Changing Tides, page 23
Before she knew it, an hour passed, and they headed to the Four Seasons.
They entered the hotel and made their way to the gala ballroom where Carter excused himself, leaving Rachel to stare after him, thinking about how oddly enjoyable the last hour and a half had been with him by her side.
However she felt about Carter, he seemed genuine enough. Despite his arrogance, his attempts at winning her over this last month seemed sincere, if not misguided, and today served as a reminder that maybe they could be friends. That maybe it needn’t be one or the other like she had thought. Maybe her old friends would still accept her, debt and all.
Now that she arrived at the gala, her nerves returned at the prospect of sharing a stuffy table with her parents, over a dinner in which she’d need to pretend to find interest in the stock market, Dow, someone’s new property in the Hamptons, or any number of idle gossip from the women.
Inhaling, she made her way into the dining room, taking care to notice the details with the eye of a self-designated event coordinator.
Chandeliers cast a golden glow over the room, lending a warmth that made the cavernous ballroom more inviting. Tables decked in white linen, simple white china, and water goblets with stiff white napkins filled the room. As the centerpiece, tall crystal vases were filled with arrangements that could be works of art. Lush white hydrangeas were nestled among coral roses and quince blossom branches. People huddled in small groups adjacent to a stage fully lit and ready for the gala’s speaker to make their obligatory introductory speech that usually involved a lot of schmoozing and back-patting. Around her, the women were dressed in gowns of varying shades and the men in tuxedos while servers carried trays of champagne among the masses.
Rachel paused, taking it all in. Truth be told, a part of her felt at home there. She grew up attending events such as this. They were in her blood, and at one time, she would’ve been thrilled to receive the invite. Instead of pausing on the outskirts of the party, she would’ve entered, shoulders back, chin raised as she plucked a glass of champagne off a tray and dove into conversation.
Hailed as a pro at networking, her father often called her one of his secret weapons. Whether it was her uninhibited honesty, quiet confidence, or ability to find a thread of commonality with nearly anyone, most people loved her. Only what she hadn’t realized then was how little liberty came with being one of his pawns, and it dawned on her now, as she surveyed her surroundings, that if she said goodbye to her old life, this may be the last gala of this magnitude she would ever attend as a guest.
Her eye caught on a couple closest to the stage. From afar, they looked like they had the world in their pocket. Her mother wore a simple black dress that fell just below the knee. Even from a distance, Rachel could tell it was silk and cost far more than they could afford. Her dirty blond hair was pulled back into a chignon. A strand of genuine black pearls hung around her neck. The man beside her—Rachel’s father—wore a classic tux that fit him to perfection, his hair freshly trimmed, and as Rachel started toward them, she knew before even getting there that he’d smell of Yves St. Laurent.
They were the perfect mirage, Rachel thought. One flick of the wrist, one wrong move, and their house of cards would come tumbling down once and for all. If only the people around them knew.
Rachel closed the distance between them, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing waiter on her way, knowing she’d need it if she was to endure the next couple hours.
By the time she arrived at her mother’s side, she had drained half the glass, lending warmth to her voice she didn’t really feel. “Mother,” she greeted.
“There you are.” She beamed and placed a hand on Rachel’s arm as she turned toward her father. “Darling, look who’s here.”
Her father’s sharp gaze turned on her, taking in her dress with a nod of approval. Reaching out, he motioned to the man beside him. “Winston, I’d like you to meet my daughter. Rachel, this is Winston Oliver. He’s one of our biggest supporters. And this is his wife”—her father motioned to a woman a good ten years younger than Winston himself—“Martha.”
Rachel smiled politely at the man before her and fought the urge to gag. Despite the fact that he was old enough to be her father, he was currently leering down at her, his gaze centered squarely on her chest.
“Nice to meet you both,” Rachel said, annoyed that she had yet to be informed why they were there.
“I have to say,” Winston started, “I was so pleased to hear Carter was running for office.”
Rachel’s mouth pressed into a flat line while her father nodded beside her.
“Yes, I’d like to think my encouragement had something to do with it. You know, the Flemings have lived beside us in Bayshore for years. It seemed only natural he come to me for help.”
“Quite the team,” Winston said.
Rachel tuned them out. Her gaze drifted over the throng of people, recognizing some of them among the crowd before she spotted a crop of dark hair and her thoughts, once again, returned to Joe.
She wondered how Brady was doing and if he’d been discharged from the hospital yet, which compelled her to open the beaded clutch in her hands and check her phone, only to be disappointed. Still no missed calls. No word from Joe.
She lifted her gaze and snapped the clutch shut.
What would he think of these people if he were there?
She imagined standing by the canapé table with him beside her, snickering at the lengths they went to impress each other—how vapid and shallow the conversations were—when something perked her ears.
“This event should garner the press we need, more so than funds,” her father said.
This event? Were they still talking about Carter?
If so, that meant . . .
Dawning struck, and she sucked in a breath.
This event was for him—to kick off his campaign.
