to be an easy case, he’s thrown completely off balance. The last thing on his mind is his job.

  The mutual attraction makes the risk seem worth taking, but they’re not the only players in this game.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Claire Dowson had nothing against Mondays per se, but this one was really trying her patience.

  First, her neighbor woke her up at five, dropping what seemed like a herd of small elephants on the floor, right above Claire’s bed. She’d never experienced an earthquake, but she suspected that what happened might’ve been similar to one.

  Unable to go back to sleep, Claire rolled around in bed for another twenty minutes before dragging herself out into the kitchen, only to realize she didn’t have any coffee other than an instant vanilla cappuccino something-something she got as a gift a long time ago. She’d never had any intention of actually drinking that stuff, which was why it was tucked away in the back of the cabinet, but with no other coffee-related product in the apartment, she didn’t see any other option.

  The drink was awful, and she drained the cup after one sip.

  She had no other choice but to flee her house to the nearest Starbucks and ended up hitting the department’s gym earlier than usual. The place was empty—it was, after all, six in the morning on Monday—and as Claire went through her usual routine, she tried not to think about the sad state of her life that landed her here.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t all that particular Monday morning had in store for her. Two hours later, already on her third cup while her fellow detectives were still waking up at their desk with their first coffees, she made a mistake of looking up at the TV they had hanging at the long wall near the door. It was muted, as usual, and set on one of the news channels, like always.

  And that was when she saw it.

  Her father was standing in front of the City Hall, and there was a caption below, saying “MAYOR DOWSON ANNOUNCES A SENATE RUN THIS FALL”.

  Oh, for God’s sake.

  She glanced around, hoping people were still trying to wake up and weren’t interested in the news. And Claire’s luck seemed to be turning, because indeed, everyone in the bullpen was ignoring the TV.

  Then the lieutenant appeared in the open doorway to his office, and from the way he looked straight at her, she knew she was screwed.

  “Well, well, well, Dowson, are congratulations in order?” he asked loud enough that people in the holding cells could probably hear him.

  Claire wanted to slide down in her seat until she disappeared completely, but instead, she straightened in her seat. “No, sir, that won’t be necessary.”

  “Are you sure? You just advanced in your celebrity status. Let us know should you require any assistance.”

  Claire clasped her hands together under her desk. “I’m sure, sir.”

  With that, the lieutenant nodded and went back to his office, but now the entire bullpen was staring at her. Claire decided to ignore them, to not say anything without—

  “What was that about, Dowson?” Portman asked from his seat two desks behind her. He was a decent detective, but he was also the biggest gossip in their precinct.

  “Look up at the TV.” It was Newitt who saved her from the reply, his sharp tone discouraging any discussion. She was grateful, even if she knew the guy hardly did it for her. He just didn’t care about anything other than his cases and didn’t like when they were talking about personal matters.

  “Shit,” Lori, Claire’s partner and best friend, muttered at the other side of their joined desks.

  Claire stared down at the report in front of her, trying to pretend like she didn’t hear anything or anyone. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss her father.

  The father who hadn’t even thought of informing her he was going to run for the Senate.

  Damn it. Claire ran her teeth over her lower lip. Having the mayor for a father was annoying, but she’d learned to live with occasional jabs from her coworkers or her boss. She’d learned to deal with the fact that any off-handed comment in the squad about how things should be in the city was followed by glances in her direction and telling silence. She’d learned not to react, and the impulses to give people a piece of her mind happened less and less.

  She could’ve told them that she barely spoke with her father and that they saw each other only a few times a year, but she knew it wouldn’t accomplish anything. Besides, she wasn’t going to air dirty laundry as her defense. Her coworkers would still talk if they wanted to talk, and there was no way she was giving anyone the ammunition to actually hurt her. Only Lori knew the truth, and Claire intended to keep it that way.

  Her phone started ringing in her jacket pocket, and she pulled it out, taking a deep breath when she saw her mother’s ID. Claire stood up and headed to the break room, miraculously empty at this time of the day.

  “Hey, Mom,” she said, picking up right after she closed the door and probably right before the call would go to the voicemail.

  “Hi, Claire, honey.” Her mother’s voice was warm, like always, but it was still easy to pick up the nervousness underneath it. Claire had learned to recognize those tense notes a long time ago. That was the voice of a woman who had learned to clean up after her husband. God knows she had enough practice. “I know you’re at work—”

  “It’s okay, Mom, what is it?” Claire stood at the window, with her back to the door and to the curious eyes undoubtedly watching her through the glass.

