Chase didn’t bother to engage in this age-old debate. Money was money. It wasn’t good or bad. It wasn’t even old or new. It was just an indication of how much an individual or group hoarded their part of the pie. Chase had learned in the Army that it wasn’t every man for himself. If he didn’t have his brothers’ back, they’d all fall.
"She's down in the polls,” said Dumasse.
“Not anymore. She's rising."
"For how long? There’s one point I agree with my daughter on; at the end of the day, this community is about family. What does it look like that her own father won't endorse her?”
Chase had some choice words of what that looked like.
"Think of it like this,” Dumasse continued, completely oblivious to Chase’s rising ire, “you'll be bringing two families back together."
That was just it. Chase wanted nothing to do with his father. He wanted nothing to do with Ginger's father, either.
But he did want her to win.
"It's just a phone call," said Dumasse.
But that was it. It wasn't just a phone call. Anyone dealing with his father would get up with the short end of the stick. It was the way the man worked.
Chapter Eighteen
"You're pretty, at least."
The man before her looked her up and down like she was a car he was considering purchasing. Ginger fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest. Had Ginger heard Mr. Chase right? Her head must still be full from thinking about Chase's kisses. That couldn’t have been what Chase’s dad just said to her.
"I beg your pardon?" she said, hoping in vain for some clarification.
“Good figure.” Mr. Chase tilted his head and regarded her from a different angle. “Nice enough face. You'll do."
Ginger Dumasse was rarely at a loss for words. But as she ran his over and over again in her head, she couldn't get past them. He wasn’t hitting on her, thank goodness. He was evaluating her, assessing her quality like some piece of meat. It was so much worse.
"If my family is going to shift political parties for the woman my son is going to be with,” Mr. Chase continued, “she at least better be pretty. Politics are changeable. Ugly grandbabies are not an option."
Bile rose in her mouth. Ice shivered down to the base of her spine. Her fingertips went numb.
Ginger wanted to protest that she wouldn't be having Lloyd Chase’s grandbabies. More important, that if she did, they would be the most beautiful babies on the planet because they would be a part of Chase and not this ugly man that stood in front of her.
The truth was, Ginger knew she was going to have Lloyd Chase’s grandbabies. She’d already had the daydreams. She’d already picked out the names. She’d already planned the ceremony for the day that she would become Mrs. Colin Chase.
No, scratch that. Mrs. Ginger Dumasse-Chase.
But all she said to the despicable man darkening her doorway was, “Chase isn't here. And knowing that he has no relationship with you, I have no intention of telling you where he is."
Chase hadn’t spoken much about his parents. Just enough to let her know that they shared the same disdain for the men who had donated half the spark that brought about their existence. Meeting Lloyd Chase in person, Ginger wondered if she was being too harsh on her own father.
"Oh, I know where my boy is,” said Mr. Chase. “He’s either on that charity ranch for cripples or at the ridiculous center of his to recruit more lambs to the slaughter. It's you, I'm here to see."
"I have nothing to say to you."
Ginger was so disgusted by this man that she stepped around him and reached for the door. She didn’t want to spend any more time in his presence than necessary. She might be the new girlfriend, but making a good impression on such a bad man was not in the cards. Besides, she doubted Chase would disapprove.
"Good,” said Mr. Chase, ignoring the open door. “I’m not interested in what you have to say. Only what you can do for me."
"I'm not doing anything for you. Do you really believe I would after you come into my office and insult me?”
Mr. Chase looked bored. "Are you quite done? I have to be back on my private jet in an hour to make a business meeting.”
She was not. She balled her hand into a fist and wished she was a man. If she were, she could sock him in his arrogant nose.
Wait? Did her gender matter here? She did stand on a platform of gender equality. So, maybe she could sock him in the nose …
"I can't stand a woman who has too many opinions,” said Mr. Chase. “But, having you come into the family will soften that image of me, which is good for business. Too bad your family line is one of field workers.”
This guy couldn’t be for real. He was the live caricature of every misogynist screen or book villain come to life. How had Chase come from this?
"You're not going to win this race,” said Mr. Chase.
The absolute audacity.
Ginger slammed her door shut. She didn’t want any of her staff to witness the act of violence she was about to perform. Before she could ball her hand into a fist, Mr. Chase continued.
“Norman Dean is up in the polls. He has more money, more endorsements, more testosterone.”
Ginger truly doubted that last one but whatever. “In case you haven’t noticed, my poll numbers are up and rising."
"Not fast enough. It's simple math, sweetie."
Yup, she was socking him in the nose. The assault charges would be worth it. The women's liberation movement simply demanded this act of civil disobedience.
“I'll endorse your campaign,” said Mr. Chase.
"Thank you. But, no thank you. Your vote doesn't count, seeing as you don’t even live in this state.”
"No, but I have tons of workers who do live here. They could make a dent in your campaign numbers. I own the C&C Factory."
The C&C Factory? The one that was in danger of moving out of state. Lloyd Chase was the out of state shell company. It all made sense now.
