The Admiral’s Daughter

Chapter 14 Cleo

Cleo

The sun is relentless as I run the length of the flight deck, trying to keep up with the group currently being tortured by WO Benson.

He’s been screaming at them for the past hour—calling them weak, pathetic, a disgrace to the uniform.

One sailor stumbled during a sprint, and Benson made the entire group start over.

Another asked for water, and he added ten more minutes to the session.

He told me I didn’t have to work at their level, but that was never an option.

I don’t like special treatment because my father is the Admiral of the Fleet, and that’s what Benson’s offer boiled down to.

He’s shit scared of pushing me too hard and it reflecting badly on him.

Interesting how he doesn’t seem to mind pushing his sailors to the point of exhaustion.

Considering this was just supposed to be a run-of-the-mill PT session, I’m wondering why he’s barking at them as if he’s their training officer from HMS Raleigh.

He’s in the zone and I admit I don’t like what I see.

Adding this to the way he spoke to River earlier this morning, I’m inclined to believe WO Benson isn’t a very nice man.

He revels in his limited power. Leading Hand Grey worships him and hangs on to every word he says.

She’s been echoing his insults, mimicking his stance, even copying the way he crosses his arms when he’s berating someone.

It’s like watching a shadow. Or a cult member.

I’ve seen this before—people who latch onto authority figures and absorb their worst traits, thinking it’ll earn them favour.

Unfortunately, I think she’s picking up his teaching habits too, which won’t make her particularly popular with her crewmates.

My view on them both, is possibly tainted by my…intrigue with River. It doesn’t take a sleuth to see the trio aren’t best pals. The investigator in me wants to find out the reason WO Benson dislikes River so much.

Maybe after I’ve got my breath back, that is.

Right now, I need to concentrate on drawing oxygen into my lungs and muscles.

The other crew members are lying on their backs panting heavily.

A few have their hands over their faces, which makes me believe they’re brushing away tears.

I can fully understand it, I’m so exhausted I want to cry too.

“You’re all pathetic,” Benson calls. “Same time tomorrow, and I expect better. Dismissed.”

He doesn’t spare anyone a second glance as he marches off, with Grey hot on his heels.

A sliver of discord wraps around my natural bullshit antenna.

There’s something not quite right here. I mean, doesn’t Grey have her own job to do?

She can’t be assigned to Benson. He’s nowhere near the rank to afford those privileges.

Hell, he isn’t even an officer. I get that he’s a higher rank than most of his crewmates, but even then he’s not Warrant Officer 1, which is the highest rank before officer training.

He still has another rung to climb before he’s at the top of the ladder, crewman-wise.

I’ve done my research. Warrant Officers have authority, but they don’t have personal assistants.

They don’t have people following them around like lapdogs.

Grey should be working in her own section, doing her own job.

Instead, she’s glued to Benson’s side. Why?

And more importantly, who’s allowing it?

Also, now my brain is latching on to this train of thought, didn’t River tell me Benson does the bunk inspections in the morning, and issues disciplines if not up to standard?

If I’ve got my facts right, Benson is stepping way over the line.

Bunk inspections are typically handled by section leaders or officers.

A Warrant Officer 2 shouldn’t be doing morning inspections and issuing disciplines.

That’s not his job. So why is he doing it?

And why is no one stopping him? Either the officers don’t know, or they don’t care. Neither option is good.

The idea of contacting my dad flitters across my mind, but I quickly dismiss it. Getting the admiral involved is too much. The captain would be the right choice. Even so, I won’t go to her with only a theory. I need some proof there is something shady going on.

I’ll start with a casual chit-chat with River and her bunkies. If anyone will spill the tea, it’ll be them. I can’t imagine River having any loyalty towards a man who has it out for her.

Shaking my head, I disperse my thoughts and head to get cleaned up. After that PT session, I could do with a session with a masseuse, but the tepid water of HMS Queen Elizabeth’s showers will have to suffice.

My mind wanders to tonight’s date when I think of her. Admittedly, I’m intrigued as to what she’ll come up with. My guess will be a dinner in the mess. There aren’t many other places we could go without being watched or interrupted.

