Page 162 of Sapphire Sunset

25

First came the weddings.

All three of them same sex couples. The two male couplesboth said the same thing. After skyrocketing real estate prices and an oldtween reality show had unseated Laguna Beach’s long-held status as a bohemianarts colony years before, they’d never considered Orange County to be awelcoming destination for a gay union. Sylvia Milton’s attack on Connor andLogan had changed that, and they’d since broken off conversations with possiblevenues in Palm Springs and San Diego.

As for the female couple, during their site visit, one ofthe brides-to-be took Connor aside to tell him how Sylvia’s tone and phrasingduring her press conference had reminded her of the time she’d lost her temperwith the senior partners at her first firm after they asked her not to bringher girlfriend to the Christmas party. It might upset the other lawyers, they’dsaid. “Of course, they didn’t care how upsetIwas,” she’d said. “Infact, they actually told me I was the one who should calm down. It wasn’texactlyblinded by my sexuality, but it was damn close.”

But those were precisely the words that had rocketed acrosssocial media, inspiring their own hashtag among those eager to call out SylviaMilton for what they saw as her not-so-subtle attempts to paint queerrelationships as marked by a feverish level of lust that obscured sound, professionaljudgment. Relationships she’d depicted as a danger to any child who mightwitness their displays of affection. #NotBlinded had even trended briefly inthe United States, and someone had sent the hotel a package of T-shirts printedwith the phrase in rainbow letters.

Despite the shows of support, in the end, Connor thought itwas a close call. Amongst the rarely predictable twists and turns of socialmedia wars, Sylvia’s throttling was the result of a few poorly chosen words. Ifshe’d stuck to the question of whether or not a workplace relationship during atime of scandal was the right choice for the hotel, she might have been able tolob a weakening strike without bribing the Lighthouse Foundation in theprocess. Having Logan report to an outside management company could have playeddefense for a round or two. Or maybe not. At any rate, the feud would havecontinued.

Had Sylvia Milton simply been sloppy with her language andbecome a victim of a PC mob as a result? That’s what some of her vastlyoutnumbered right-wing defenders thought. Or was she actually a bigot?

Connor was sure of only one thing. Considering her wordchoice along with her performance that day, she’d seemed all too eager tomobilize bigotry on her behalf.

And she was paying the price for it.

When word of the vote hit the news, the Lighthouse Foundation,which had followed through with its threat to cancel, had been widely accusedof participating in a baseless smear campaign against a veteran of the MarineCorps who’d saved a child’s life, and because Sylvia Milton’s money remainedtoo good for them to pass up, they’d been forced to weather the storm. If ithadn’t been for the weddings and the social media pushback, the patentattorneys might have canceled too. Instead, they made Connor wait on pins andneedles for forty-eight hours before they notified him they were hanging in.Then the Equality Defense Fund, a political action organization that dispatchedsome of the nation’s best lawyers to argue on behalf of LGBT rights in thecourts, moved their annual conference to Sapphire Cove from a giant LA conventionhotel that was unlikely to miss the business. And suddenly, the hotel couldbreathe again.

Brought to the brink by Rodney and his coconspirators, thenbrought back to it by Sylvia Milton, Sapphire Cove had survived two brusheswith death. And now its staff—Connor and Logan included—walked its halls with anew skip in their step and an energy that bordered on giddy.

More importantly, the Stop Sapphire Cove Twitter feed hadgone dormant.

Harris Mitchell still believed a defamation suit wasrequired. Nothing else, in his view, would put the Sylvia Milton matter to bedonce and for all. But Connor dreaded the thought of another lawsuit. Wanted alife for him, for Logan, for the staff at Sapphire Cove that was temporarilyfree of scandal, lawyers, and tweets that sent everyone running in alldirections.

Two weeks after the vote that had saved Logan’s job, Connorwas explaining these very thoughts to Logan as they stood together in thelobby, amidst a trickle of incoming guests. When Logan’s face suddenly fell atthe sight of something over Connor’s shoulder, Connor turned, half expecting aBengal tiger to nose its way through the entry doors.

He was close.

At first, he didn’t recognize the approaching woman. Her sunglasseswere enormous, and she’d changed her hair since the press conference. Once aplatinum cascade, it was now slicked back in a confining-looking updo held inplace by a bright silver, jeweled barrette. Her black pantsuit had a subtlesheen. When the fabric shifted as she walked, the sheen seemed to pulse. Shewas taller than Connor expected, around six feet even, but that made sense givenshe’d worked as a model. But that wasn’t the detail that struck him most.

Sylvia Milton was alone.

No assistant, no lawyer, no bodyguard, and no reporters.

His feet feeling like smoke, Connor approached her. “Goodafternoon, Mrs. Milton.”

A handshake seemed too pushy given their history, so heturned his nod into a subtle bow. She removed her sunglasses and sized him upwith cold eyes. She was a hard woman. An injured woman. Agrievingwoman, he reminded himself. And, whether he wanted to admit it in this momentor not, nothing could change the fact that she and her husband had been wronged.

“Mr. Harcourt,” she said. “Mr. Murdoch.”

“Ma’am,” Logan said with a nod of the head.

“Congratulations on weathering your recent troubles.” It wasan admission of defeat, Connor knew, and it cast this unexpected meeting in asuddenly strange light. “I thought perhaps we could have a drink, Mr.Harcourt.”

“Sure, if Mr. Murdoch joins us.”

Her pursed lips told Connor she didn’t like this idea onebit, but she didn’t feel like she was in a position to negotiate.Toughshit.If she was going to stage a surprise attack, she’d have to do it inthe presence of the man she’d smeared.

“Of course,” she whispered.

“And perhaps we could do it someplace off site,” Connorsaid.

“I promise I’m not here to make a scene.”

“I was thinking mostly of your comfort,” Connor said. “Youchoose the place, and we’d be happy to meet you there.”

“I did. We’re here. Let’s sit, shall we?”

---