“Of course. Another time. Have a good night.”
He bows his head ever so slightly, like I’m the bloody queen or something. It’s nauseating. The false deference, the transparent flattery, the way he’s trying to ingratiate himself with me because of who my father is. I’ve dealt with people like him my entire life—sycophants who see me as a stepping stone, not a person. I hate it.
He’s obvious in his motives. Benson, like Grey, is all about moving up the ladder by any means necessary.I don’t need to investigate him to already know that. I work in a cutthroat business, and people like him are a dime a dozen. I’ve met editors who’d sell out their own mothers for a promotion. Journalists who’d plagiarise to get a byline. Sources who’d leak classified information to get close to power. Benson is the same breed—ambitious, ruthless, willing to use anyone and anything to climb the ladder.
He sees me as an asset to his goals and nothing more.
I’m not widely known as the admiral’s daughter, by design. Only those I’m introduced to as his kid know our relationship. Before I stepped onto the aircraft carrier, Benson wouldn’t have had a clue who I was in regard to Admiral Carter, and I doubt he would’ve paid me the blindest bit of attention if we’d met in one of the bars in Portsmouth. Now, though, his interest is piqued. I can almost hear his inner monologue running through different scenarios of how he can use me to get in my dad’s good graces.
I count to ten after he disappears around the corner. Then I count to twenty. I’m not taking any chances. If he doubles back, if he’s lingering nearby, I need to know before I head to River’s bunk. The last thing we need is Benson putting two and two together.
Let’s hope we don’t have any more problems this evening.
15
River
Not the best startto the evening, if I’m honest. The second I saw Benson hanging about talking to Cleo, I did a quick about turn and aborted mission. Bloody hell, all I wanted to do was pick her up for our first date. We’re already bordering on ridiculous by trying to have a romantic meal in the mess. This really takes the cake.
I slipped away without incident. There’s no doubt Benson would’ve collared me if he’d seen me. I’m sure he would’ve found some reason to discipline me or generally just give me a hard time, even though I have every right to be walking through the ship. More so due to my link with Cleo. After all, she could have needed me for something. Then again, I’m glad I didn’t have to put her in a situation where she would’ve had to lie.
Instead of sitting down to dinner, I’m pacing the mess, hoping Cleo is okay, and that tonight isn’t a complete bust. Maybe I should wait another five minutes and then go back to her cabin.
“River?”
I spin on the spot and come face-to-face with Cleo. She’s dressed in relaxed yoga pants and a sweater that drapes delicately across one shoulder and off the other. Her hair is up in a loose bun, and she’s never looked sexier.
I, on the other hand, am still in uniform, because as much as I want to stick my civvies on, I’ll catch the attention of every sailor on board. Civilian clothes are for shore leave only. I can get away with my sweatpants and tank top in the mess on an evening, but not skintight jeans and a top.
“Cleo, hi, you look…lovely. You look great!”
A small smile lifts the side of her lips. “Thank you. You look—”
“Like I’ve just come off shift, I know. I’m sorry. I really wanted to get dressed up but—”
“River, it’s okay,” she says, taking a step towards me. “I know it would raise too many eyebrows if you dressed up.”
I deflate. “But it’s our first date,” I say with a little whine.
Cleo chuckles at me, and I must admit it’s one of the sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard. “It is, but we’re doing things a little differently than most, so…”
“So, I should stop worrying and start wooing you, right?”
“If that’s what you want to do.”
Of course it is. If I’m going to do this dating malarky, I’ll put as much effort in as I do when taking a woman to bed. I’m going to rock Cleo’s dating world!
“It is what I want to do. Starting with a gourmet meal prepared by the King’s finest naval chef extraordinaire, Tim ‘Tadpole’ Mercer.”
“Wow, that’s quite the name.”
“And one I will happily explain when we’re not about to eat. It’s kind of gross.” I wrinkle my nose and force down the smile as Cleo rolls her eyes at me. “Would you like a seat?”
Stepping to her side, I lay my hand a hair’s breadth away from her lower back. I’m going for gentlewoman meets Jane Bond. A mix of good manners and charm, with a smidge of gentle flirtation. Nothing too strong, because I want Cleo to know I took what she said about sex seriously.This isn’t about getting in her knickers, it’s about allowing myself to really connect with her. At least try, anyway.
Walking her the two steps to the table I had set with the least shitty cutlery I could find, I pull her chair out. Cleo sits gracefully and wastes no time laying the napkin I somehow folded into a—somewhat looking—swan across her lap.
Racing around the other side of the table, I sit and take my own napkin. The action gives me a few precious seconds to calm my breathing. My eyes skirt around the mess, checking one last time for anything out of place. I called in every favour I was ever owed to set up this date. I made Cheddar a deal she couldn’t refuse. I convinced the Weapon Engineers to deep clean the mess by promising to cover their next PT session. I begged Tadpole to risk a bollocking by sneaking food from the galley.