  “Have you seen the news today?”

  Claire snorted before she managed to stop herself. Her mother didn’t need her attitude, but it was a battle to always keep the lid on things. “I’ve seen the announcement, if that’s what you mean.” Thanks for the heads up. I really appreciate it.

  “Y-yes, I do. I’m sorry you found out like that, but your father’s been so busy lately, so focused on…”

  Another thing she had learned years ago was to tune out the endless list of excuses her mother always had ready. It did nothing but make Claire angry.

  “Mom,” she finally cut in. “Mom, I’m sorry, but I’m at work. Did you want to talk about something else or just” make excuses “tell me about the news?”

  There was a slight pause and a quiet sigh on the other end of the line.
“I know you’ve always said that you don’t want to be a part of your father’s campaigns…”

  “And I still don’t.” No way in hell would she take part in this circus.

  “I understand, of course. But your father hired a company to help him, and they insisted on meeting the whole family.”

  “What? I don’t know what some political strategists need me for if I said I’m not taking part in anything.”

  “It’s not that. It’s… wait a second, I have a card here… Foster, Young, and Urban. They’re fixers.”

  Oh, Claire knew who they were. That firm—nicknamed Fix You Up, as well as the more aggressive Fuck You Up—handled difficult situations for the clients who had money to pay for those situations to be fixed. The company had only been around for a few years, but they were notorious for their efficiency. It wasn’t often that their work interfered with police investigations, but when it did… Well. That more aggressive nickname was definitely coined by their department.

  And now her father had hired them.

  “Wait, why did he go to them? What happened?”

  “Nothing, nothing happened,” her mom assured her quickly. “But campaigning these days… It can get dirty. You remember the last elections... It was a close call.”

  Claire remembered that mess very well. Her father’s opponent dragged him through the mud about some supposedly shady deals with other high-ranking city officials, including the police commissioner. Nothing came out of it and her father ultimately won, although by a small margin.

  And she had daily commentary throughout the entire campaign from half her precinct.

  God, she did not want to go through that again.

  “Your father wants to get ahead of anything they may throw at him,” her mother continued. “He doesn’t feel his campaign team is going to be enough.”

  No one was good enough for Claire’s father—aside from himself, of course—so she wasn’t surprised in the least. “Why do they need me?” she asked, curling her fingers around her opposite shoulder. “Just tell them—”

  “Your father told them you don’t want to take part in the campaign, and they won’t make you. They just want one meeting to go over what no campaigning will entail.”

  “No campaigning is just that,” Claire pointed out, glaring through the window at the wall on the other side of the precinct’s back alley. Her mother sounded like she was quoting someone else. This, too, was something both of them had more than enough practice in over the years.

  “Honey, please.”

  And she hated it, hated how her mother just went along with everything her father came up with—and how often she ended up giving in, too. She told herself it was for her mother’s sake, but it didn’t make it any easier.

  “I’m free after six today and tomorrow,” she finally said, rubbing her hand over the tense line of her shoulder.

  “Great, we have an appointment at six thirty today. We can pick you up or—”

  “I’ll meet you there.” No way she was getting picked up from the precinct by her father’s entourage. She’d never hear the end of it.

  “Okay. Thank you, honey. I…” Her mom paused and then sighed again. “See you tonight.”

  “See you.”

  Claire put her phone back in her pocket but didn’t move away from the window for another minute. What the hell did she just get herself into? She’d sworn for years that she didn’t want to have anything to do with her father’s political career. She’d distanced herself from it all, and people had still made assumptions about her. And now she was going to a meeting to discuss her lack of engagement?

  She took a deep breath, trying to relax her tensed shoulders. One meeting, that was it. One meeting, and she was out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nate Foster had been a fixer for over three years now, and before that, he’d spent a few more as a lawyer, so demanding and overbearing clients weren’t anything new. In his experience, people in crisis were either showing their best or their worst—rarely something in between. And sadly, he’d gotten to see the later ones much more often.

  It had changed a bit once he’d switched careers, moving from corporate law firm to the fixing company he’d started with his two best friends. With that shift, came the privilege of choosing their own work, and it had helped save Nate’s fledging faith in humanity. He could say no at any time, and he’d done so, more than once.

  But he also wouldn’t have a prosperous firm in the middle of Downtown Manhattan if he’d turned away every demanding client he wasn’t so sure about.

