Leaning back into the quartz counter, ignoring its bite into my back, I felt the need to stick up for myself. “I wanted to do more. I could do more.”
Tommy pulled back a little, narrowing his beady eyes on me. “You will not. Not my wife. I allow you this hobby, but that’s it.”
Of course, I wanted to argue more, but there was no point. How could I win an argument with a lawyer? Although he considered my writing a hobby, I thought of it as my lifeline.
“Don’t think too hard.” Tommy gripped my shoulder, his fingers digging painfully into my skin. “I pay for you to do this. Period. Make me look good. Got it?”
He leaned close and his teeth scraped my neck, making their way to my nape. There, he bit down just hard enough to cause pain but not hard enough to break the skin.
It was a sign of dominance he’d done before. The first time, I’d mistaken it for a sexual move until he explained he was letting me know who was boss.
As if I could forget.
Margaret
The Paula now held a special place in my heart, so I couldn’t help the smile spreading across my face as I walked inside to meet Sheila Alexander and the rest of the barracudas. Even the impending craziness couldn’t dampen my spirit.
I hadn’t reached out to Mick, and he hadn’t either, but one lunch was enough of a good time to keep my heart beating.
As for the Spring Hill Parents’ Association, it was one of those members-only clubs where you were either in or out. It was no accident I was in. Tommy was a well-established attorney with his name on billboards, and a wood-paneled office downtown. He might have told me he didn’t like the private school, but he donated money and liked seeing his name on the wall of fame.
His name, not mine. My name was only on the list of parent volunteers who made everything happen.
Since Sheila had taken over, what happened at parent meetings, stayed at parent meetings. Prior to it becoming the Sin City of parents’ associations, there were a lot of information leaks and rumors, which always ended up sabotaging the gossips. I knew what happened inside the four walls of the Paula tonight was top secret. Strangely enough, I had practice in this from my home life and their beloved benefactor Tommy.
Noting I was a little early, I chalked it up to being excited to get out, and shrugged off any other reason—like avoiding Tommy. I’d conveniently sent him a text stating I had a school meeting and would be late. He replied all too eagerly that he would grab a steak and cocktail downtown with another partner.
With time and newfound freedom on my side, I decided to grab an appetizer and a glass of wine at the bar. Settled in with my provisions, I reviewed some notes on my phone for the fashion piece. There was an Israeli designer by the name Rinat Brodach that I wanted to reach out to.
“It must be my lucky night.”
Mick’s husky voice surprised me, hitting all the right switches and buttons that, quite frankly, I didn’t know existed. Of course, there was no reason to look up and see who it was. I knew immediately who was looming over my chardonnay and me.
“There you go again with your effortless pick-up lines. Maybe you should come up with some better material on your own?” I served up a sarcastic reply, raising my head slowly to meet his dark eyes.
Mick’s hair was as unkempt as the first time I saw him, his five o’clock shadow a touch darker and his brow a tiny bit creased. But all of it had an even more profound effect on my heart rate.
“You may be right,” he said, sliding in next to me. “But, remember, it’s been a hard week for me. Give a guy a break, yeah?”
His New York roots seeped through in how he pronounced hard, bringing out the warm fuzzies I hadn’t known lived inside me. The last complication I needed in my life was a side relationship, yet I welcomed every distraction this man brought with him.
“Tell you what,” I said instead of backing off. “Let me get you a drink tonight. How’s that for some empathy?”
“It’s a nice offer, but I’ll get the drinks, if you don’t mind.”
Mick’s hair was a wilder mess than usual tonight, and my fingers twitched to comb through it. Trying to control myself, I ran them through my own loose locks. The blown-out waves fell loosely around my face, providing a bit of a veil for the emotions I couldn’t hide.
“We have an old-fashioned gentleman in the house, folks,” I said in a hushed tone, but with a nip of humor and raised eyebrows. I already had that make and model, and I wasn’t impressed with it.
“My momma raised me right, so pipe down, Margo.”
There he went again with the nickname he’d given me within minutes of our first meeting. No one had ever done that for me—ever.
He motioned to the bartender and ordered a Scotch neat, then asked me if I wanted another.
“No, thanks,” I whispered.
“Give me the tab,” he told the bartender.
“Do I have any say in the matter?” I asked.
“No,” he said matter-of-factly as his drink arrived.
I took a sip of my wine. “So, back at the Paula?”
Mick nodded. “I am. Got tired of the country club scene. Golf is boring as shit, and so is sitting around in those damn polo shirts. I had a tournament over the weekend, and by the end, I lost on purpose to get it over with. And you? Why are you back so soon?”
Studying him for a moment, I couldn’t figure out if he was here to just be here, or if he was looking for me.
“A little of both,” he said.
“Wait? Did I say that aloud?”
“No, but you’re easy to read. I was reminded how much I love it here the other day, and I was also trying to be good, not reaching out. But if I ran into you . . . that’s a different story.”
“Let’s see, equal parts liking the food and stalking? Am I right?”
When I noticed my armpits tingling with sweat, I tried not to wince. I’d never flirted like this.
“Oh shit.” This time, my thoughts floated from my mouth as I saw Sheila walk in.
“Everything okay?” Mick was half turned in his seat, looking at me.
“Turn away, face the bar.” I’m not sure what made me say it. Instinct, probably. When Mick did as I asked, I muttered, “Thanks.”
After a sip of wine, I whispered, “I’m here for a parents’ meeting. You know, socialite moms with big mouths?”
He nodded as if he did, but I didn’t believe him.
“I’m going to slip away,” I said, grabbing my purse as I slid from my seat. “Thanks for the wine.”
Mick spoke low enough so one else could hear, his gaze still on the bar. “Have a good meeting. I’ll be right here when you’re done, and the socialites leave.”
“I—”
“Go,” he said, interrupting my protest, and I did.
“Thanks for coming tonight. We’ll see everyone in two weeks, and please bring your list of potential donors,” Sheila said as the meeting adjourned.
Sadly, I couldn’t remember a word she’d said between the time I sat down and now. My brain pounded with Mick’s looming presence radiating from the back of the restaurant.
Both too fearful and smart to turn around, I let the heat of him being there, breathing there, existing there, scald my back, but I remained still, focusing on Sheila. As I stood from my seat, she walked my way.