Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Rayne
“Morning, Dad,” I answer, silencing my showtunes playlist and pouring my first cup of coffee. “How are you?”
“I’m good, baby.” His voice booms through the phone. “But more importantly, how are you? Today’s a big day.”
“I’m ready for it,” I add a generous splash of milk and two teaspoons of amber honey for that perfect sip.
“I’m so proud of you, Ms. Mayor-to-be.”
“From your lips…” I grin. “I’m just going to focus on listening to what the people of Bayside want, learning all I can, and leading in that knowledge. The rest will take care of itself.”
“That’s a smart way to approach it. Listen, Learn, and Lead. Sounds like a great campaign line.”
“Yeah, it does.” I thumb a note on my phone.
“What time is your announcement going out?”
“Anika has it scheduled to hit the wire at three. I’ll handle a few things at work, then meet with Diablo at eleven.”
As Director of Bayside Tourism, I report to the Council Committee under the Mayor’s purview.
Meaning, I technically work for Gabriel Diablo.
Co-chairing the Waterfront Committee is separate from that, and not in his domain.
It adds some contention to our relationship, though we’ve always been civil.
“I felt it was only courtesy to tell him first, face-to-face.”
“It’s the right thing,” Dad agrees. Then, always my cheerleader, he adds, “I can’t wait. I’ve been biting my tongue for months. Now I can finally shout it out. Put me to work, going door-to-door, posting flyers, kissing babies, whatever you need.”
I laugh. “Thanks, Dad. Aunt Belinda’s down for canvassing too.” Lot’s mom, married to my dad’s brother Maurice, is like a second mother to me.
“Bee and I will make a good team.” I can hear his smile. “Do you have time for a celebratory dinner with your old man this week?”
“Ship Mate tomorrow?”
“It’s a date. Call me later. Let me know how it goes with Diablo.”
“I will. Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, Pumpkin.”
We hang up, and I finish my coffee in the quiet kitchen.
Yay, me. I hadn’t thought about DK for fifteen whole minutes—the longest stretch yet.
Yesterday, I broke down and opened the app, intending to thank him for covering the hotel room and to wish him a happy birthday—nothing more. There couldn’t be.
Every piece of “conventional wisdom”—mostly written by men—says a single woman running against a family man is already on shaky ground. I hate that double standard.
Diablo will use the contrast to his advantage, and my dating life would be dissected like a crime scene. So when I started to think about running, strategy won over principle. Hence, my tumbleweed coochie… until DK.
When I checked the app, his profile was gone. No message. No attempt to contact me. He just disappeared. Not gonna lie, that shit stung.
I deleted my profile too. I wouldn’t be needing it.
Celibacy and I were headed back to the same empty bed for the rest of the campaign.
Town Hall is a local landmark. An early twentieth-century building with a sandstone exterior, four stories tall, a steepled clock tower, recessed windows, and an archway entrance. There’s a sense of eminence and history here that I pause to take in.
The paperwork, the announcement, fundraising, campaigning—all of it will follow. But this is the first step in making my run official.
I smooth my flat-ironed bun and the sweep of bangs rebelling against the heat. It was only an eight-minute walk from my office, but the humidity had been relentless. Inside, the AC blows cool air on my face and through my outfit.
I love fashion. I even have a curated Pinterest board. Though it’s gotten better, finding stylish pieces in a size twenty-two is sometimes still a challenge. But I’ve sourced out body-inclusive shops that don’t think being fat means hideous sacks to conceal us and bullshit surcharges.
Today, my ensemble is a caramel pencil skirt with a white sleeveless wraparound top that ties at the side, tan pumps, small gold hoops, and of course, my opal necklace. I press my fingers to it as the elevator carries me to the top floor.
I’m known here, so friendly greetings are exchanged when I step into the outer office. Millie, Diablo’s assistant, brings me a glass of water while I wait. I gulp it down and hope I don’t look a hot mess. I think of popping into the restroom, but it’s too late. Diablo’s door opens.
“Hello, Rayne.”
