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Newel opens his mouth to argue, and Chelsea lurches forward to defend me. I stop them both. “Nah-ah-ah. We don’t need to resort to threats, sweetheart. Not when this man’s a coward.”
Newel’s face turns an ugly, mottled red, and I lean forward hostilely when he opens his mouth again. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to leave for your own protection. I get a little crazy when I drink, especially if someone bothers my wife. And you bother my wife.”
The man pulls an envelope from his breast pocket. “I’m an invited guest with a sizeable donation. It’s you who should leave.”
I snatch the envelope from his hand and rip it open. “Five thousand dollars from such an illustrious corporation? Please. We’re giving five times that.” The check goes into my pocket, and I lean toward Chelsea’s ex again. “Run along now.”
“Or what? You’ll rough me up?”
“Hell no, but I’ll stand guard while Chelsea deals with you. As Marine Force Recon herself, she’s probably killed more men than I have.”
Newel turns to the beautiful woman with one brow notched high.
“That sounds like a great idea, Pin,” she says, using my shortened call sign.
Newel’s eyes widen, and he steps back.
“Sorry I’m late, Lieutenant,” is spoken behind us.
Admiral Jameson approaches dressed in his class-A whites. “Traffic was a bitch. Is this a friend of yours?” he asks, gesturing to the man frozen in horror.
“This is an old acquaintance of Chelsea. He was just leaving to avoid a scene with me that my admiral wouldn’t approve of.”
Jameson nods thoughtfully. “If he’s bothering you or the lady, be my guest. As your admiral, I promise I won’t notice. Just wait until I’m inside to provide me with plausible deniability.”
“Yes, sir,” I say with a sneer.
The admiral disappears inside, and I step toward Newel. “Get the hell out of here with your pride intact. If you walk through those doors, I guarantee you’ll be emasculated publicly and dragged out by security. I can do this many ways.”
Newel sniffs and swings his glare toward Chelsea again. “You may have trimmed down, but you’re still trashy, evidenced by the company you keep.”
My fist clenches, ready to fly, but Chelsea steps between us and grabs my hand. “He’s not worth it, Jackson.”
I laugh in the man’s face, making a show of finding him lacking. “You’re right, Major.”
The military ranks seem to be the nudge needed to get the prick moving. Newel scurries toward the parking lot while Chelsea and I watch. “By the way, what was your rank when you retired?” I ask her.
“Captain.”
I laugh and turn Chelsea toward the door. “Of course, it was.”
Chelsea
The ballroom is wall-to-wall filled with Norfolk’s wealthiest, most powerful, and influential. I don’t fit into any of those categories, but I can fake it with the best of them. Curious glances are cast our way as Jackson escorts me toward the bar with a hand at my back.
The focal point of the high-class venue is the antique bar spanning half the right side. A stage takes up the left side and is done up to resemble an old Gaslamp theatre. A dance floor is set up in front of the stage. Dining tables fill the center of the room, and the casino area is on the far end.
Just inside the entrance are table displays showcasing the organization’s charitable endeavors. And to add a little competition and showmanship to the evening, a projector displays a real-time top-ten list of tonight’s donors. Top billing right now sits at nine thousand dollars. That’d be a surefire way to attract attention.
Jackson catches me looking and whispers, “Good idea, but we’ll wait until Harding is confirmed to be here to see it. Until then, let’s do a lap and then decide where to stake out.”
I don’t argue because Jackson’s plan is precisely what I would suggest. It seems the man is a fair match regarding battlefield strategy. Well, Chels, he is a SEAL platoon leader. They didn’t promote him for his tight ass.
Jackson and I mix and mingle our way past the bar to the back, noting the various politicians and gods of business playing roulette, craps, and blackjack. As we leave the casino area, Jackson bends to whisper in my ear, nuzzling his nose against my cheek to hide his motive. “You’re being eye-fucked by at least four men right now. We could use that to our advantage.”
Reaching up to grab Jackson’s lapel, I tug him down to me. “I watched a dozen women try to picture you beneath that suit. How do you want to play this?”
A rumble sounds in his throat, and then he says, “Dance with me.”