by Alice Ward
Not only that, though Owen won the state Senate seat handily, the name Cameron Brice was the most written-in name during voting. There’d been a growing movement to elect me, anyway, despite bowing out. I’d actually gotten just under ten percent of the vote. I was incredibly popular, even among the Democrats, especially when word got out about how I’d effectively gotten the developers to delay the building of Hunter’s Hill for a few months, until a habitat had been created for the yellow-horned toads.
So the following year, it only made sense for me to run for United States Senate.
My victory was a landslide, and I’d beaten my opponent by the largest margin in the state’s history.
Now, I was heading to Washington, D.C. And it was because of the woman in front of me. The woman who showed me how to be a human instead of a political machine. The woman who showed me how to inject a healthy dose of humility into my workday. The woman who meant everything to me, and who I’d gladly share the White House with, if by god’s grace, I ever made it there.
I pulled her toward me, letting her feel the bulge in my pants, and her eyes narrowed with confusion. She pouted. “That’s not an erection. And here I thought you were happy to see me.”
I grinned at her. “Believe me, I am very, very happy to see you. Every day. Even when you’re being an insufferable tree-hugger.”
She smiled at me and admitted, mock-begrudgingly, “I suppose I still like you whenever you’re being a douche.”
Brooke never went into the FBI. We argued so much and so well together, it convinced her that she wanted to be an attorney, like her parents. Her time with me had shown her that she did have convictions, and she wanted to fight for them.
“The better to make sure all the toads are safe, my dear,” she’d said.
She also said that she might even go into politics. Last fall, she’d applied to Villanova Law and had started her first semester a couple months ago. Though it was hard, and we’d spent most of the past few months apart due to my campaign trail and her schoolwork, she told me she’d never been happier.
It helped that her parents had eventually come around, and she had them to support her. She’d always been very close to her family, and they hadn’t turned their backs on her, though they were suspicious of me at first, especially when they learned how we first met. Though I wasn’t yet on speaking terms with my father, and maybe never would be or inherit the Brice fortune, her parents had warmed up to me. I’d even gone golfing a few times with her father. Turns out, we had a lot in common. He told me that he thought Brooke would become a great environmental attorney, just like her mother.
Maybe. After all, she’d done her part to save those toads.
Save me.
I took her wrist, holding her in front of me, gazing deep into her blue eyes, which reflected the moonlight. Then I reached into my pocket, and pulled out the hardness she had felt… the tiny velvet box. I thought of all those months ago when this was nothing but a pipe dream that could never come true. I thought of how close I’d come to a very different life, a life in chains, a life of complete damnation. It was enough to make me weak.
And now I had everything I could possibly want.
Everything, except one thing.
I knelt in front of her, on one knee, finally able to propose in the way I wanted, to the woman I wanted.
She was crying before I even lifted the lid on the modest but pure diamond, an oval-shaped solitaire in a plain platinum setting. Both hands flew to her mouth, and she let out a cry of pure surprise.
“You drive me crazy, sometimes, with the things you say and think and do,” I told her, taking her quivering hand in mine as I held the box up to her. “But damn it, I love it. I honestly can’t imagine not having that in my life. You’ve made me a better politician, and a better person. Will you marry me, Brooke?”
For once, I’d put her at a loss for words. She nodded as I took the diamond solitaire and slid it onto her finger. Then she yanked me up off my knees with incredible force and kissed me.
“Yes. Even if you are a right-wing douche,” she said, sniffling and smiling through her tears. “I’d love to call you my right-wing douche.”
We kissed long and hard out there on the patio, in front of the waves. It didn’t take long for me to get hard. I brought her body flush against mine so she could feel how much I wanted her, as if it wasn’t obvious, as if she wasn’t the driving force in my life. Nothing seemed to adequately convey how much I’d always want her, for now, and for the rest of our lives. She was everything to me, and as long as we kept working to find common ground, all I would ever want.
She smiled at me deviously, delving her hand under my waistband. “I think I know how to fix this.”
Yes. I groaned and licked my lips, wanting her hands all over me. Relishing the feeling of wanting her more and more with every passing day, and now knowing that she would be with me. That we would be together, wherever this road took us, whether it be to the White House or somewhere else entirely. “Then don’t keep me waiting.”
Without warning, she stepped away from me. She lifted the hem of the sweater and pulled it up over her head. “Last one in is a rotten egg.”
Then she started to edge toward the surf, giving me a wink as the wind blew her wild hair into her face.
I stared openmouthed at her, at her gorgeous naked body, the now-risen moonlight splaying its adoring white light over every one of her sculpted curves. “You’re fucking insane. It’s November. The water’s freezing.”
“What are you, chicken?” she challenged, both hands motioning me forward. She reached down and tossed a handful of sand at me. “Find the common ground, Senator Brice.”
I drew the string on my waistband and let my pants fall to my feet, then kicked out of them. “You’re dead.”
“Come get me,” she called, racing down the beach into the moonlit darkness.
I caught her halfway there and wrestled her down to the ground. I held her in my arms, our warm bodies chasing the chill away, leaving nothing but the two of us, our two hearts beating in time.