“Gabriel.” I smile. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
“I’m always happy to make time for you.” He gestures to one of the guest chairs. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you like more water?” he asks as I place the empty glass on a coaster protecting the polished mahogany desk.
“I’m fine.”
He nods and takes his seat. At forty-one, Diablo is clean-shaven with raven hair that McDreamy fans would fawn over, dark eyes, and olive skin that hints at his Latine and Italian roots.
He married his college sweetheart, and they have four children—one boy and three girls, all under twelve—smiling out from framed photos featured prominently behind his desk.
A family man, as he likes to remind his constituents. Trustworthy. Dependable. Invested in Bayside’s future. Expansion is the only way forward. That’s his campaign slogan. I don’t disagree. Where we diverge is on how that growth happens. He wants big and fast. I want steady and sustainable.
“Kudos on the winter campaign,” he says.
“The social media traction’s encouraging. I’m optimistic that we’ll see more visitors this season.” Summer tourism here on the coast booms, but the goal is to nurture the local economy year-round by drawing people in during the quieter months.
“So…” He leans back, fingers tented, his campaign-winning smile firmly in place. A former banker and born politician. Not a bad guy. We just don’t see things the same way. “What’s on your mind?” he asks.
I clear my throat. “After careful consideration—out of love for this town, and my desire to be more involved at the decision-making level—I’ve decided to run for mayor.”
To his credit, he barely blinks. But his Adam’s apple, visible above the collar of his shirt, works overtime.
“I wanted you to hear it from me,” I add, “before the announcement goes out this afternoon.”
“I appreciate the heads-up,” he says pleasantly. “Running for office is a major undertaking.”
“I realize that, and I wouldn’t be doing it if I wasn’t prepared for what it requires.”
He studies me for a moment. “Wouldn’t you say I’m doing good things for this town?”
I pause—not to hesitate, but to choose my words. “In some respects, yes. I support many of your improvements to our roads and the old bridge. Your small business loans program has been well received and offers increased opportunity. But…”
I firmly meet his gaze. “That won’t matter if your development plans squeeze local business owners.
What you’re proposing destroys a substantial part of our waterfront and invites large-scale developers at the expense of small businesses.
Long-term, that approach would destabilize the infrastructure and hollow out our economy.
I believe there’s a more sustainable alternative. ”
“I value your opinions, Rayne,” he says, maybe sincere, maybe not—he’s so polished, it’s hard to tell. “I’d be happy to give you a seat at the table to work with me on the initiatives that matter to you, and perhaps find some middle ground.”
“I appreciate the offer, but it’s not enough to sit at the table where you still make the final decisions. The people of Bayside should have a choice. And I intend to present that.”
He leans forward, his pleasant facade still in place, but the air feels a little cooler. “It appears your mind is made up.”
“It is. I’m tendering my resignation, effective end of the month. I’ll put Symone Francis in as interim Director. Her promotion is the committee’s decision, but I put my full support behind her.”
“You’re quitting your job to run?”
“It will require all my energy,” I confirm and press on. “Since heading up the Waterfront Committee would be a conflict of interest, I’ll step down immediately, and my co-chair, Chaz Delgado, will take over.”
“Seems you have it all planned out.”
“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”
“Well, then, I look forward to the challenge.” He stands, extending his hand. “May the best opponent win.”
“Agreed.” I rise and clasp his hand, feeling good that it had gone better than expected.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he calls.
The door opens. “Sorry to interrupt, Gabriel. I’ve teed up a call with the Burbank group in twenty min—”
His words die as I turn. The voice had hit me first. Then the accent. Now, facing him, there’s no doubt.
For a split second, my body forgets how to exist. Sounds are dull. The air is thin. It feels like I’m watching someone else’s life combust from a distance.
DK stands in the doorway. Taupe suit, pocket square, broad shoulders filling the frame. Gorgeous. Professional. In control.
The only tell of surprise was the abrupt pause when he first saw me. Meanwhile, my pulse is pounding so hard I’m afraid they can hear it.
