Chapter Fifteen
Wes
A slim-fit tuxedo on a muggy Southern
evening was a very bad idea.
Wes had probably sweated off five pounds
waiting outside his hotel for Hayden to drive him to the Marshall
Hotel, the venue for tonight’s benefit. Located in southeast
Atlanta, the hotel was a historic landmark from the 1920s, and
tonight the rooftop bar would host the who’s who of Atlanta for
cocktail hour. Wes reviewed the notes Luca had sent for one last
prep, but his eyes kept straying to his phone and, in particular,
his last text message thread with Ryker.
He quickly snapped a selfie and sent it to
Ryker.
Wes: Note to self, tuxedos and warm
weather do not mix. This suit is now permanently glued to my
body.
Wes noted the now familiar black sedan
pulling up in front of the hotel.
“Looking sharp tonight, Mr. Stewart,” Hayden
commented as he exited the vehicle and opened the back door for
Wes.
“Thanks, Hayden, but I can’t wait to get
into air conditioning. This suit is too warm for this weather,” he
replied as he slid into the cool comfort of the car.
It took only ten minutes to arrive at the
venue, and he was once again hit by the wall of humidity when the
car door opened.
“Have a nice evening, Mr. Stewart. Send me a
text when you’re ready to head back,” Hayden replied, and was
off.
Wes entered the hotel through the wide
double doors and headed to the elevator that would take him up to
the rooftop bar. A short while later, he emerged on the twentieth
floor and was greeted by Shelby Goffen, the event planner. Dressed
in a green sateen cocktail dress, her fiery red curls bouncing on
her shoulders, Shelby was an energetic sight. She was organized and
friendly, with perfect Southern manners.
“Wes, so nice to meet you! Welcome to
Atlanta. Would you care for a drink?” she asked, motioning for a
waiter. Wes ordered a champagne cocktail. “Oh, I have the set-up
here with copies of your books for you to sign. I sent the updated
list of guests at the head table to you and Luca.”
“Thanks, Shelby, this is great. Luca sends
his best, by the way. He really enjoyed talking to you last
week.”
“He’s amazing, a real pleasure to work with.
I told him to call me anytime. I’m happy to offer any guidance he
may need to launch his event business. Oh, here’s my assistant,
Rochelle Hetter.” Shelby motioned to a young woman with long, dark
hair and vivid makeup, wearing a retro-style polka dot dress.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Stewart,” Rochelle
said and shook Wes’s hand.
“Please call me Wes,” he replied.
Shelby smiled at the two of them. “Rochelle
will be your shadow tonight, so anything you need, ask her. Is
there anything else I can do? I have a few items I need to take
care of in the grand ballroom before everyone heads there for
dinner,” she said as her phone pinged.
“I’m good. I’ll see you later.”
And with that, Shelby was on her phone and
rushing off to the elevator.
Wes’s phone buzzed. “Excuse me for a moment,
Rochelle,” he said.
Ryker: You couldn’t pay me to wear that.
But it suits you, Prince Charming.
Wes couldn’t help but smile and quickly
typed a response.
Wes: I wouldn’t want to disappoint the
300 guests tonight. They expect only the best.
Ryker: Too bad you have no
self-confidence. 300 people? I’m sweating for you. I’m already
anxious just thinking about attending the shelter benefit next
month.
Wes’s smile faded as he thought of Javier’s
attempts to get closer to Ryker. Had the man convinced Ryker to go
with him to the event as his date? Wes’s gut churned at that
thought.
Wes: You decided to go? What changed your
mind?
Ryker: Meeting Javier to discuss. Haven’t
decided yet but I feel like I should go, force myself to be social.
Someone I met recently has made me realize that I should take a few
more chances in life.
Wes’s stomach continued to roll, both in
pleasure at Ryker’s last comment and in unease at Ryker’s meetup
with Javier. He took a deep breath and then a long sip of his
drink.
Rochelle’s smooth voice interrupted his
thoughts. “Wes, we need you inside for introductions and photos. If
you’ll step this way, please.” She motioned to the doorway.
Wes: Time to greet the fans,
TTYL.
Wes decided it was best to forget about
Ryker for the rest of the night and focus on the evening ahead. No
good would come of texting and flirting with him anyway. Focus
on work.
Rochelle led him through the large crowd to
a small group gathered near the long, mahogany bar, and Wes
recognized Ashton Langley immediately. He was handsome, as per his
picture: about Wes’s height and build, with dark green eyes and a
close-trimmed beard that was classic and stylish. Ashton was
talking to the mayor and, presumably, his wife.