As one.
As we made love on the beach, limbs entwined together under a million stars, she whispered, “I love you, my Apollo.”
“Cassandra,” I groaned as I entered her. “I love you, too, my sweet Cassandra.”
The following morning, when I finished the painting, I couldn’t help it. Maybe I’d never wear those slippers, but I’d learned a lot about compromise. Before I signed my name in the corner with a few simple strokes, I added a tiny green toad, swimming in the surf.
THE END
Continue on to read the next BONUS book that is included in this copy!
A Bonus Novel
THE MASK
Alice Ward
CHAPTER ONE
Adara
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The clock on the wall wasn’t able to keep up with my racing heart as I checked the time… again. I blew out a breath. It was almost time to go out on stage, and my hands were sweaty, my stomach threatening to expel the carb-free low-cal dinner I’d barely eaten.
Behind me, the door to my dressing room opened, but I ignored it and took a quick look in the mirror to assure myself I looked the part I was about to play.
Dark hair reflected red highlights in an elaborate twist on top of my head, check.
Sparkly purple eyeliner brought out the violet in my dark hazel eyes that could never decide if they were blue or green, check.
Hideous scar, check.
“What are you doing, Adara? You’re on in fifteen minutes and you’re not even dressed.” Brandy’s words were laced with a hint of panic, and I turned to find her surveying my dressing room like she owned the place… which she practically did as the manager of Jewel.
She’d always been like that — bossy as hell — even when we’d shared a room in high school. I met her the first day I was moved into foster care. And while she had a tendency to plow over people, she’d always h
ad my back.
“Ady, I’m wearing your mint-green sweater to the concert,” she’d say, stretching my favorite article of clothing over her boobs, which were two sizes too large for her small frame. And much bigger than my average ones.
It didn’t matter that I’d complain as she put the finishing touches on her perfect makeup application. She’d be out the door before I could convince her to leave my wardrobe alone.
Later, she’d bring my sweater home smelling of smoke and men’s cologne. I’d be pissed, but she was usually too drunk to care, and she’d just pass out on her bed, my sweater beyond hope by morning.
Brandy took what she wanted, but only because she never had anything unless she did. That was why I let her get away with so much. After all, she’d always been there for me when it mattered.
Like when Nate…
I sighed and turned away from the thought, then took a deep breath.
Today, Brandy wore an expensive black suit, the skirt cut too short for decency, the neckline plunging deep into those enormous breasts. Her perfect salon-styled platinum blonde hair swept upward in dramatic waves, highlighting her expertly made-up face.
She was a walking doll, twenty-four years old, just a year older than me. The expression on her face was a strange mix of anxiety and Xanax-level calm.
“Sorry, Bran, I’m just…” Not sure I can go out on that stage.
“Act lively, Ady. You’re at the most exclusive men’s only club in the world and it’s Friday. Money night.”
“Shush, Brandy, don’t call me that. What if someone hears?” I didn’t care if it was the most popular night, the evening most of the men let loose from work and spent more money than other nights. I didn’t care about most things. I didn’t recognize myself anymore or the life I was left with.
“God, okay, okay.” She rolled her eyes and threw up her hands, nearly exposing her panties. “Sorry, Mona. It’s not like this place isn’t full of secrets.”
The men’s club clients were a who’s who of the most powerful men in business, entertainment, and government. Everything that happened within these gilded walls was held in the strictest of confidence. With the Jewels it was different. More cutthroat.
I’d only been here for two months, but already, I wanted to scratch my way out. Too bad I didn’t have anything to go back to now. Brandy had snatched me up out of my darkest days, rescued me from destitution. I’d had a long way to fall from the top, and while I appreciated her for all she’d done, sometimes I felt like gravity had crushed me on the way down.
I met her gaze. “I know what you’re thinking. Why would it matter if my secret got out? After all, I’ve already lost everything.”
Well, not absolutely everything. I’d somehow managed to hold on to a miniscule piece of my pride.
I wasn’t a prostitute, but most of the other women inside Jewel were. Not surprising. Prostitution was one of the oldest professions in the world. Even Jesus chilled with prostitutes. The Jewels, as the working women of the club were called, sometimes made as much as thirty thousand dollars a night. The lowest bid for an evening was ten grand, and the girls received a small percentage of their price, which was still a hunk of money.
On the outside, they looked like they had it made — this was a good brothel, with pampered harlots shagging the rich and famous. The two or three thousand a night they earned was much more than street prostitutes saw from their efforts, but there were expenses to keep the women dressed, fit, and ready for servicing the high-end needs of the clientele. There was a price that wasn’t monetary too.
The women worked hard and put up with strange requests. Some had regular customers, and not all were kinky and deprived, but most of the men had specific desires that were expected to be met without complaint. They didn’t pay top dollar for a hug.
Brandy huffed impatiently. “Can you save the drama for after the show, please? We have a full house tonight. The girls thought you were going mental. Apparently, Janis was in here earlier wanting to borrow something, and you were a human statue. Snap out of it.”
