Her Flirtatious Ways

Chapter 4

An article practically writes itself before my eyes, but I’m too frozen—too fazed—to even lift a finger, let alone document what just happened.

A darkened street. A fleeting moment of silence shattered by screeching tires and a sickening thud.

Just when I thought I was detached enough, too far removed to react, a man steps out of the car. Unhurried. Unbothered. As if he hadn’t just done what he did.

Shivers creep from my fingertips to my spine as he surveys the scene—the snatcher sprawled on the pavement, my bag lying a few feet away from the wreckage.

And then, he moves. He picks up my bag, the motion effortless, almost lazy. And then he turns.

He’s walking toward me.

I just witnessed a crime. And now, the culprit is coming straight for me. But the crime isn’t what has my stomach twisting itself into knots.

It’s him. What he is.

“I believe this is yours.”

Dash Fontanilla swings my bag as if it weighs nothing, as if it’s just another keychain dangling from his fingers.

He stops five feet away, his gaze unreadable, his presence heavier than the night air pressing down on my lungs.

I nod—because what else can I do? My voice barely works when I mutter, “T-Thanks?”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at his lips. The wind shifts as I inhale, and his scent invades my senses—clean, sharp, laced with something dangerously intoxicating. I exhale. I should run. But I don’t.

The man disappeared from sight, and it was only then when traffic enforcers swarmed around to look into the incident. There were also men in black uniforms who came to the scene, I knew they’re his men.

“Ma’am, pwede ba kayong makausap tungkol sa nangyari?”

“O-Okay.”

Sa huli, ako pa rin ang nagsalaysay sa nangyari. I figured what I saw doesn't matter, they’ll twist it eventually. Just like every article about them, about him.

The next day, my co-workers jumped out at me, asking questions of what happened. I gave them informations I can only share leaving the details with the man out.

“Must be a good reason why you’re not saying anything about it,” panimula ni Bea bago uminom ng order niyang matcha.

Work hours ended and we both decided to spend some time at a local coffee shop.

I sipped on my white mocha latte. “I didn’t expect you to buy my reasons, pero iba talaga kapag involved ka na sa sitwasyon.”

“Girl, you’ve been exposed to many things to make a big deal out of this one snatching incident. Na-trap ka na sa bubong once dahil desperate ka makapagsulat about the surge of typhoons, death threats are your breakfast, and you’ve been in an actual war zone, you’ve witnessed people drop dead.”

I stare blankly at my drink. She’s right. I’ve been in those scenarios, and I never want to be in the same situation again. Kaya nga iba na ang sinusulat ko ngayon.

“Hindi sa iniinvalidate kita ah, basta, buhay mo naman ‘yan.” She gave up after realizing that she’ll get nothing from me.

Truth is, I have no reason not to say a thing about it. If anything, I should be revealing how ruthless Dash Fontanilla is, he just ran over a snatcher and got away with it. No trace. Not even a single hint that a rich and powerful person was involved in an accident, just how a snatcher found his “fate” on a road with no witnesses.

“What about you and Paul? Still giving him the silent treatment?”

Bea stiffens, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Whatever. Hindi ko naman siya type in the first place.” She rolls her eyes and bites down on her straw—hard.

I raise a brow, amusement curling at the edges of my lips. “Talaga? Kasi naaalala ko pa yung sinabi mo nung iniinterview siya. Ano ulit ‘yon? Masarap?”

Her face turns an alarming shade of red. “Noon ‘yon!” She huffs, shaking her head as if that would erase history. “Ugh. Stop talking about the old me. ‘Di ko na ‘yon papatulan, ‘no. Masyadong nagmamataas! Totoo namang mas maraming mas competent kesa sa kaibigan niyang senator candidate.”

I smirk. This is what I like about Bea—she’s sharp, opinionated, and unafraid to say exactly what’s on her mind. It makes her writing powerful, but it also makes her relationships… complicated. Once she decides on something, there’s no swaying her.

“They’re friends,” I point out. “He must’ve considered her potential. Paul isn’t gullible.”

She narrows her eyes at me, her glare sharp enough to slice. “We vote by competence and track record, not potential.”

“She’s competent. I did my research. She’s just not as exposed in politics—”

“Hush!” Bea throws up a hand, cutting me off. “I don’t want to hear about it. Magsama silang dalawa.”

She crosses her arms and leans back on the chair, looking anywhere but at me.

Yeah. She’s totally jealous. I decided to stop getting in her nerves because I truly understand where she’s coming from. Though I haven’t experienced it myself, I’m competitive enough to compare myself to anybody who’ll catch the attention of someone I fancy.

Night came and I’m still very much awake. With midterm elections coming, we sure have a lot to publish. Engagement on our website articles rises to 105 percent, especially those written by me, and with my name exposed as the writer, my death threats also doubled.

Some people claim I’m defaming certain candidates, when all I do is remind the public that these candidates were ex-convicts. It is not the time to sit idly and watch the country fall into deeper poverty, when resources are available, people just have to be critical and elect competent leaders.

I read the comments on my recent article.

“Solid South kahit anong mangyari!”

“Bumoto nang matalino, ‘wag nang ihalal ang mga may naging kaso…”

“Sa’yo pa rin ang boto ko, Senator Pino!”

“Para sa maunlad na bansa! Sen. Ruben for the win!”

Some sure are planted trolls. It’s obvious the way they constructed the sentences. Same line, same thought.

I closed the tab and opened my incognito email—untraceable, a gift from a tech-savvy friend back in college. We helped each other navigate the rough patches of student life, though we were never particularly close.

Waiting in my inbox was the message I’d been expecting—an invitation from an anonymous sender.

“Want to know more about some Senators? Meet me at Guivarras’ tonight. 9:00 PM. Don’t bring a car. I’ll show you how much of a monster they are.”