Page 86 of Catfish

“What is it you think I do all day, Miss Shelton?” he finally queries. “I’m genuinely curious to know.”

Good job, Reagan.

“No clue,” I deadpan.

Wade fixes me with a I-don’t-believe-you look before steepling his fingers together. “I doubt that very much, Miss Shelton. Everyone has a first impression or thought about someone.”

I smirk, my petty side begging to come out and play with the big bad wolf of politics. Gossip blogs have publicized that Governor Lockwood was a man out for blood. A man who would and could slowly skin alive his competition as he did in his prior election for his current position.

Word on the street, or in the blog I read rather, was that an anonymous letter showed up at the Ridgemont Police station convicting the former governor, Leon Griffin, of owning a meth lab in Sterling Hills. The blog wasn't able to get the full report, but Leon Griffin didn't serve his time as the new governor but instead in jail for over eight years.

Gossip is that Mr. Shoddy Ass Wade Lockwood was behind that blast.

"How honest would you like me to be, Mr. Lockwood?" He gestures with his hand for me to continue, daring me with his eyes. "You probably kiss more ass than you care to admit to on a daily basis. I mean, I get it—" I shrug. "—your plan is to win votes, profit off people who hold power that can help sway others in your direction. You look like a man who hates groveling, but you know it's the name of the game, so you suck it up and deal with it."

He lifts his chin, keeping the somber expression painted on his face.

I insulted him under the guise of being candid. I called him out on his daily bullshit of what is a politician. But if he thinks he’s going to babysit me while doing my job, we won’t be working together.

I’m a professional—maybe not at this moment—but Wade Lockwood's holier than thou demeanor is a stress-filled ball that I'm not delving into. He wants to keep my "hobbies" monitored, and under lock and key, he's out of his ever-loving fucking mind.

He’s more than likely part of an underground VIP so he can get his dick sucked and not have it reported in the news the next morning. If I’m going to work on quite a few projects for him, his money doesn’t mean he buys my personal life, just my skill set.

“Looks like we’ll have to change your mind about that,” he finally states, as he slides a one of the folder on his desk towards me, using only his middle and index finger like it’s something dirty he doesn’t need to get on his hands or suit. “Inside is the full job description, please take it and read it overnight. I’d like an answer in the next forty-eight hours if you’d like to accept the job position.”

“You're offering me the job?” I can’t hide the surprise in my voice. I was truly waiting for him to tell me to get the hell out of his office.

Off a nod, he says, “If you agree to my terms, then yes.”

I glance down at the folder and back at him. “And what about mine?”

“Your personal life is your own as long as you don’t make headlines on social media or the news. As far as planning other events, as long as they don’t clash with mine, I’d like my agenda to be the priority of your work.”

I can work with that.

I reach for the folder and tuck it inside my purse. “Sounds like a plan. Thank you for your time today.” I begin to stand as does he, towering over my frame from across the desk.

Reaching out his hand, he says, “It was my pleasure, Miss Shelton.”

I can’t tell if he means it or not but, regardless, I take his hand and give it a curt shake. Turning on my nude heels, I round the chair and make my way to the door. If I know anything about a young politician, it's that this folder contains a tedious agreement, mapping out every detail of what Governor Wade Lockwood expects out of Sadie and me while working for him.

“Miss Shelton.” My feet immediately halt in place at his request. Pivoting around slowly, I turn to face him. “If you do decide to work for me, please be sure to dress appropriately. That fuck-me red dress you wore the other day reeked of cheap.”

This motherfucker.

My lips part in shock at first. Then his words register and they are on the verge of telling him to go fuck himself, but I’ve seen the zeros behind the amount of money Emmy Lou was offering. I saw the potential of getting ahead in the bank and paying off Mama’s hospital bills that I’m sure are in the mail already. The life I could give Marty when he comes home.

Lockwood’s paycheck, it’d do a lot to change our lives.

“Have a good afternoon, Mr. Lockwood,” I practically choke out.

You stupid son of a bitch.

This dumbass, silver-spooned prick thinks his little jabs at me are going to do something—he’s wrong.

Mr. Wannabe Tom Ford is in for an abrupt shock of who the fuck really lives underneath this skin and all my fuck-me dresses.

? Circles — Post Malone ?

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