Tasha is sitting by herself flipping through a magazine. The stark difference from last week is shocking. The woman is a vile human being, but it’s easy to see how she uses her appearance as a weapon. Poppy drops my hand and takes the lead, strutting over. She stops less than a foot away, and my first impulse is to yank her out of reach.
“If you’re here to talk, you’re too late. The time for talking was last week.” Tasha continues to flip pages.
Poppy doesn’t speak, her expression blank and mind lost in thought as she stares down. Minutes tick by as her silence wears on. Others in the room take notice, filling the air with hushed whispers and wondering glances.
Tasha finally raises her eyes and slams down the magazine. Her face recoils in disgust. “Jesus, Caitlyn, are you wearing shimmering pink eye shadow? You really are a circus freak.”
A growl rumbles in my throat and Jackson steps in.
“Mmm, you brought the eye-candy with you today.” Tasha licks her lips, gaping hungrily between Jackson and me.
“You’re done.” It’s a simple statement loaded with conviction.
“I’m done? You limped in here looking like a Punky Brewster reject to say that? God, you are pathetic.”
“I’ve spent most of my life in the spotlight, whereas you’ve spent most of your life trying to get your shot. The first lesson I learned was survival. No one led the way, padded my bank account, or covered my ass. It was all me.” Poppy goes on, undeterred.
“Bullshit. What you did was twirl on a stage in skimpy costumes, showing off your tits and ass. You have no idea what survival means.”
Fury boils in my veins, and my instincts scream to put distance between them.
“Get ready, Natasha. Today is your day. I’m about to deliver your big break. And your fifteen minutes of fame are going to be explosive.”
Fire of righteousness flames in her eyes. “You don’t know the meaning of explosive.”
“Depends on your definition.” Poppy peers over her shoulder at me, her eyes twinkling. “Honey, am I capable of explosive?”
The innuendo dips from her sweet voice and shit if my cock doesn’t twitch. “Every fucking time.”
“Lucky bastard,” Jackson mumbles.
She grins appreciatively, turning her attention back. “One thing about stepping into the spotlight is the sheer brilliance of anticipation. The stage, the lights, the music… all of it must come together to deliver a perfect performance. Lucky for you, I’m a pro.”
“You’re full of shit. I’ll ruin you.”
“How? By convincing a two-bit rag reporter to run a story depicting me as a child abuser? Pffttt, that is already gone. As for those pictures making me look like a drunk? Terrible photoshop efforts. Adult entertainer? Really? Such amateur hour. I expected so much more,” she goads scathingly. “Months of planning and plotting and that’s what you came up with? For someone with a lifetime of experience as a guileful con-artist, you disappoint. The story has been retracted with a pleading apology, and my lawyer is in talks of compensatory damages.”
The last part hasn’t happened, but I suspect it will soon.
Tasha’s not buying it. “You’re lying.”
“Ask my lawyer.”
Tasha’s gaze flies to Jackson and she snarls. “Whatever.”
Grady scans over something on his phone and slides it in front of Poppy.
“The reporter you blackmailed is signing like a canary.”
This is news to me, but Poppy delivers it so convincingly I wonder if it’s true.
“Which is amazing for me. Because when I slap my lawsuit for slander and defamation of character, it will be open and shut.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Caitlyn. You try to fuck with me, I’ll sue you for assault. Don’t forget that little video of you in Vegas is still out there.”
Poppy throws her head back, her laugh more an evil cackle that has the hair on the back of my neck standing.
“Oh, dear sister. You shouldn’t be afraid.” She flips her head, her face hard, unlike I’ve ever seen. “Be terrified. You had months to plan your takedown and failed. Now it’s my turn. You better hope this place allows you to stay with your fake dependency problem. Because when you get out, you’re going to be homeless, broke, and alone. My memory is long and detailed. I’m in the mood to share and have nothing to hide. The reputation you’ve spent your life building is ashes. That’s a riveting exposé.”
She hits a nerve because Tasha’s lunging. Poppy sidesteps and spins out of the way.
Tasha goes flying, crumbling down with a thud. There’s a sickening crack and blood spurts from her nose. She lifts her hand and screams when her wrist hangs limply. “You bitch!”
“One last thing. When you turned tricks with your therapist to get access to a phone, it makes you a whore.”
There’s a stunned silence in the crowd as Poppy delivers the last blow with a dismissive flick of her hand.
The silence is short-lived when a buzz of shock and disbelief trickles through the room.
I follow my wife, eyes aimed at her ass as she sashays confidently out of the building.
“Winging it works well for her. Guess that is how you got her to marry you,” Jackson cites proudly.
“Winging it works well."
“You have a lovely family.” Karen steps up to the railing, keeping several feet between us.
My eyes stay glued to Poppy, who’s in the yard with Marco and the kids, fawning over Mom’s horses. The woman never ceases to take my breath away, and today is no exception.
This morning, Mom arranged for a personal stylist to come to the house at Poppy’s request. I spent the time with Marco, Grady, Dad, and a political advisor discussing strategy.
When she walked out, it took every modicum of control and restraint not to take her directly to the shed. Fucking stunning. So breathtaking my heart stopped. It took me back in time to that bar in Vegas and the moment my eyes landed on her. Her rainbow-colored waves have returned, but instead of a crown of flowers, she had an ornately jeweled accessory placed on her head. Skin-tight jeans, spiked leather boots with some sort of fringe, an oversized white sweater exposing both shoulders, and she’s dripping in her favorite vibrant jewelry.
Mesmerizing.
Truly a gypsy goddess.
“We got lucky with the pleasant weather today,” Karen speaks again.
I glance at her, taking in her polished appearance. She may outwardly look the part of First Lady of Virginia, but her eyes speak volumes. She’s betrayed and broken, lost now that her crafted world has blown up at the hands of the daughter she stood beside.
“My family is great, and the South Carolina weather cooperated. Is that really why you felt the desire to approach me?” It’s all but a snarl, but my disgust for this woman is too great to mask.
“This is an uncomfortable situation, I thought maybe we could talk.”
“About what? How my wife took part in a two-hour interview, reliving her last decade, revealing her identity, and somehow spun that shit to make you and Marco look like decent people? She took that spotlight off of your family dysfunction.”
“Caitlyn was very generous. I hope to give her my gratitude if she’ll speak to me.”