Page 163 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

Fucking right.

I had to cross a moral line to achieve it, one I can never uncross, but I’m here now.

And for her, I’ll do it for the rest of my life.

48

Raya

Good grief—my man lookssinfullygood in a tux. Presidential, almost. Like he belongs here, standing shoulder to shoulder with the rest of these geniuses at the White House.

We’re not in, like, the Oval Office or anything. Not that we wanted to be. We’re in one of the dining rooms for the Office of Environmental Quality dinner. It’s so elegant and fancy. Just the kind of place Ace and his family would feel right at home in.

It gives me immense pleasure to know how much the wine-guzzling cunt would have enjoyed being here.

I should feel out of place, but I don’t. Ace gave me his card to buy an outfit to wear tonight, so I bought a beautiful full-length gown and some red bottoms. My first pair.

And now I have a bone to pick with Mr. Louboutin.

These beautiful stilettos on my feet don’t even feel like shoes. They feel like fucking torture devices. If I didn’t have a high pain tolerance, I’d be sitting on this fancy ass floor crying my eyes out right now.

He can expect a letter from me soon.

Anyway, I look the part. But there’s another reason I don’t feel out of place here.

It’s because I won.

This whole trip proves that I’m a winner.

The man on my arm is being honored for his work. They’ve called him a visionary, a pioneer, the future of American engineering. While everybody claps for him, I clap the loudest. That’smyman. My prize.

Dinner is fancy, too. White tablecloths, tiny forks I don’t know what to do with, centerpieces that probably cost more than the medieval pain machines on my feet, and food I’ve never seen and can’t pronounce.

But what’s holding my attention isn’t the food or decor. It’s Brenda Malloy.

She’s sitting at the long table at the front of the room, her hands folded in front of her like a queen surveying her court. Cocoa brown skin, sleek black bob, soft, perfect makeup…she has a presence that draws attention. The woman has captivated me tonight. I can’t keep my eyes off of her.

I’ve been studying the way she interacts with people. Polite, but not too nice. Speaking with gravitas, but soft enough to make people lean into her, hanging onto her every word. Even the way she walked in here, the way her heels clicked against the marble floor. Confidence. Command.

I want that.

I wanna be the kind of woman people look at and immediately know I’m important. Brenda is clearly smart, capable, and powerful. I bet she’s never once cried over some dusty ass fuckboy. She went to college, graduated on time, and didn’t throw her whole life away on a loser like I did.

But I can still become her.

Or aversionof her.

The thought sneaks in like a whisper. I could get my GED. Go to Spelman like I dreamed when I was little. I was a smart girl, but a bad student—gifted and talented program, thank you very much. My teachers always said, ‘she’s so smart, such potential, but she doesn’t apply herself.’

That’s because potential doesn’t mean shit when you’re in love and being stupid.

But it’s not to late. It’s never too late.

The idea sticks, humming in the back of my mind while I smile for the hundredth time tonight, shaking hands and telling people how much I’m enjoying the occasion.

The novelty wears off around dessert. Ace is working the room, as he should be, and I’m sitting here, cheeks hurting from smiling, feet hurting from these fucking blood shoes (Cardi was right, just not the way she meant it). I’m growing more and more irritated that I had to take my TikTok down for this shit. My followers probably think I’m dead. But I’ll be back soon enough. New handle, probably, but Ace can’t keep me down. I have makeup to apply and stories to tell.

After the last toast, Ace takes my hand and leads me out. We banter a little during the car ride back to the hotel, but he’s quiet walking into the lobby. I stare at him in the elevator, just about to ask him what’s wrong, when he turns to me.

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