Sinner (Shelter Harbor #1)(218)

Chapter Sixteen





Reagan




P A S T



“Well I think it’s awesome,” Chelsea says, sipping on her coffee.

“Thanks. I mean it’s just a low-level position for the campaign, but he’s a pretty strong incumbent, so it’ll be a great experience to work for his office.”

Chelsea grins, “Dad would’ve loved that you’re getting into politics you know.”

“Not why I’m doing it, but fine.” I mutter.

Chelsea huffs and slaps her hand down hard on the bench we’re camped out on in Central Park. “Ok, honestly, when are you going to let all of that go?”

I scowl and look away from her. “What does it matter?”

“It matters because it’s not healthy to keep letting it eat away at you like that! Ok, fine, we get it! Dad worked a lot, and he missed some stuff, and you’re mad about it!”

“Are you not?” I snap at her.

“We all have regrets, Reagan, but no, I’m not mad at him for working hard, or for Mom dying so young.”

I look away again, wordless and angry.

“He did what he could-”

“Well it wasn’t good enough, now was it?”

Chelsea’s face tightens as she holds my furious look and shakes her head. “He’s dead, Reagan. You think you can get around to forgiving him now anyways?”



P R E S E N T



Donald is talking about polling points, or something to do with “provisional budgeting,” but I’m honestly not even hearing a word he says.

It’s hardly been a handful of hours since what happened back at the house in Greenwich, and while we might be back in the City, my mind is still right back there on that balcony, watching my breath crystalize in the chill of the air as Hudson’s hot mouth devours me-

“Reagan!”

I snap out of my fantasy to see Donald shaking his head and snapping his fingers at me, Erika tut-tuting behind him like some sort of angry schoolmarm.

“I need you to be here, Reagan,” He huffs, his face red. “If you’d rather daydream though, let me know now and I’ll quit wasting my time with this damn campaign.”

I want to snap at him, but in all honestly, I know he’s right. We are way too deep into this campaign for me to be slacking off like this and letting myself be carried away by distractions.

Fuck, is that what he is? I mean everything that we said back there at the house was so nakedly honest, and so real, and God did it feel real when his tongue slid into my pussy like that.

But, Goddamnit, no! How fucking stupid am I to get involved with Hudson Banks of all freaking people! Never mind the past. The fact that he works for my largest campaign contributor, which I’m already going to get shit for sharing the same name with, is another huge blaring warning sign! I can’t even imagine the shit-storm my run would find itself in if the papers got ahold of the juicy tidbit that I was fucking my campaign contributor.

Well, not fucking, yet.

Yet; which means there’s still time to end this. I can stop this train wreck now right here before it goes any further. Before the risk gets any bigger to the campaign, and to me. There’s too much at stake here, and it’s just not worth it.

Now, if I could just convince myself of that.

“I’m here, I’m sorry Donald.” I let the air out through pursed lips. “Honestly, I think I’m just tired and worn out from the day. You guys mind if we break here so I can go take a shower?”

Donald grumbles but nods as I stand. “Just be ready to hit this tomorrow, ok? You’ve got that interview in the morning, the other one later after lunch, and then the gala event with Congressman Kennedy in the evening.”

“I will.” Because tomorrow, I’m nipping this in the bud with Hudson and putting an end to the distractions.

“Ooo! Don’t forget to use that facial scrub I got you! Reagan!” Erika say something else about cucumbers and tea-tree oil as I roll my eyes and leave them in the conference room.



The hotel we’re staying at in Midtown is exactly the kind of campaign expense I don’t particularly enjoy, even though I know it’s all part of the pageantry of the race. I’ve tried to tell Donald a million times that it’s ridiculous for me to be staying here, seeing as I live barely ten blocks away, but he’s insisted that at this point in my campaign, I need a ‘headquarters’.

Right. What I need is a stiff drink to give me the courage to figure out what I’m going to say to Hudson. I pause for just a second outside his door, almost tempted to knock on it and just rip the band-aid off right then, but I stop myself, of course.

Tightening the fist I was about to pound on his door with, I walk into my own room and close the door mercifully behind me.