Her gaze cut to her father just as the lights around the stage brightened.
“That’s my cue,” he said, straightening his jacket. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She watched in horror as her father took the stairs beside the stage and grabbed the microphone, then immediately introduced himself before he said, “And I’m proud to be managing the campaign for one of the brightest young men I know, a rising star in politics, Carter Fleming.”
The crowd erupted in applause, and her father waited, shoulders back until they finished before he leaned back into the microphone. “I’ve known Carter many years, and it’s been my pleasure to see him grow up. He’s young and innovative and truly cares for the people of Massachusetts, which is how I know he’ll make a great state legislator for the district. Let’s welcome our candidate, Carter Fleming.”
He stepped aside, making room for Carter who appeared from behind the thick curtain on the stage, looking dashing in his tuxedo, his golden locks gleaming under the glow of the chandelier.
“Thank you, Mr. Beaumont.” Carter beamed at the crowd, looking pleased with himself. “My father often says I was born to be a politician. From the time I could walk, I ran our house, campaigning for a later bedtime, one more cookie, ice cream before dinner. . .” He paused as polite laughter filled the room. “You name it, I found a way to fight for it. I earned the title of class president all four years in high school. And I may be laughing and joking about it right now, but there were two things I’ve always wanted and envisioned for myself.” He flicked one finger out in front of him, counting off. “To run for office one day on the big stage.” Flick. “And to do so with my girlfriend, Rachel Beaumont, as my wife.”
A hiss of air escaped Rachel’s chest, and his eyes met hers.
“Looks like I’ve accomplished one of the two. But I’m still working on the second.” He winked at her, and again, laughter followed, along with the blatant stares of everyone around her.
Shaking, she took a step back.
Anger swirled inside her chest, clutching at her lungs.
He was talking about her like they were still together. Like she was a given. That one day he knew they’d be together.
Her heart raced, and sweat pricked the back of her neck.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father’s gaze flicker to her, and a knowing smirk spread across his smug face.
She pressed her lips together, afraid she might be sick.
This was a set-up. The real reason her parents wanted her to come so badly tonight wasn’t to appear a united front. It was for Carter—to make it look like they were still together—because everyone knew a candidate in a committed relationship was far more electable than a bachelor.
Nausea burned in her throat as her gaze collided with Carter once more. He smiled out at the crowd, then wished them all an amazing evening. He was signing off, and when he started down the stage stairs toward her, she turned and ran.
Every muscle in her body ached as she fled. Some turned to her, wide-eyed at her abrupt departure, while others were too busy drinking their expensive cocktails and eating canapes to notice.
But she no longer cared what these people thought of her. They were all a blur as she fled the ballroom, and outrage pumped in her veins.
She burst outside, into the hallway, and gulped at the air while the fire raged inside her.
She glanced down at her beaded gown and plucked at the waist, unable to breathe. The material was beautiful, but she wanted to tear it from her body. To throw it in the trash and burn it. She wanted to leave this place and never speak to these people again.
She wanted . . .
She wanted . . .
. . . Joe.
Except he didn’t want her. At least not enough.
She heard footsteps behind her, instinctively knowing who it was before she spun around to face him with a finger in his chest. “You!” She jabbed, and he took a step back, raising his hands as if in surrender.
“Whoa. Hold on, there,” Carter said, his voice calm as if he was talking to a rabid animal.
“What did you think? That you’d woo me with your friendly banter this afternoon, then get me here, give that little speech like we’re still an item, remind me of old times, and I’d just fall at your feet? Remember what it was like when we’re together and come crawling back?”
“I didn’t say we were together.” Carter took a step toward her.
“Stop,” she warned.
“And I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
She inhaled. Was she making this into a bigger deal than it was?
“There was an implication, for sure,” she said, certain of it.
He drew closer, then reached out and stroked her cheek, wincing when she flinched, he pulled away. “What can I do to get you to trust me again?”
“I told you—”
“I know. I know what you told me, but here’s the thing . . . we’d be good together. The perfect power couple, and I don’t want to do this without you.”
No, I love you. No sentiment or emotion. Only talk of how they’d look together. How she could serve a purpose.
“Well, I’m sorry, but—”
He crushed his mouth to hers, and a split second of shock froze Rachel in place. The spicy scent of his cologne surrounded her, disconcerting in its familiarity, but it snapped her out of her stupor, and she jerked away from him, stumbling back.
Her face crumpled in anger when out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a flash of movement, and the hairs on her arm rose.
She turned, and what she saw almost brought her to her knees.
Joe, standing stone still, eyes locked on Carter, face twisted in agony.
“You came,” she whispered, and her thoughts burst into a million tiny pieces.
He chose her. Put her first. Which meant he did love her, after all.
She was enough.
Her gaze flickered over his tuxedo, slightly rumpled from the car ride, and it was like seeing him through her father’s eyes. The cut was poor, not tailored, or designer. And though he looked more handsome than she’d ever seen him, if they walked into the ballroom together right now, her father would sneer at him with inferiority.
