I had to stop a surprised sound from escaping my throat.
Lambert’s reaction was much bigger. He took a subtle step back, lifting his hands in the air as if surrendering, and his loud, grating laugh was total overcompensation. His gaze darted side to side, checking to see if anyone had overheard what Vance had just said.
The cocktail party was crowded, and no one seemed to notice, making Lambert’s eyes glitter above his evil smile. “That’s an awfully strong word to use, don’t you think?”
“It feels appropriate,” Vance said.
The older man looked at me, gauging my lack of reaction, and I understood now why Vance had done it. He’d sent a message to Lambert to let him know the discussion could happen in front of me.
He must have decided if Vance was okay with it, he was, too. Lambert looked every bit the smug prick I imagined him to be as he spoke. “Damon Lynch announced he’ll be retiring from the board at the end of July, so I imagine the search for his replacement is starting soon. Where are we on that?”
“I have a few things in motion,” Vance said. “But I suggest you offer to host Damon’s retirement party. That’s a way to curry favor with the current board.”
Lambert didn’t like the suggestion. “Macalister put him on the board. He should be the one to do it.”
Vance’s laugh was hollow. “Never in a million years. See, he likes dating Sophia, and I think he’d prefer to keep doing it.” He wrapped a hand around his drink, swirling the amber liquid inside. “It’s been a while since you’ve hosted at your house. I’m sure Serena would love a chance to show off the remodel of your kitchen.”
“If I did this, I’d be worried it’d come off as self-serving.”
Vance’s tone was incredulous. “Are you thinking you’ll get the seat on merit alone? There have to be at least a dozen other people just as qualified as you. You want the seat, you gotta play the game.” He took a sip of his drink. “And who cares if it looks self-serving? The only votes that matter are the eight guys you just bailed out of having to host a retirement party for a man none of them respect anymore, but etiquette dictates someone has to.”
I watched with bated breath as Lambert considered it. This was the ‘in’ Vance and I had come up with. While all of Cape Hill partied on Lambert’s dime, he’d be too distracted to notice when we slipped away and ventured upstairs.
“I’ll discuss it with my wife,” Lambert said. “She might not be ready to take on something of this scale so soon after Jillian.”
“That’s certainly understandable.” There was a hesitation in Vance, like he was calculating a course adjustment on the fly. “Something to consider is having it at your home gives the board an opportunity to really see who you are and how well your family has coped during . . . the unimaginable.”
Lambert stiffened. “What are you saying? I should play the sympathy card?”
He slowly lifted one shoulder. “I’m the type of guy who would play every card he’s been dealt.”
Because it was win at all costs to him.
Rather than look disgusted, Lambert scrubbed his fingers under his chin and thought about it. “That’s a valid point.” His shoulders lifted right along with his mood, like he hadn’t just been talking about his daughter’s death. “Lots to consider. I’ll give you a call next week and we can discuss it some more, plus your progress.”
Vance did nothing to disguise his sarcasm. “Great. Looking forward to it.”
Lambert didn’t say goodbye to either of us, he simply moved off and disappeared into the crowd. I blew out a breath, feeling so much lighter I worried my feet might leave the ground.
“Do you think he’ll go for it?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah. He wants that seat more than anything. I mean, he barely paused when I brought up Jillian.”
“True,” I said quietly. “Fucker.”
“You should know, I’m proud of you.” When I gave him a confused look, he smiled. “I thought you were going to take his watch when you shook hands.”
I laughed softly. “It was tempting, but no.”
He knew I had my sights set on something much, much bigger.
The following Saturday, I met Vance at the marina, and he took me sailing on his boat, Favorite. I didn’t ask about the name because I could guess—he owned multiple boats, but this was the one he took out the most. It was large and elegant, but not too big for him to man himself.
Once we’d left the harbor, he shut off the engine and did whatever was needed to make us move using the power of the wind. There were large steering wheels on either side near the back of the boat, and I sat on a bench seat in front of one of them, watching him as he cranked a handle to raise one of the sails.