You Are My Reason - Willow Winters Page 0,9
ready. Sue has a marriage, a divorce, and fifteen years on Maddie, so between the three of us, we have as many opinions on love as we do rounds of drinks.
Sue’s plastered-on smile slips and she tries to hide it with a shrug as she takes another sip. Her license plate is just one more way for Sue to make fun of her divorce before anyone else can. Her ex put her through hell and she came out cold as ice to all men. Well, except the ones she likes to sink her claws into after a few Long Islands.
Sue leans back in the white leather booth, keeping the glass in her hand and shrugs again as she says, “What says ‘fuck you, motherfucker’ better than taking his red Ferrari in the proceedings and getting that license plate?”
Kat pipes up from her spot in the booth, rolling her eyes and taking a sip of her Pepsi before she says, “I think it says, ‘don’t touch this bitch’ to every man in the city.”
A sly smile slips onto Sue’s face. “Thank goodness … that’s exactly what I was going for,” she says, setting her drink down then stretching her arms over her head. “Maybe all these bastards will finally leave me alone then.” The other girls start to howl at that and I join in, although my heart’s not in it. My nerves are shot just being out here tonight. Sue’s directly across from me and both of us are seated at the ends of the semicircular booth. Kat’s to my right, then Maddie.
“Another round?” The waiter startles me and I nearly spill my glass as I gasp and back away. All the poor guy did was offer me another drink and I practically had a heart attack. Several distant gazes turn in our direction as my own table watches me like there’s something wrong with me and I do what I do best, I play it off and let out a small laugh. Maybe I’m even more like Sue than I realized.
“Sorry,” I say a bit too loud. Exaggerating how tipsy I am, I gently place my hand on the waiter’s arm. His starched white shirt feels crisp under my fingers as I lean in and sweetly say, “I’m so sorry, I hope I didn’t spill any on you.”
That’s all it takes for everyone to go about their own business, but my heart’s still beating wildly. A few stares linger. I’m aware the people in here recognize me; they probably think I shouldn’t be out or that I’m “having a moment.” Looking across the room, I’m frozen by a pair of eyes I know all too well.
They belong to a woman in her late sixties, Margo Pierce. She’s an heiress and an influential investor in the city. Her large sapphire cocktail rings appear even more over the top as she holds a simple glass of champagne with both hands. For a woman in her sixties, she wears her age well. From her perky breasts to the delicate skin around her eyes, not an inch of her hasn’t been through some procedure or another. All the work she’s had is very tastefully done, though.
The last time I saw her was at a casino up north, the night I got the phone call. I can still remember the dings and bells of the slot machines and the bright, colorful lights. Still remember the weight of the glass of rosé in my right hand as I sat perched on a barstool in the center of the casino. At the Mohegan Sun, the bar is elevated. I could see nearly a hundred of the other guests playing slots and sitting at the card tables; it was packed that night.
Just like tonight, I was with the girls and we were enjoying ourselves and the atmosphere. We were taking a break from roulette to grab cocktails and Sue was cursing out her soon-to-be ex-husband for prolonging their divorce when my phone rang. I only picked it up because it was odd for my mother to call me so late.
Kat leaned in to order from the bartender as I placed the phone to my ear, turning a bit to my left for a hint of privacy. As much as I could get in such a crowded place, anyway. I didn’t show them that anything was unusual, keeping a pleasant smile on my face as I answered.
When I heard my mother’s voice on the other end, the smile