Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3)(40)

“Yeah… I like anal,” I say confidently with my chin tilted up. “If it’s done right. And let me tell you, Rand does it right.”

Callie puts her chin in the palm of her hand and gives a dreamy sigh. “Maybe one day.”

“Girl,” Sloane drawls in exaggerated fashion. “You and I can compare notes later when Saint Callie isn’t around.”

“Hey,” she exclaims, sitting up straight and glaring at Sloane. “I am not a saint. I’ll have you know I’ve done a three-way with Woolf and Bridger.”

My mouth falls back open again. I decide to fill it with more margarita.

“Please,” Sloane scoffs and waves a dismissive hand at her. “Who hasn’t had Bridger in a multiple before?”

My head snaps toward Sloane. I suck deeper on the straw until the last liquid is pulled up and the ice rattles in loneliness at the bottom of the glass.

“You’ve had Bridger before, right?” Sloane asks with a naughty sparkle in her eye.

“I would plead the fifth,” I say resolutely, “but I feel like you two would berate it out of me. So yes… I’ve had Bridger before.”

“He’s yummy,” Sloane says.

“Totally,” Callie agrees.

“And your dad’s the governor?” I ask with comedic suspicion and a cocked eyebrow at her. “Because it’s just so hard to believe with some of the things coming out of your mouth.”

“It’s true,” she says solemnly, holding up her hand and placing the other over her heart. “Swear it.”

“And you really want me to work for you?” I ask, not with any more doubt, but more in awe because I can’t understand why this opportunity is being given to me. I did nothing to deserve it.

“I really do,” she says with a genuine smile. “We help friends around here. You’re Bridger and Woolf’s friend, and so you are now my friend.”

“And mine,” Sloane chimes in.

Callie leans forward, pushes her margarita glass to the side, and says, “So I’m offering you the job and I think you should say, ‘Thank you, Callie, I accept.’”

“Thank you, Callie,” I say with a nod of my head in gratitude. “I accept.”

Because I’d be an idiot not to.

“Excellent,” she says, beaming me a huge grin, and then she’s shouting across the restaurant. “Livvy, another round of margaritas.”

“Oh my God,” Sloane mutters. “I’m going to be so drunk. Cain’s going to need to come get me.”

“Yeah, I think our workday got shot to shit,” Callie agrees. “Good thing I’m your boss.”

My head snaps to Sloane. “You’re working the campaign too?”

“Yup,” she says, sucking down the last of her third margarita. “Only until I can find something better suited.”

Callie kicks Sloane under the table. I know this because the table rattles and Sloane yelps before glaring at Callie. “Ow. That hurt.”

“Good, because that was a strike to my heart that you’d even imply you’d work somewhere else,” Callie says seriously.

Sloane rolls her eyes and throws a thumb in Callie’s direction. “I’m a journalist by nature, so I’m gladly helping Callie out until I can do something more suited to my degree.”

“Gotcha,” I say in understanding.

“So, listen,” Callie says in a low, secretive voice as she leans forward. Sloane does the same, apparently eager for gossip. “I don’t know any details, but Woolf shared with us that things with your husband were really bad. And he said that you’d been kicked out of your house, left with no money after he died, and that Rand was helping you out.”

Sloane nods seriously in agreement. “What she’s trying to say is, now in addition to Rand, you got two new peeps who will have your back until you can get on your feet.”

“And you don’t have to tell us any details, but if you do need to talk, especially to another woman, you only have to call,” Callie adds on.

Before I can respond, the waitress returns with a tray loaded with three margaritas and another basket of chips and salsa. We murmur thanks and when she leaves, Sloane reaches out to take a chip. How she can even fit any more food in her stomach is beyond me. She already killed a large chimichanga.

I take a moment to let not only what they just said to sink in, but everything that’s happened in the last seven days. I’ve had apparently five people step up and go to bat for me, and they hardly know me at all. It provokes strange feelings within me because I’ve never even had those closest to me—mother or husband namely—care for me like this.

For the first time, I think I start to have a small glimmer of hope that there are good people in the world, and I don’t just have to push my way through life in survival mode. I might actually be able to have fulfillment and happiness.

“I didn’t marry for love,” I say suddenly, looking up from my glass to first Callie’s eyes and then Sloane’s. “I’d run away from home at seventeen, spent time on the streets, and then eventually became a stripper. Marrying Samuel was my way out of destitution and back-alley blow jobs so I could afford to eat.”

Callie and Sloane both wince, but their eye contact never wavers. Their gazes don’t hold a speck of judgment but are full of empathy.