I shook my head, unable to believe how callous Brandy could be at times. She was hotter than hell in her tight, sparkly outfit, but sounded like a drill sergeant. “There’s no drama. I’m trying to adjust. It’s hard to go from where I was to…” I waved my hand around the small room, “this. I’m a Grammy award winner, for goodness sakes.”
Brandy narrowed her eyes, her chin lifting as if I’d insulted her personally. “Well, you can’t be headline news every day, Ad—” She shook her head and gave me a tight smile. “Sorry… Mona. And you can’t stop assholes from being assholes. However, if you could try and do normal for a minute, that would be great for me.”
I knew her frustration wasn’t entirely with me. She was too young to be playing the role of business manager, housemother, and shrink to unbelievably gorgeous but broken women.
Despite my understanding of her role in all of this, I couldn’t relax.
“Sure. No problem. Normal coming up.” My voice rose an octave, the hairs on my neck standing up as sarcasm dripped from my words. “I’ll just put this little getup on, and me and my fucked-up face will hobble out to the stage and pretend my life isn’t completely over.” In spite of knowing my anger was irrationally directed at a woman I loved, the only friend I had left, I still lashed out at her.
“Your life is not over.” Closing her eyes for a beat, she took a deep breath, and when she focused on me again her whole demeanor was different, calmer. “I made sure of it. Now, I want you to take a second to be thankful. You’re not a rock star anymore, Adara slash Mona, you’re just like the rest of us now, but we don’t have it so bad. I wish you’d realize that.”
“I’ll never be like you.” I didn’t mean to say it, but the words were out, hanging between us.
Her chin tipped up another fraction. “Jack Marshall made an offer for you.” Her tone was one she used with the other girls, never me. “It’d be a chance to earn back some of the money Nate’s family stole from you.”
I stared hard into her eyes, our reflections meeting in the mirror. “We discussed this before I came here. I won’t sell myself. Ever.”
She rolled her blue eyes. “You sold yourself every day before. On the cover of CDs, t-shirts…”
She was waging her own war, and I knew it, but I wasn’t a willing ally. All those rich men sitting out there getting rock-hard while fantasizing about their dream night with a woman featured in a glossy catalog. They were nothing to me. Billionaires picking women from a menu like they were filet mignon. To Brandy, though, this was everything, her fucking utopia.
“Doesn’t Jack Marshall have a new wife and a baby, anyway? These men disgust me, and I’ve been in even lower places than this before, so I know disgusting when I see it. I’ve played to packed stadiums. I danced on that damn dancing show everyone loves, for god’s sake. I’m not stooping to fucking Jack Marshall.” I didn’t know why I was antagonizing her, but I felt like a fight. I needed to duke out the demons in my head.
Her eyes narrowed. “Well, that’s what you might have to do now. No one out there knows shit about your Grammy or the stadiums you’ve filled. Here, you’re just a prelude to a good fuck.” Brandy tucked a stray hair into the heavily hair sprayed twist on my head. “Yes, Jack has a new baby, the time men need their paramours the most. Now, dear, take it or leave it. This is your life, and if you don’t get out on that stage on time, dressed and ready for this, I will have no choice but to end your contract.”
Housemother had won over friend, and while I’d goaded her to it, I wondered if she would carry through with her threat.
“I’m the best thing you have going here,” I reminded her, quietly adjusting my black lace butterfly mask over the garish scar that crossed over my eye, running from my left temple and cutting deep into my left cheek.
It’d been two years since the accident and still the scar was impossible to miss. One hundred stitches and a couple cosmetic surgeries h
ad not been enough to erase that ugly mark.
“No, Gina’s pussy is the best thing that has ever happened to this place.” Bran’s matter-of-fact tone was like a new stab to an old, festering wound. Brandy Collins was just as misleading as the mixed drink she was named after. She was sweet with a kick that took you by surprise when you thought it was going to go down smooth.
She’d been my best friend growing up in foster care, and was eventually adopted by her aunt because her mom was too much of a drug addict to get her back legally. She did see her mother at times though, unlike mine.
My mother never came for me. Typical Annie story, only the sun didn’t come out… I was never adopted, never had a family of my own.
Never would now.
The last time I saw my mom was when I was twelve, in court with my social worker. She seemed really happy and looked clean and pretty. Pride for the way she had changed practically burst from my chest that day, and I just knew I would be home with her in no time. The judge gave her a list of things she had to do to reunify with me, and I never saw her again. I’d never even met my dad.
When my mom’s reunification time was up, I was sent to a group home. My foster mom and dad had four other foster kids, Brandy being one of them. The only thing I’d had left of my old life was my voice, and that saved me… and in a way, Brandy saved me too.
“Seriously? Gina’s damn dick ditch?” I decided not to let her get to me, and instead of showing my hurt feelings, I goaded her. “You ever try it?” I knew she messed around with girls from time to time, but Harmon Adler, the owner of Jewel, was her everything. She didn’t play at being disloyal to him and had expressed several times that this was the best she would ever get in life.
“No, but maybe you might want to. It might take that crazy edge off.” She was half kidding, trying in her own way to slide us back to normal again.