Crystal crinkled her nose, dabbed her chin with a napkin, and took intermittent sips of water.
“You’ll have to get used to her,” I said with a laugh. It was true. Olivia grew on people . . . like cancer. She was never a person you’d like immediately, unless she wanted you to like her, and the only way that happened was if you could offer her something. I mean she was my friend, but I remember not liking her, and even then I often felt as though I was just tolerating her. Such was Buckhead.
My phone buzzed and so did Crystal’s. A message appeared in a group text from Olivia.
I’m sorry for my outburst. I’m under a lot of pressure with my new position as chairwoman, and what Shannon did to me five years ago is still so raw. Please forgive me. I’ve covered the bill.
Xoxo, Olivia.
“You’ll have to really get used to her,” I said, shaking my head.
“Yeah . . .” Crystal trailed off. The server asked us if we wanted anything else. I ordered two shots of tequila. They came with the wheels—lime, salt, and Olivia’s tantrum. We licked the salt, and before we took the shot, I gave us a toast.
“Cheers to Buckhead! I hope you make it out alive.” We tipped back the shots, sucked the lime, and laughed.
5
Crystal
I left the café feeling good, buzzed and better than when I arrived, thanks to Karen. She was a breath of fresh air, like Texas on an October morning. She reminded me of home—her honesty and how down-to-earth she was. Olivia was a different story. She was a bit of a loose cannon. Her flippancy toward Shannon surprised me. I wondered what Shannon could have possibly done to Olivia to upset her so much. There was a mention of some sort of past wrongdoing, but I was unclear as to what happened. To me, Shannon was the victim in all of this. I didn’t like that, and I know I helped cause it. I didn’t know Shannon, but I didn’t need to in order to know that I was wrong to take her husband from her.
Bryce’s campaign building looked like a mini White House. It was here before I arrived, but he had told me he had designed it himself and paid for the construction out of his own pocket. Apparently, a regular office building wouldn’t do him justice. I walked into the building, greeted his secretary, and waltzed straight into his office, carrying a sandwich and chips from a nearby café. I figured he’d be hungry and would want to know how it went with the women. It was he, after all, who encouraged me to meet with them. He was determined to fix his image and rise within politics, and he needed me and my cooperation to achieve that.
“Hey, hon,” I said.
He turned around from his window that overlooked a small green lawn and pressed a finger to his lips as he continued to chatter away on his phone. I sighed, unwrapped his sandwich and chips, and placed them in front of his chair. Taking a seat on the other side of his desk, I admired him as he paced back and forth. He was my ticket out of Texas, out of bartending, out of my past, and out of living a life I wasn’t proud of. I wanted more, and some of us aren’t capable of more without hitching a ride, like a tick burrowing its way deep within the warm skin of an unsuspecting carrier. But don’t get me wrong. I fell for Bryce. And I fell hard.
It was his perfectly dimpled chin, tall athletic build, and piercing blue eyes that drew me to him when we first met. Bryce had it all: looks, brains, money, and power. A local group of mothers even coined the unofficial tagline of his last campaign: “Bryce Madison, a smile so nice you’d vote it into office twice.” It never really took off, but I think it helped him win his reelection.
“I don’t care. Do not give those trucks any hassle,” he said, ending the call abruptly. He tossed the phone on his desk, and his face lit up when his eyes met mine.
“I brought you lunch.” I smiled as he made his way around the desk. He returned my smile with a passionate kiss. His hands pressed on my lower back, sliding down, grabbing at my butt, making their way under my sundress. I gave a laugh and kissed him harder. He pulled back, straightening himself and returning to his side of the desk.
“No other woman makes me lose control like you, Crystal.” He winked at me and took a seat, diving into his sandwich. He was famished. Always focused on the job.
“I’m glad I have that effect on you, Mr. Madison.” I blushed.
He pressed a button on his desk phone. “Bring me a water,” Bryce commanded to his secretary. Moments later she entered with two bottles of water, one for me and one for Bryce. I thanked her. Bryce didn’t. I reminded myself to give him grief later. I understood he was busy, stressed, and tired, but I was raised to know there was no such thing as being too busy, too tired, or too stressed for manners.
“How did it go with the ladies, Mrs. Madison?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Fine.” I wanted to leave it at that, but I knew he’d press for more. Bryce was that type of man—he always wanted more. He needed so badly for me to get along and fit in with them. It was all about repairing his image and enhancing mine. I understood, I guess. It was the life I chose. I knew there’d be sacrifices.
“And . . . ?”
“I like Karen,” I said.
“Good. She and her husband contribute a modest amount to the campaign, and she’s a good person to know. Her luxury real estate firm helped make this here office a reality. What about Olivia?”
“She’s . . . fine.”
He tossed his sandwich on the desk. “Please be straight with me.”
“I didn’t get much of a chance to really know her, I suppose. She stormed off in the middle of lunch after getting in a tiff with Karen about Shannon. And then she sent an apology text like two minutes later, which was rather odd. So, if I had to give you an opinion right now, I’d say I’m not a fan.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“You have to give her a chance. Her husband is a huge contributor, and Olivia has a lot of influence in this town. I heard she’s the new chairwoman of the Buckhead Women’s Foundation. You’d do well to keep her close.”
“Would I do well, or would you do well?” I cocked my head.
“We’d do well,” Bryce said, getting up from his chair. He walked over to me and raised my chin with his hand, locking eyes with me. In one fell swoop, he picked me up and put me on the desk, parting my knees with his waist. He kissed me hard—so hard that I didn’t even notice his pants were undone and my panties were pushed aside. Bryce was a passionate man in everything he did, including me. I knew what got him off: control, power, dominance. I knew it the moment he walked into my bar. It looked as though he had a hanger in his suit jacket, that’s how high his shoulders were raised. He had flashed that smile of his, not in a courteous way, but like it was a mini advertisement for himself, the five-second ad before a YouTube video. And when he took a seat at the bar, it was as if he had bowed rather than sat down. The hundred-dollar bill he set on the bar was strategic. The Macallan Rare Cask single malt scotch whiskey he ordered wasn’t one he had a taste for. It was one he ordered to show that life had a taste for him. We tend to gravitate toward people like Bryce, people that seem untouchable, like nothing bad could ever happen to them. Like the world exists because they’re in it, and not the other way around.
“I’m going to make you scream,” Bryce panted as he entered me. We’re both inside each other now but in different ways. I swallowed my screams and became breathless, while Bryce rocked fiercely, back and forth. I let him do me fast and hard because Bryce liked everything that way: sex, business, life itself. I knew what he wanted, what he needed, and I gave it to him. People that get their way think they’re the ones in control. But the ones that give are the ones that rule. It’s not the politician in office, but the donor behind the check that wields the sword.