Whatever she does, I’m excited about it.

I know it’s stupid. I don’t understand how I let myself agree to such an idiotic plan.

I know better than anyone that a player doesn’t suddenly wake up and change who they are.

I’ve been in a situation that proved it…

Yet I’m now dating River ‘Romeo’ Dawson.

I swear to God, I must’ve been dropped on my head a few times as a child, because I make no sense.

How should I dress this evening? I can’t exactly walk around the ship in a dress. Even my pantsuit would make me stick out. Then again, wearing comfortable and pragmatic clothes doesn’t scream date, does it?

Yoga pants and a sweatshirt will have to do.

I don’t think River will mind. I doubt she has many date clothes stuffed in her locker.

Another reminder of how stupid this idea is slams into my chest. Of course River won’t have any date clothes hidden away, because she doesn’t date.

All her civvies will be for hookups on shore leave.

I don’t like the thought of that at all.

Sick of overthinking, I whip through my beauty routine—if that’s what you call slapping on some moisturiser, and blow drying my hair.

I have another hour before River…picks me up?

Not quite the first date door service I expected, but then again, none of this is in my realm of reality.

Honor might be onto something. Maybe I do need to try something a little out of the box.

I’m trying not to get ahead of myself. One date doesn’t mean we can build a relationship.

I’m half expecting River to call the whole thing off after tonight, once she realises dating still isn’t what she wants.

She’ll be polite about it. Probably say something like “I gave it a shot, but it’s not for me.

” And I’ll have to smile and nod and pretend I’m fine.

Pretend I didn’t let myself hope for something more. Pretend my heart isn’t breaking.

Probably for the best. I could stop the whole thing, too, I guess. But I won’t, because my traitorous heart wants to see where this thing between us is going.

Because despite everything—despite the red flags, despite my better judgement, despite knowing I’m probably going to get hurt—there’s something about River that makes me want to try. Something that makes me think maybe, just maybe, she’s worth the risk.

Curse me and my sapphic sailor-loving ways!

Full of nervous energy, I pick up my satellite phone and call Honor. If anyone can calm me down, it’s her. The phone should be used sparingly, like for important calls to my editor, but I’m okay bending the rules this time.

“Wow, two calls in as many days. I’m honoured,” she says in lieu of a regular greeting. I roll my eyes, which I know she will “see” through the phone.

“Hello to you too.”

“You totally rolled your eyes at me. Rude, Cleo.”

I titter and my chest relaxes ever so slightly. “River will be by soon.”

“Oh yes, it’s the big first date. I can’t believe I forgot.”

“Hmm, who had you forgetting such an important event in your best friend’s life?”

“Still hitting it with my gym buddy,” she says quietly, meaning he’s still there with her.

“Have you come up for air yet?” I joke.

“Just about. But back to you. What are you wearing?”

“Yoga pants and a sweatshirt.”

“Sexy,” she chuckles.

“I can’t exactly go flouncing around the ship in a ball gown, Honor.”

“You could, but it would definitely raise suspicions, so I understand the yoga pant selection.”

A beat of silence passes. “I’m nervous.”

“Of a first date? Why?”

“Because this isn’t a typical hookup. I’m not going to sleep with her. We’re stuck on a ship together for the next several weeks. Oh, and I’m nearly one hundred percent sure I’m going to be the one who gets hurt when it all goes to shit.”

“Ah, I see the positive attitude is in full effect,” she deadpans.

“Look, Cleo. You told River you’d take things day by day, so just do that.

There are two possible outcomes here. One, it does all go to shit and the pair of you realise you’re meant for nothing more than friendship.

Two, it works out and you find the love of your life, and let’s be fair, she has to be a sailor because your kinky little heart won’t settle for anything less. ”

“I don’t know why I agreed knowing—”

“Arghhhhh, stop! You’re talking yourself in circles.

You did agree, so just go for it. Cleo, River might be a player, but she’s not your ex, okay?

Don’t tar her with that brush without giving her a fair shot.

If she turns out to be a shit, I’ll be the first one to find her and make her regret ever talking to you. ”

“…Fine. Yes, I need to stop. Okay I’m ready. Thank you, sweetie.”

