“No, it’s not.” I move behind my desk. “I need a private place. It’s important.”
“Luna?” he asks, reading between the lines.
“Yeah. But that’s all I’m saying. It doesn’t get repeated. Not to anyone. Not even the family.” I let the weight of it settle. “This is serious, Neo. Her life.”
His tone changes immediately. “Lips are sealed, bro. I’ll handle everything. No trace you were ever there.”
“Thanks. Can you also order something for me using your corporate card? I’ll e-transfer you.”
“Whatever you need.”
No hesitation. Just loyalty.
I text him details for the noon delivery.
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 fiveyears 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 votersIhave 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.”
