“Your dad’s in fine form this evening,” Derek said. He was scanning the crowd for Mandy. She’d gone off to the ladies room to readjust her mask. Apparently, it was ruining her hairstyle.
I tipped my scotch back, swallowing a healthy swig. “Ain’t that the truth.”
My father had arranged for Arthur Jackson, his choice for a campaign manager, to attend. They’d cornered me for an interminable fifteen minutes before I could escape to the bar. I was here tonight to support two great causes—and to help gain support for my own. I wasn’t here to talk about campaign tactics or fundraising or any other bullshit that my dad threw at me at every opportunity. It wasn’t even time to officially kick off the campaign, and I was already sick of it all. The urge to tell my father to forget it was strong and growing stronger every day. Local politics was one thing, but the idea of jetting off to D.C. and kissing every ass on Capitol Hill to accomplish anything left a sour taste in my mouth.
I couldn’t hold my tongue when I thought something was bullshit. I called a spade a spade. I didn’t know how my father had done it. He had some higher need for intrigue, machinations, and manipulation that I didn’t share. I’d entertained the possibility because he was so damn invested in it. I’d never been a disappointment to my father, but in this, I would be. It was time for him to face facts: I was not cut out to be a career politician.
Gut instinct told me it was the right decision. And once I’d made it, I could focus on the things I actually wanted to do: keep running day-to-day operations of Southern Cross, continue improving my hometown on the NOLA City Council, push forward with The Kingman Project, and figure out what a future with Charlie was going to look like.
I tossed back the rest of my scotch. I’d have to tell him tonight before he got any further down the road of campaigning on my behalf.
“Well, holy shit. Would you take a look at that?” Derek said.
I followed his gaze to the dock. A woman was strolling up to the boat wearing a siren red dress and black and red-feathered mask. Waves of black, red, and purple hair bounced with each step.
I dropped my empty glass on the tray of a passing server. “I believe that’s my date.”
Derek slapped my shoulder. “Better go after her before the sharks start circling.”
Several heads had craned in Charlie’s direction as she made her way up to the ship. Shit. She looked amazing. I pressed through the crowd to meet her at the railing as she stepped onto the deck.
“You’re here.”
She nodded. Her aqua eyes stood out even more brilliantly against the feathers of her mask. I bent to kiss her cheek, not wanting to smear her crimson lips.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thank you. And I never thanked you properly for the dress. So thank you for that too.”
Charlie had fallen asleep in my arms that night without making it to the end of the movie. I’d carried her to my bed and tucked her in beside me. She’d been gone when I awoke, but the dress box had been missing as well. It had given me hope. Between my work schedule and hers, we hadn’t managed to see each other again until tonight. We’d spoken briefly last night, but the conversation had been awkward and stilted. Both of us dancing around the subject of tonight, and neither of us having the balls to bring it up. But she was here.
“You’re very welcome. Can I get you a drink?”
“Open bar?” she asked.
“Cash bar—it’s a fundraiser, babe.”
“Then you’re buying.”
“Done.”
We ate, mixed, mingled, and bid on silent auction items. Charlie charmed everyone she met. She had a knack for small talk and putting people at ease I’d never noticed before. If I was still considering a life as a politician, I couldn’t have picked a better conversationalist. It was like she was born to work a room. But I didn’t give a fuck about her ability to make small talk; I was just happy that she seemed to be enjoying the event and had instantly connected with Kingman’s widow. Although I guess I should call her Carina. Her husband was another active duty sailor. I gave her credit for taking the same risk again. Not everyone would be quite so brave.
I purposely maneuvered us away from my parents, not because I didn’t think Charlie could handle my father, but because I didn’t want him to piss me off and ruin the night. I’d say what I needed to say to him tomorrow. It would be soon enough.
Then I saw a familiar head of blond hair in the crowd. Vanessa. She had accompanied her father this evening, and I could hear his booming laugh from across the ship. He was a bull of a man who liked to keep everyone and everything under his thumb.
Charlie must have recognized Vanessa bearing down on us, because she said, “Should I be concerned that the claws are going to come out since I stole her man?”
I frowned. “Vanessa’s not like that. At all. So sheathe your claws, babe. She’s good people. I think you’ll like her.”
With the mask obscuring her face, I couldn’t exactly see Charlie’s skeptical expression, but I knew it was there all the same.
My brow creased as I studied Vanessa. She was wobbling on her heels and her cheeks were flushed. She was drunk. Which was completely out of character. I’d never even seen her tipsy in public. Ever.
I reached out an arm to steady her. Charlie seemed to pick up on the unusual nature of the situation and held out a hand. “I’m Charlie. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Her words weren’t snide; they were sincere and genuine, and I loved her for that.