Be that as it may, there was still a more important matter on her agenda. “I don't buy votes."
"No, but I'm sure you want your constituents to all still have a job after your election. I can close that plant if I don't get my way."
Now, the ice down her back turned to a blazing fire. “You wouldn't."
“Try me." Lloyd Chase crossed his arms over his chest. He looked absolutely nothing like his son. Both his brows were lowered. His lips were pursed, not in a stern manner. In a devil may care manner.
Ginger was sure this devil didn’t care about anyone but himself.
"All I want is for you to work your feminine wiles to get my son to come back to the company."
“You want Chase to come and work for you?”
“You’re not the brightest bulb, are you? Yes, that’s what I said. This military career looked good when he was young. But now, my shareholders are starting to question the viability of my business. All sons come back to work for their father’s company. If Chase doesn’t, people will think something is wrong, and my stocks will drop.”
This was ludicrous. He wanted her to convince Chase to give up something he loved and come work for a man he didn’t even like. Even if she wanted to, they’d only just started dating today. She didn’t have that kind of sway with him. She couldn’t even get him to change his mind on sports.
“The clock is ticking, Ms. Dumasse. If my son isn’t on the company payroll by the election, then I see no reason to keep C&C Factory in Montana.”
Chapter Nineteen
Chase peered down at the limp noodles on his plate. He separated the vegetables, lining up the broccoli on one side and the carrots on the other. It would be a weak assault for either side. The diced carrots began at a disadvantage being chopped in circular discs and halved into tiny triangles. The broccoli florets were drooping in the marinara.
"How's the pasta?"
Chase lifted his gaze, and all the fight went out of him. When he saw the beautiful woman seated across from hi
m, he put down his knife and fork. All the days' stresses and strains washed away with just a single glance of Ginger.
"The pasta is perfectly cooked," he said. Not that he had first-hand experience. He hadn’t taken a single bite. “How's the steak?"
The thick slab of meat sat untouched on her plate. Like his, her hands were bare of utensils. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her fingers worried the sleeve of her shirt.
“It smells delicious,” she said.
Ginger picked up her knife and fork. She sliced a piece. The meat gave easily, and the brown char gave way to a pink interior. She popped the bloody morsel into her mouth. Chase couldn't tear his gaze from her lips as she chewed. He would trade places with that cow in a heartbeat.
"Perfectly medium-rare,” she said.
"Really? It still looks like it's mooing to me."
"That's how I like my meat. You want a salad with that pasta, lightweight?"
Chase chuckled. He loved how she always flipped the script on him. Here he was eating a dainty pasta dish while she threw down with meat and potatoes. Life would never be dull with Ginger Dumasse. And Chase planned to spend as much of his life with her as possible.
He just had to figure out how to do it with her slime bag of a father out of the picture.
There was no way Chase was selling Ginger out. He may not be in line behind all of her positions. But his main position was firm; he would always stand behind Ginger. He’d stand beside her when she needed support. He’d stand in front of her when she needed protection.
He vowed here and now that he would always be there for her regardless of where they stood on an issue. Because even when she had it wrong, her heart always was in the right place. He could not say the same for Henry Dumasse.
Chase rubbed at his head. The nagging of a headache was at the crown of his temple. Before it could creep around his skull, something cool and soothing touched his forehead.
Ginger.
With the pads of her fingers, she began a wiping motion. Her gentle care was too much artillery for the migraine. With each brush, with each press, with each caress, the dull ache receded.
Chase wanted to rest his whole head in her hands. Not just his head, his heart, his very soul. But he couldn’t. They were out in public.
From his peripheral vision, he saw people staring at them. There were no flashes of bulbs. No whispers from behind cupped hands. No, instead, the other diners smiled at them. Clearly, they had this crowd’s approval.
Chase lifted his head. He took Ginger’s fingers in his hand. One by one, he kissed each one of her fingertips, then her knuckles.
“Is your headache back?” she asked.
"They're migraines," he admitted. "I get them from time to time."
"I hear they come when someone is stressed."
Chase turned Ginger’s hands over and pressed his lips into first her right palm and then her left. "It was stressful in combat zones."
“You're not in a combat zone any longer,” she said.
"I'm not?" He looked up at her with a grin.
Ginger returned his grin. She still held his face in her hands. Her thumbs brushed his lips. Not in a way that he felt silenced. In a way, he felt acknowledged, understood, accepted.
Her gaze was so full of compassion and care that Chase felt undone, unmanned. All of his defenses came crashing down at the words of this woman. Had they been adversaries only a couple of days ago?
“Is there something else going on?” she asked. “Something stressing you out.”
Chase wrapped his fingers around hers, taking over the caretaker role. He was the one who was supposed to protect her. And that’s exactly what he intended to do.
"I just had a trying day," he said.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
No. He would not concern her with what a degenerate her father was. He'd figure out a way to fix this.
If he was honest with himself, he had an idea of how to fix it. That's what was bringing on the migraine. The stress he was about to endure with his plan.