And for the first time, Rachel realized how wrong she’d been to ask him to join her. How much bravery it must have taken for him just to show up.
These people were never kind to him. And suddenly, she didn’t want to subject him to their scrutiny. He was too good and pure. Not worth her father’s time or attention.
His chest rose and fell with his breath, and when he took a step back, Rachel snapped into action, realizing the scene he just witnessed.
“Joe, it’s not—”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . .” Joe mumbled, casting his eyes downward as he turned and headed for the door.
“Joe, wait!” Rachel hurried after him but didn’t get very far before Carter caught her arm and spun her around to face him.
“Let him go.”
Rachel batted at his grip on her while Joe’s retreating form faded from view.
“Get off me!” she spat.
Pushing at his chest, she twisted in his arms, then smacked his biceps with the palms of her hands, her face contorting in anger.
“Just let him go, Rach. He’s better off, and so are you.”
Something inside her burst at those words. Anger consumed her like a heavy smoke, seeping its way into every tissue, muscle, and bone, snaking its way into her heart. “You don’t get to tell me what makes me happy because you have no idea.”
“Come on.” He reached for her hand, but she yanked it away. “We had fun today, didn’t we? That’s how it would be. Think about it. You and I could be a team. We could have everything,” he said, motioning around them. “We’d be the couple, Rach. The one everyone envies. The one everyone strives to be, and you know it. You could have the world in the palm of your hand, anything you want. Even if it’s your silly business planning parties, I’d help you. Whatever you want, it’d be yours. I’d give it all to you—the whole world—just like you’d help me with my political career.”
Rachel ground her teeth until the muscle popped. “Is that all marriage and relationships are to you? Transactions? Some sort of arrangement of convenience to make both our lives better?”
And then it hit her with a sudden gut-wrenching clarity. It had been Carter who’d promised her father to pay for Rachel’s condo. She was sure of it.
“You offered to get my old place back, didn’t you? To pay off the debt on my condo?”
Carter said nothing, his bright blue eyes unblinking.
Rachel huffed. “Unbelievable.”
“It got you here, didn’t it?”
“Despite what you might think, my heart is not for sale.”
“Isn’t it though? Isn’t a partnership supposed to benefit each person, make things better, easier?”
“It’s supposed to make life better because of love,” she spat. “Marriage and relationships are better because of love. Which is what makes each person better for it, too. And I’m a better woman because of Joe.”
“Is that what this is about? Love?” Carter swept his hand through his hair, his poker face slipping, revealing the first hints of emotion. “You want me to say I love you? Fine. You win. I love you.”
Rachel choked on a laugh. “Oh, how touching. Let me get down on my knees and thank the Lord for that emotionally provocative declaration.” With a shake of her head, she turned for the exit, but he stepped around her, blocking her path.
“He’ll lose my business,” Carter warned. “All the restaurants in the Bayshore area that my father and I own will never buy again from Hastings. By my estimations, that’d be a third of his profits lost, particularly in the off-season.”
“You can’t do that,” she said, shaking. Only, she knew he could because Flemings owned a third of the most lucrative restaurants in Bayshore, including The Sea Oat. He had the power to get Rachel her job back. All it probably took was a single phone call. And yet, until now, she hadn’t thought of how much power he held over Joe’s business.
Her stomach roiled with the knowledge, and as her gaze flickered over his, his knowing expression cut her to the bone. He’d been sitting on this knowledge like a loaded gun, tucked in the waistband of his pants, ready for a quick draw.
And now he was ready to duel.
“You’d be foolish to turn him away. He’s one of the best distributors you have,” she bluffed.
Carter shrugged, a smirk marring his perfect face. “Business is business. We can buy our seafood elsewhere.”
Rachel shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Are you sure? Would your little lover boy say the same?”
“He’s not a sellout. Unlike some people, he realizes some things are more important than money.”
“Said every poor man ever.”
Her heart knocked against her ribs, and her hands itched with the urge to throttle him.
Her father, Carter, and the Flemings, they were all the same. All they cared about were appearances, winning, and the bottom line.
“You’re despicable, you know that?” she hissed. “And I would never be with a man like you. Not again. Not ever.”
“I may be despicable,” he said, leaning in so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek, “but I’m filthy rich.”
Disgusted, Rachel jerked back, then shot around him and headed for the door.
She was done playing his games, and she needed to find Joe before he left.
The sound of her pulse reverberated in her ears in time with the clacking of her heels over the marble floor as she flew toward the exit and ripped the door open. Impervious to the cold night air, she stepped outside. It was there, she found him, head down, waiting for the valet to retrieve his truck.
“Joe,” she called out, and for a moment she thought he might ignore her, but then, ever so slowly, he turned around.
Pain filled his eyes, turning them a thunderous gray.
“Joe.” Rachel’s breath rasped in her chest as she closed the gap between them. “That was not what you think it was,” she said, pointing toward the building.