Keep your shit together. If I survived finding sexting messages on that bitch ass Hollis’ phone, I can survive this.
I force my face into something I hope is neutral as Diablo makes the introductions.
“This is Rayne Webber. I mentioned she heads the Waterfront Committee.”
DK nods.
“Rayne, this is Dakarai Ramos. My Expansion Director and campaign strategist.”
The titles blur under his name.
Dakarai.
Dah-car-rye.
DK.
The man I fucked at the Aqua Hotel. The man I actually connected with. The man who made me want more than just one night.
How the hell is this happening?
“It’s a pleasure, Rayne,” he says, like I’m a stranger. I work hard to match his ease.
“Um… yes. A pleasure.”
He doesn’t move closer. Thank God. If he touched me right now, I might unravel in front of them.
“Rayne was just informing me that she’s decided to run against me,” Diablo says.
There’s a pause, a stunned flicker. But it vanishes as quickly as it came. “Congratulations.”
How is he this calm? This collected? Then it clicks—everything Anika said about the D.C. bigwig. Lawyer. Politically savvy. A man who knows how to check his emotions at the door and focus on the outcome.
I’m the only one bleeding from this shock.
I need to get out of here.
“Gabriel, I’ll leave you to prepare for your call.” I quickly grab my purse. “Thank you for your time. I trust we can maintain a cordial and respectful relationship.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replies smoothly.
I smile back—tight, forced. “Have a good day.”
DK steps aside, but not before I catch his scent. The same one that had been all over the hotel sheets. All over me. I struggle not to inhale as I walk past him.
“Gabriel, I’ll be back for the call,” he says behind me. “I’m going to walk Rayne out.”
“See if you can get her campaign secrets,” Diablo jokes.
DK laughs.
I don’t.
He’s the damn secret.
I wave goodbye to Millie and the staff, avoiding any small talk, and make a beeline for the elevator.
“Loo-nah,” he says. Soft. Intimate. My body responds with want, but my mind stays sharp.
“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, glancing around to check that nobody’s within earshot, then jab the elevator button. Once. Twice.
“We need to talk.”
I shake my head as the doors slide open. I step inside, and he follows. We’re not alone, so he stays silent, but I can feel his eyes on me over the heads of the other passengers.
When we disembark, I move fast. Panic. Optics.
“Just give me a minute,” he says, gently catching my wrist. “Please.”
I tell myself I don’t want to make a scene as I let him guide me to a quiet corner of the lobby, the warmth of his touch seeping into my skin.
I pull my hand back. “I can’t be seen with you like this—upset and freaking out.”
“I’m reeling too.”
“It doesn’t look like it.”
“My heart’s beating out of my chest.” He presses a palm to it. “I didn’t expect this. I didn’t know you were Rayne Webber. But seeing you there…” His voice dips even lower. “You’re as beautiful as I remember. I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”
The deleted app flashes in my mind, and before I can stop myself, the question snaps out. “Then why didn’t you contact me?”
Emotion fill his eyes. “Because you said you didn’t want the distraction.”
“So I wasn’t worth another shot? No attempt to see if I still felt that way after our night?”
“Luna, you were worth everything.”
I’ve been fooled too many times to fall for word candy. But DK didn’t strike me as a player. Our night rolls back in a vivid montage—the way he listened like I mattered, the sweet note he left behind, how he held me until I fell asleep. Nothing about it felt fake. But—
“It would have led us here anyway. I’m running for mayor, and you’re Diablo’s campaign strategist. You stand on the other side. Against what matters to me. We can’t be anything else.”
That harsh reality settles between us.
“Luna—”
“Please.” I cut him off and extend my hand. For anyone watching. But mostly to draw a line I hope I can hold. “Good luck, Dakarai.”
He looks at my hand for a long moment before taking it.
“Good luck, Rayne.”
His grip lingers, letting me see the regret in his eyes.
I make myself pull away and walk out into the sunlight. The heat that hits my face is nothing compared to the burn in my chest.
How am I supposed to forget about him now, when he’s living in my town—and campaigning against me?
Fuck.