“I’d rather talk about your day," he said. "Anything interesting happened after I left the campaign offices?"
"No.” Ginger slid her fingers from his hands. She picked up her knife and fork and sawed into her steak. "Nothing interesting. Just the same old politics."
Something crossed her features. Her blue eyes churned, like the sea in a storm. But her smile was cool, calm, like the eye of a hurricane. He could see the wheels turning in her mind. He just had no idea where they were blowing.
Her gaze met his again. There was something that looked like need in her eyes. Impulsively, he reached for her again, needing her to know that he was there for her.
She let him take her hand. He pressed their palms together, needing to feel the center of her. She squeezed back.
"We're on the same side now," she said. “Well, not with political, social, or economic issues."
"No,” Chase chuckled. “Not with any of those. But I always have your back. I want you to know that."
"And I've got yours."
Chapter Twenty
"You sure you want to do this, Gin?”
Ginger sat back in the passenger seat of Honey's truck. Her little sister used to drive a luxury car. No, scratch that. Her little sister used to be driven around town in luxury cars. Now, she was behind the wheel of a rusty pickup truck.
The air conditioner didn’t work, so they’d rolled the windows down. Honey’s normally coiffed hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Loose strands flew around her bare face. She wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup, except maybe Chapstick. And she was dressed in worn jeans, with mud on the knees, and dingy work boots.
Out of designer heels and tailored cocktail dresses, Honey was thriving. She’d married a man who showed her the love she deserved. She was surrounded by a tribe of people who nurtured and looked out for her. And yet, they were parked outside of the loneliest, most soul-crushing place on earth.
The Dumasse estate.
“Yes,” said Ginger. “I have to do this.”
However, Ginger’s hand hesitated on the door handle. Instead, she reached over and swallowed her sister in a hug. They both had survived this place and come out the other end awesome individuals. It proved that where you came from didn't have to determine the rest of your life. People failed and succeeded based on their will and perseverance, not their circumstances.
Honey reached for the door handle when Ginger released her.
"No," said Ginger. "You stay here. If I'm not out in twenty minutes, then you can charge through the door."
“You don’t have to tell me twice." Honey twisted her watch to face her. She clicked a few dials. “Clock’s ticking.”
Ginger giggled at the fierce look in her sister’s gaze, a gaze so much like their mother’s. The two had been estranged for most of Honey’s life when Honey chose to stay with their father in the divorce instead of coming to live with Ginger and their mom in a downsized apartment on the fringe of the middle class. But neither Ginger or their mom had ever stopped reaching out for Honey. She only wished their mom was here to see Honey blossom into the strong, confident, and capable woman she’d become.
Ginger climbed out of the truck and made her way up the steps to her ancestral home. The doors to the manse opened for her automatically. She had wondered if she would be welcomed back after her last run-in with her father when she told him she never wanted to see him again.
She'd meant it at the time. He'd tried to sell Honey’s hand in marriage off to profit his business. It was despicable.
Luckily, it was the worst thing he could do. He couldn't slip any lower. The plan she'd formulated to counter Lloyd Chase’s request would be the last chance her own father had at redemption. If he didn't rise to this occasion, she would not be coming back again.
Ginger walked the halls of the house to his office. She knew that's where he'd be. That's where he always was. When she had a school performance. When they wer
e having family dinner. When she had a nightmare. This was where he always was.
Like every time before when she’d needed him, and he wasn’t there, she found him here. Henry Dumasse sat behind his desk. There was a mountain of papers piled high. Unlike his contemporaries, the Sugar Daddy preferred paper to digital.
"Dad?"
He looked up, confusion on his brow. Perhaps at the title, she’d called him? Or at the interruption in general? She would never be sure. It wasn’t what she was here to ask him.
"Hi,” she said.
Her father frowned. He didn't put down the stack of papers in his hand. Of course, he didn't. Like when she was a girl, her interruptions, her seeking of his affections, was not welcome. She might as well get to the point.
Ginger took a few steps into the room. She didn't invite herself to sit down. She stood before him and presented her platform like she would any other person whose vote she wanted.
"I have a proposition for you,” she said.
Wonder upon wonder, he sat his papers down. But not his pen. That, he kept in his hand, clicking the balled point out, then in. Ginger decided to take the small victory. Her father leaned back and regarded her with something that looked like interest.
“You know the company C&C Factory?” It wasn’t really a question. She knew he knew of it. He knew of every business in this town that wasn’t his. “I happen to know that it's going to be up for sale soon. I have it on good authority that the shareholders are going to get antsy over some poor dynamics between the owner and his son.”
Lloyd Chase was certainly not going to like the dynamic of Ginger ignoring his request to get Chase to work for him. Chase’s happiness was far too important to her to put him in a miserable situation as working for that man. But she still needed to save the jobs of the people in this community. She just hoped this plan would work. It should. It appealed to her father’s greed.
“I’ve run the numbers,” she continued, “and the profit margin is good. I think you should consider buying it and taking it over."
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