Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Rayne
“Respectfully, Symone Francis is the best candidate,” I say, standing my ground.
For four years as Director, I sat at this table with these six council members—presenting ideas, defending budgets, and showing growth projections, all to earn their approval. Not just of the work, but of me. I wanted to be valued. Seen for my competence.
Today, I’m not here as their subordinate. I’m here as their equal.
Same room. Different weight. Same old boys’ club.
“The Director of Tourism role needs someone who understands what already works and has the vision to build on it,” I continue. “Symone hits the ground running.”
“Familiarity can also create blind spots,” Cecil Newman replies, sitting across from me, silver hair slicked back, gray suit pressed within an inch of its life, fingers steepled like he’s offering wisdom instead of condescension. “Sometimes fresh leadership is what a department needs.”
Fresh leadership. Please. The candidate he’s pushing is Gordon Hays—a business analyst for a tourism company in Bower County with all the personality of stale cornbread.
During his interview earlier, he spoke about Bayside like he’d read it on Wikipedia.
Meanwhile, Symone knows every vendor, every seasonal problem, every small business owner by name.
She is the obvious choice. My successor. Which is precisely why Cecil is resisting.
“Fresh leadership is great when the current structure is broken,” I say evenly. “It isn’t. Symone is already doing the job. And doing it well. Her performance metrics speak for themselves.”
“That may be,” he says, choosing his words. “However, the Director role requires more than supervised competence. It requires authority and presence. Someone people naturally follow.”
The dressed-up version of: I want a man in the job.
Cecil belongs to that particular breed who calls his assistants sweetheart and is personally offended by women in boardrooms unless they’re serving coffee.
I set my pen down slowly, formulating my response. Even a year ago, I would have softened my tone. Chosen subtle persuasion over confrontation.
Smaller voice. Quieter opinions. Still me, but… less.
Hollis liked that version too. The one who accommodated. The one who made herself easier to digest. Easier to love. Now, I don’t shrink—not an inch—for anyone.
I lean back in my chair and meet Cecil’s gaze. “When men say ‘presence,’ they usually mean someone who looks like them.”
Councilman Miller coughs into his fist. Councilman Taylor, to my left, suddenly finds his notes fascinating.
Cecil’s jaw tightens. “That’s an unfair characterization.”
“No,” I reply with full-throated calm. “Unfair is suggesting a man who crunches tourism numbers but has no operational experience should have the job over someone who is already doing it. Unfair is discounting Symone’s contributions while hyping a candidate who had to use Google Maps to find Bayside.
Unfair is expecting more from a woman while applauding less from a man. ”
Now nobody is looking at their notes. Good.
“For years, I sat in this room proving I belonged here. Symone shouldn’t have to do the same just because competence looks different than what you’re comfortable with.
I’m not just defending my recommendation.
I’m refusing to let another woman be diminished in the same room that once tried to diminish me. ”
Cecil’s face turns a mottled shade of red, and those steepled fingers aren’t so steady anymore.
Chairman Chen clears his throat. “I will speak for myself in saying I’ve always respected what you’ve brought to the table, Rayne.
Perhaps we have our own blind spots, and this is an opportunity for reflection.
” He glances around the table. “As for the candidates, we should take a vote. All those in favor of Symone, raise your hands.”
Four hands go up, including his.
“All those in favor of Gordon Hays?”
Councilmen Miller and Cecil lift theirs.
The silence that follows is the loudest thing in the room. Cecil keeps his hand raised long after Miller’s comes down. A statement, I suppose. But mostly, he looks like a dinosaur in a suit, desperately clinging to the past he’s afraid of losing.
“The motion carries,” Chairman Chen announces. “Symone Francis is our new Director of Tourism.”
I don’t gloat—not visibly. I don’t even look at Cecil as he gathers his papers with jerky, agitated movements. Instead, I offer a brief, professional nod to the men who chose progress over prejudice.
“You made the best choice for Bayside,” I say, rising to my feet and walking out of council chambers on my own terms, feeling invigorated.
I fish my phone out of my purse and text:
Me: Done and ready!
DK: Heading there now. Wait 5 mins. I want your pussy naked and dripping.
A shiver runs through me. I cross the hall, my heels clicking on the tiled floor like a countdown as I hurry to the restroom, and ditch my thong inside the stall.
Then I open my blouse and lower the cups of my bra.
I pull out two silicone disks from my purse—matte, charcoal-grey shields that I apply to my nipples.
They’re no more than the size of a bottle cap.
Light, but heavy with potential. When I pull my bra back up and rebutton my blouse, they create two subtle curves through my top that only someone looking for a secret would notice.
I retrieve my phone, open the app, and with a single swipe on the interface, the silence of the restroom is broken by a high-frequency purr.
It isn’t loud, but I instantly feel the buzz against my skin.
Not the sharp, pinpoint pressure of metal clamps, this is a delicious suction, constantly tugging on my nipples like a greedy mouth. Dripping isn’t going to be a problem.
I adjust my blouse, the fabric whispering over the shields, and exit the stall, searching my reflection above the sink.
My hair is still holding the front curl-ironed swoop, and my cinnamon-brown lip stain hasn’t lost any of its color, but it’s my eyes that say it all.
They’re bright and a little glassy. I look like a woman who’s primed to get herself some.
Out in the corridor, I hook my purse strap over my shoulder and scan my surroundings.
Town Hall tends to clear out around 5:00.
It’s four, and the coast is clear. I make it all the way to the end of the corridor and slip into the stairwell, unseen.
The adrenaline is a wildfire under my skin.
I’m drenched in pheromones by the time I reach the basement.
I haven’t been down here before. The air is cool, but it doesn’t douse the flame burning through me, that ripple of awareness that tells me he’s nearby.