I sighed. “That sounds like Dante.”
“I mean, I’ve had people threaten to kick my ass before, but nobody has ever threatened to bitch-slap me, so I’m going to listen to him.”
I gave a wry grin. The guy was cute and funny.
“I’m not feeling very queenlike right now,” I said. “Maybe if you order me another drink…?”
He stood and was at the bar across the room before I finished the sentence. I laughed. I liked him.
People stopped to watch him. He was that sort of personality. His presence took over a room.
He was charismatic and funny and kind. He was one of the most powerful men in the city, and yet he didn’t take himself too seriously. He was back with martinis before I could reapply my lipstick.
“Thank you, kind sir.”
“The jester at your service, my lady.”
“Oh, you are hardly the jester,” I said.
He met my eyes over the crystal glass of water he was sipping from and raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re not the jester, but it’s going to take me time to figure out just who you are.”
“Oh, do take your time,” he said. “I mean this isn’t something to be taken lightly—telling me who I am.”
We both laughed.
We ate lobster ravioli in a creamy lobster sauce followed by tiramisu.
“Tell me about working with Dante?” I said over dessert.
“Only if you tell me about Ethel’s Place?” he said.
My cheeks grew hot.
Ethel’s Place was my passion project. Shortly after I’d inherited my father’s company, I started the nonprofit to help get homeless people on their feet. We built commercial and residential buildings in various cities across the country. The homeless people would move into apartments above the street-level businesses and worked in the small shops on the ground level, which included markets and florists and bookstores. They had a set amount of time to get on their feet before they had to move out so someone else could move in.
The mayor listened attentively. “I knew about their success, but I never heard why you decided to create the nonprofit.”
I told him about my homeless friend, Ethel, who had died helping me. She had been killed in retaliation for my actions.
“Whoa,” the mayor said when I was done. “That’s pretty heavy.”
“Why do you have a soft spot for the homeless?” I asked.
He told me how he’d turned an old Cal Trans parking lot into a permanent homeless camp.
By the time he was done, it was late.
The lighting was low, the music was bluesy, and the food was rich and filling. I felt sleepy and warm and satiated and had enjoyed myself enormously.
But we stayed and talked even longer. He told me about his rise to power. He earned it. He worked his way through college and then volunteered the Peace Corps before working for both the Obama campaign and the McCain campaign.
“Checking out both sides?”
“I believe in both sides.”
“Impossible.”
“But true.”
Hmmm. I was a little suspicious, but I let it go.
“You ready to tell me who I am?” he said. “Besides the jester?”
I put my finger to my chin in mock thought.
“After hearing your path in politics, I could say you are Switzerland, but that’s a little too pat. You’re more than that.”
“Oh really?”
“You aren’t the jester. You aren’t the king—the king is too stodgy and set in his ways. You aren’t the prince, either. Princes can be whiny babies like Luke Skywalker. You’re a little like Han Solo—sort of rebellious but sexy.”
“Sexy?” he said and wiggled his eyebrows.
“Oh yeah,” I said, nodding. “So, I think you would probably be Sir Lancelot.”
“We’ve gone from Star Wars to King Arthur in one conversation.”
I shrugged. “You don’t like Lancelot?”
“Sure, I like Lancelot.”
“Wait!” I said so loudly he jumped. “You’re fucking Robin Hood!”
“What?”
“Yeah. That’s who you are. Case closed. You can’t argue.”
He laughed so loud that people turned to look. But I noticed that everyone who turned smiled. The dude was loved by everyone.
“This was really nice,” I said as he held out his hand to help me up from the booth.
“Yeah,” he said and frowned slightly. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve enjoyed myself so much. Thank you.”
“Do you want to go dancing in the Castro?” he asked. “It’s only midnight.”
I yawned. “Can I take a raincheck? I’m still on Sumatra time.”
“Of course.”
He pulled in front of the hotel, and there was an awkward moment when the valet ran over to open his door. He looked at me, and I gave him a sad smile and shook my head.
“Goodnight,” I said and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I had a great time.”
He nodded and then I was gone before he could say anything else.
Upstairs, I stripped off my clothes and collapsed into bed, staring up at the velvet night sky. It was a clear night in San Francisco, and I could see the stars and a sliver of the moon.
Life was good.
I thought about the mayor. He was sweet. And not my type. But I’d still had a good time. I hoped we could be friends. I thought of Ryder and smiled. He was my type. Then I thought of James. He was off the hook for a while. I needed to resist having sex with him at all costs. It would open up some deep wounds I didn’t need to deal with right then. Like I had for years, I’d continue to love him at a distance.
But then, after I crawled into bed, my phone dinged. A text from James.
“Five tomorrow?” Followed by his address.
Fuck. So much for my pure thoughts about loving him from afar.
Because I knew that as soon as we were alone together within a mile of a bed it was game over.
Fourteen
James picked up the phone on his desk and then set it back down.
His head hurt something fierce.
Last night was the first time he’d been drunk since Genevieve died.
The night of her funeral, he’d gotten smashed. His daughter