Rochelle made the introductions. “The
Honorable Mayor Jesse Linton, Mrs. Amelia Linton, and PrideAtlanta
CEO Ashton Langley, may I introduce you to one of our esteemed
guests this evening? International best-selling author Wesley
Stewart from Toronto, Canada. Mr. Stewart is a well-known fiction
and non-fiction author who has kindly donated books for tonight’s
benefit and is our keynote speaker.”
The usual small talk was made, and more
cocktails appeared. Mayor Linton was a heavyset man in his late
fifties, with a permanent smile showcasing very large teeth. He
reminded Wes of a pushy car salesman—fitting, given his job. Mrs.
Linton was a petite woman, polite but rather quiet for a
politician’s wife. Then again, the mayor hardly let her get a word
in. They chatted about local events and history, and Wes started to
relax and enjoy the evening until the mayor cornered him.
“You know, Wesley,” the mayor said as he
placed a hand on Wes’s shoulder. “My son is interested in writing.
He volunteers at the student newspaper at college. Maybe you could
have a chat with him. Or meet up with him since you’re in town. I
could…”
“Mayor Linton,” Ashton interrupted, “Wesley
is a guest tonight, and he has a very busy schedule.” He then
paused dramatically. “Look, isn’t that Chase Declair over by the
lounge? He’s Atlanta’s top news anchor.” He pointed to a handsome
blond man dressed in a sharp navy tuxedo.
“Why, yes, yes, it is. Well, Wesley, it was
so nice chatting with you. I have some circulating to do. See y’all
later.” And with that, the mayor quickly scuttled away with his
wife in tow, pushing his way through the crowd to get to the
reporter.
“That man will do anything to feed his
agenda to the media.” Ashton laughed, sipping his drink and shaking
his head. “Anyway, Wes, I want to thank you again for coming
tonight. This fundraiser is key to PrideAtlanta’s success, and we
are honored to have you here. It’s so important for LGBTQ youth to
have positive roles models.” He motioned to the bar stools, and
they sat.
“It’s my pleasure. I’m proud to support
initiatives like this. Anything I can do to foster equality, I’m
in.” Wes paused and looked around the rooftop, admiring the view of
the city skyline. “So tell me, Ashton, what’s all the fuss over the
news anchor?”
Ashton’s posture became rigid as he glanced
at Chase, who had been cornered by the mayor. “Chase started out as
an investigative journalist. He’s very well respected. We went to
the same college, so he’s an old acquaintance. After graduating, he
worked in Miami before returning here two years ago. Now he anchors
the local news and is very popular. Would you like to meet
him?”
Ashton ran a hand over his tie, then
loosened the knot at his neck. “I spoke too soon. He managed to
slip away from the mayor, and he’s headed this way.”
The crowd parted as Chase sauntered over.
“Good evening. I’m Chase Declair. And you are the novelist Wesley
Stewart. It’s an absolute pleasure to have an author of your
caliber visit our humble city,” Chase said with a big smile, and
Wes could see why so many people had turned their heads as he
walked through the crowd.
“Thank you. Wes, please. It’s nice to meet
you as well, Chase.”
“Ash, nice to see you again.” Chase’s smooth
voice iced over as he glared at Ashton. “Keeping all the handsome
men to yourself, as usual, I see.”
The two men stared at each other in a tense
stand-off, and Wes suddenly felt like an interloper. The blistering
look they shared went on so long that Wes decided to break the
awkward tension.
“Rochelle just texted,” he said. “Dinner is
ready. Shall we head on down?” Wes motioned to Ashton and
Chase.
“I need another drink, but y’all go on
ahead. Oh, and be sure to save me a dance, Wes,” Chase said as he
winked and sauntered away.
“What an infuriating, irritating pain in the
ass,” Ashton grumbled as they headed down to the ballroom.
“Bad history?” Wes asked, very curious about
the simmering animosity between Ashton and Chase. This evening was
turning out to be far more interesting than he’d imagined.
“About a decade ago, he wrote a national
piece about judicial corruption and called out my late father, who
was a circuit court judge. Chase was an investigative reporter at
the Miami Journal at the time. You know, uncovering the
secrets of people in power, showing their true colors and their
hypocrisy. It painted a rather unfortunate picture of my father’s
personal and professional failings, and I was furious. Chase
insisted it was backed by research, sources. It turned out that
much of what he’d written was true, but it still hurt, especially
the personal revelations. And now, whenever we see each other at
these things, the anger boils over. I know he was just doing his
job, but he seems to take delight in saying I told you so. He’s
always so smug. Most people think he’s a Southern
charm—intelligent, funny, and gorgeous, but I just want to wipe
that perfect smile right off his face.”
A dark stain of red bloomed over Ashton’s
cheeks, and he loosened his tie again. “I’m sorry, Wes. You don’t
need to witness our drama show. Let’s go grab our seats.”