Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Rayne
“Can I give you this to handle?” I ask, filling in Symone on the hotel-booking crisis that’s stranded several tourists planning to attend the festival.
“No problem. I’ll head over there now.”
“Thanks.” I breathe out. Swamped is an understatement. This year’s event is bigger than the last. More tourists, more vendors. Larger budget. Increased scrutiny.
I’m no longer just the organizer. I’m the mayoral candidate trying to earn public trust and prove I have what it takes to manage this township.
No pressure.
My inbox pings—two messages flagged urgent. One from a county administrator needing a copy of a missing permit. I forward that to Natalia.
The other is from Cecil Newman, a council member who voted against my promotion when the former Director retired four years ago.
He claimed I lacked experience despite my double major in hospitality management and business, and five years as Tourism Manager.
What he meant was he didn’t want a woman in the role.
I open his message.
Given your recent campaign announcement, your bandwidth is of concern. Please confirm that you have emergency plans in place and the protocols are adequately resourced to mitigate liability. The festival must remain the priority.
I grit my teeth and clench my hands. He knows damn well that legal reviewed the plan, and the committee signed off on the Special Events Operation document—him included.
Whew. I take several breaths before I go off on this raggedy man and tell him he can kiss my big ol’ black behind. Instead, a calmer head prevails, and I draft a professional response.
Cecil should already know that the more he undermines me, the harder I’ll push to prove him wrong.
Determination hums at the edge of my focus as I double down on making this event flawless.
But it hits another bump when a heat advisory is issued, which means we’ll need those backup cooling stations after all.
I pull the third-party vendors and my team onto a video call.
Of course, there’s a snag with the misting cannons, but the HVAC specialist walks us through alternatives.
I’ve barely logged off when my email pings again. This time, it’s a notification from the campaign account. Diablo’s team has responded. I figured they wouldn’t let the “Make it Rayne” slogan sit unattended for long.
There’s a photo of Diablo on the pier beneath a bright sun.
Don’t settle for Rayne showers when Mayor Diablo brings the shine to our waterfront—more jobs, more opportunity! Experience matters. Vote for Bayside’s future! Vote for Gabe Diablo!
Damn. Using my words against me. Okay. I see you, DK.
Anika answers my call on the first ring. “We can hit them with a rebuttal,” she says, already keyed up.
“I was thinking we don’t play that game. Instead, we show voters I have the experience.”
“I see where you’re going. How about posting community testimonials about your advocacy work with the waterfront? Real voices who don’t think Diablo’s expansion plans are so sunny.”
“Yes! I love that.”
“I’ll get on it right now.”
“Thanks.” We disconnect, and another email from Cecil slides in, asking for more information that’s already in the document. It’s like he’s building a paper trail for an eventual I told you so.
Not today.
I copy, paste, and send the relevant sections back, wasting time I don’t have, but refusing to give him ammunition.
Natalia knocks. I glance up, hoping I appear less frayed than I feel.
“Special delivery.” She holds up a brown paper bag with The Ship Mate logo.
“Must be from my dad.” I peek inside and find a lobster roll, side salad, two bottles of electrolyte water—one plain, one peach. But the real tell is a slice of chocolate truffle cake.
Natalia smiles. “Mr. Webber did good.”
“Mmm,” I murmur noncommittally. Then as soon as she leaves, I text DK.
Me: Got your lunch. You went all out. Thank you.
DK: Don’t worry, I was discreet. How’d you know it was from me?
Me: The truffle cake was a dead giveaway.
DK: I hope it passes the chocolate snob test.
Me: It absolutely does. It’s been a morning. This was just what I needed.
DK: Anything I can help with?
Me: Beat up Cecil Newman for me.
DK: I don’t know who he is, but I’m on it.
A grin spreads across my face.
Me: I appreciate that. But I can handle him myself.
DK: No doubt. What did he do?
Me: He’s a councilman who thinks I should be barefoot in the kitchen with a brood of kids.
DK: I apologize on behalf of all asshole men. Which leads me to ask if you’ve put me in that camp?
Me: Rayne showers?
DK:...
Me: You get points for clever messaging.
DK: I thought your slogan was clean and catchy. Couldn’t leave it unchecked.
Me: I get it.
DK: Are we good?
Me: Yes. Thanks again for lunch.
DK: Enjoy it.
I heart the message. No hard feelings. I wasn’t angry about the post. In fact, I’d be insulted if he treated me with kid gloves, like I can’t handle a real fight. Bring it on. That’s the campaign.
This—I bite into sweet chunks of lobster and savory mayo—is not.
DK didn’t just show up. He showed up right. Protein. Sugar. Hydration. Quietly attentive. He didn’t even take credit until I figured it out.
That’s a real man. Not performative or there for the applause. Not like Hollis, who knew how to make a showy entrance but never mastered consistency.
I check that thought at the door, polish off half the sandwich, and get back to work.
The rest of the day smooths out. The stranded tourists are rebooked, the inbox tamed, and my to-do list is stacked with satisfying check marks. At five, I send everyone home to rest up for the hectic weekend ahead.
Once the office empties, I call Lot before I combust with this secret. I should probably ask DK if he’s okay with me sharing, but I trust my cousin with my life.
The second she answers, it all spills out—from seeing DK at Diablo’s office to our kiss last night, and all the yearning in between.
“That’s some Tyler Perry next-level drama,” she says, blowing out a breath. “Only you could have your one-night stand pop up in Bayside, working for Diablo. Like… what?”
“Either fate’s one cruel bitch or she’s right on time.” I kick off my shoes and prop my feet on the desk. “I tried so hard to resist him. Well… maybe not that hard. But I tried some. And I couldn’t. Not even the fact that we’re opponents stopped me.”
“You don’t have to justify it to me, girl.”
“I think I’m justifying it to myself,” I say, flexing my toes. “I can’t even explain the connection. It’s unreal. Like I’ve known him forever. And he’s an acts-of-service man—sent me lunch and chocolate. Got my heart and coochie all tingly.”
“Ooo. He’s coming correct. So whatcha gonna do?”
“Break every rule I set for myself.”
“Can’t blame you when you got good D living ’round the corner.”
“Uh-uh. Not here. We’re keeping it on the low. Meeting at a lake house his brother owns to give us both a chance to explore what this is.”
“That’s smart.”
“It’s also risky as hell.” My throat tightens. “He’s the first man I’ve trusted since Hollis. What if I’m misreading this, too? What if I’m dazzled and don’t see the signs?”
That’s it. The real fear I haven’t wanted to name.
“You learned from that, Ray,” she says gently. “You’ll clock those red flags quicker this time.”
“I hope so. My instincts are telling me DK’s exactly who he says he is. Honest. No games.”
“Then trust yourself.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “I want to see where this goes, but it could cost me the election.”
“I get that it’s controversial. But career-ending sounds extreme. If you’re still standing on business, who you hook up with in private isn’t anybody’s concern.”
“This is politics, girl. Men get redemption arcs. Women get disqualified.”
Cecil Newman would lead the slut-shaming parade. Which is some bullshit. But I’m stepping into this with my eyes wide open.