“Anytime. I expect a full debrief. Don’t leave anything out.”

“I can’t keep calling my bestie every five minutes.” I laugh. “Give me a few days and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I can agree to that. Cleo…enjoy yourself, honey. Give your brain a backseat for a second on this one, yeah?”

“Yeah, I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Feeling a little better, I waste some more time scribbling some notes regarding WO Benson.

I write down everything I’ve observed: the brutal PT session, the special treatment he offered me, Grey’s constant presence at his side, the bunk inspections, the rank inconsistencies.

I add questions: Who’s allowing this? Why hasn’t anyone reported him?

What’s his endgame? Is Grey complicit or just na?ve?

I want to look into him a little more. Check out his service record and see who he’s friends with.

My senses tell me I’m on to something, and I plan to use this article as a way to get close.

I’ll find the truth, that’s a fact. Dad isn’t going to be happy if I uncover something that might damage the Navy’s reputation, but that’s how things go sometimes.

I can’t ignore a potentially important story because it might upset him.

This is the eternal struggle—being the admiral’s daughter and being a journalist. Dad wants me to protect the Navy’s reputation. I want to expose the truth. We’ve clashed over this before. We’ll clash again. But I won’t compromise my integrity, not even for him.

A light knock pulls my gaze from the now chock-full page of my notebook. Closing it, I stuff it to the bottom of my bag. I’ve no reason to think anyone will come snooping, but you can never be too careful.

Opening the door, my smile freezes in place.

Instead of River, WO Benson is outside my cabin grinning at me.

My insides turn to ice. It’s a mere coincidence he’s here right after I finished making a list of things I want to investigate.

I know that, but my body is still reacting as if I’ve been caught in the act, regardless.

“WO Benson, hello.”

“Good evening, Cleo. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you were okay after the PT session. It was a brutal one.”

At least he’s self-aware enough to recognise how “brutal” he was being.

“Of course. It was quite the experience.”

“Good, good. I was just on my way to the dining hall,” he says.

I catch movement in the corner of my eye.

River steps through the bulkhead closest to my cabin.

She sees Benson and freezes. Thankfully, he’s still got his attention on me.

After a beat, River does an about turn and disappears.

Smart choice. Even I know Benson would be all up in her business, wanting to know why she’s coming to see me after hours.

I’d have had to make something up, which is a pain in the bum. Crisis averted, though.

“So, would you care to join me for dinner?”

Fuck, he’s still talking to me. “Unfortunately I have plans. Maybe another night?”

I don’t want to explain what my plans are, or who with. I don’t owe him that.

“Of course. Another time. Have a good night.”

He bows his head ever so slightly, like I’m the bloody queen or something.

It’s nauseating. The false deference, the transparent flattery, the way he’s trying to ingratiate himself with me because of who my father is.

I’ve dealt with people like him my entire life—sycophants who see me as a stepping stone, not a person. I hate it.

He’s obvious in his motives. Benson, like Grey, is all about moving up the ladder by any means necessary.

I don’t need to investigate him to already know that.

I work in a cutthroat business, and people like him are a dime a dozen.

I’ve met editors who’d sell out their own mothers for a promotion.

Journalists who’d plagiarise to get a byline.

Sources who’d leak classified information to get close to power.

Benson is the same breed—ambitious, ruthless, willing to use anyone and anything to climb the ladder.

He sees me as an asset to his goals and nothing more.

I’m not widely known as the admiral’s daughter, by design.

Only those I’m introduced to as his kid know our relationship.

Before I stepped onto the aircraft carrier, Benson wouldn’t have had a clue who I was in regard to Admiral Carter, and I doubt he would’ve paid me the blindest bit of attention if we’d met in one of the bars in Portsmouth.

Now, though, his interest is piqued. I can almost hear his inner monologue running through different scenarios of how he can use me to get in my dad’s good graces.

I count to ten after he disappears around the corner. Then I count to twenty. I’m not taking any chances. If he doubles back, if he’s lingering nearby, I need to know before I head to River’s bunk. The last thing we need is Benson putting two and two together.

Let’s hope we don’t have any more problems this evening.