  And that was how Richard Dowson, the New York City’s incumbent mayor, had found his way into their office. The fixers couldn’t exactly say no to at least a meeting with the guy, and once he’d come over, they’d had no valid reason to refuse to work for him. He was demanding, and he acted like he knew better than everyone else, but he wasn’t a bad guy—at least not at first glance. Nate knew all too well things weren’t always like they appeared to be.

  “I want prevention,” Dowson told him and Shawn, one of Nate’s partners. “Everything I’ve ever done, every decision I’ve made as a mayor, will be examined and questioned. I’m sure there will be more than one fire. That’s what politics is like.” He shrugged, looking at his main adviser, Edward Tally, who had come with him but barely said a word throughout the meeting.

  Surely enough, as they started to get through the sensitive areas, one “fire” came up pretty quickly. Claire Dowson, NYPD detective and Dowson’s only daughter, who absolutely refused to take part in her father’s political life. Nate didn’t know if there was anything else there, but it was enough for people to start asking uncomfortable questions and for campaign management not to use “family man” rhetoric more than necessary. He noted it down to investigate further. Talk with daughter if possible, he wrote and underlined it.

  When he brought it up at the end of the meeting and suggested they should invite Claire next time, the mayor’s wife shook her head quickly. Barbara Dowson had barely said a word throughout the meeting so far and seemed to go along everything her husband said. Until now.

  “As we mentioned, Claire wants to be her own person and doesn’t want to be a part of the public life of our family. She won’t agree to be a part of the campaign, and we’re not going to make her.”

  The last part was stressed and probably not for Nate or Shawn’s benefit, if the way she looked at her husband and his adviser was anything to go by.

  “We understand that, and we won’t try to change her mind,” Shawn said with a gentle smile that Nate knew could disarm most women. “That would be simply a research meeting, to talk and find out what we need to prepare ourselves for. All of us.” Shawn leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Claire may want to stay away, but with the campaign process as it is, people will still try to pull her in it. If we meet and talk, we can figure out how to make sure she’s best shielded from it and what ‘no campaigning’ would entail in this case.”

  Barbara Dowson nodded, but she didn’t look convinced. Before she could say anything, though, her husband waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

  “Fine, sure. We’ll ask her to come.”

  Nate didn’t miss the way Barbara’s shoulders seemed to slump. It was subtle, she still sat straight and poised, but the gesture of defeat was unmistakable to a trained eye.

  Oh, yes, Claire Dowson was definitely a fire hazard for the campaign.

  ***

  On Monday afternoon, they had the preliminary report on the mayor with a few potential red flags but nothing too damning. The guy might not be the city’s darling, but he was still doing fine in the polls and with no personal scandals, that was a pretty good base for the senate campaign.

  The biggest red flag remained the same—the relationship with the daughter. Nate looked at the photo on the screen of his tablet, Claire’s eyes arresting his attention. Watch out, they seemed to be saying. Watch out for me.

  He could see it in
her jutted jaw, too, and in the perfect line of her shoulders—she had something to prove and she was ready for it. More than ready, if the file was anything to go by: top marks in the academy, high arrest score, including a few prominent drug busts, and above average in the performance reviews. Claire was likely looking at a promotion within a year or so. Nate knew it would look great for the mayor, but sadly, unless she had a change of heart in the very near future, they wouldn’t be able to use it.

  He put the tablet down and walked up to the windows to look at the city. This view, along with the top-to-bottom windows in each partner’s office, was the reason they had picked this place, even if at the time it had been too expensive for their budget and the sane thing to do would have been to go somewhere else. But they had been flying high on a much bigger risk—all three of them resigning from the firm they’d spent years in after law school—and one more gamble didn’t seem like it would make a difference.

  Not a bad one, at least.

  Seventh floor office in Downtown usually meant staring at the other offices through the window, but here it was different. With no higher buildings standing in the way, they could see the Brooklyn skyline on the other side of the river, with Manhattan Bridge partially visible to the side. It was a million dollar view, with a price tag that had seemed like a million bucks to them at the time. But they had looked at each other and known that this was it. They might have to fake it till they make it, but they weren’t letting this go.

  A few years later, the rent was no longer a pain, but the view was as breathtaking as on that first day. And Nate had spent hours upon hours staring at it while preparing for one case or another, or trying to decide on the best strategy.

  This case was no different. As he watched the slopes of the Manhattan Bridge, he went over everything he talked about with Shawn and the rest of the team earlier. It didn’t look like a hard case, and probably after tonight’s meeting, either Nate or Shawn would take a lead, since it didn’t warrant two of them at the helm. Setting up a strategy before the storm happened was much easier than putting down fires, but it was usually a long-term game.