Buy Me 3 (Mistress Auctions 3)

Husband number two was a nice man from a wealthy family. Mary-Grace didn’t realize it to begin with, thinking that his money was his own. When she got tired of him tightening the purse strings, she made her plans to move on.

The next husband—the Senator—she worked over like a ball of dough. She caught his eye, and he nearly swallowed his tongue to get at her. He laid down a gold path of what he could give her, and she strung him along until the right moment. Mary-Grace doesn’t do anything fast or without due calculation, and she made sure I paid attention.

“It’s only when the wolf is hungry will he hunt,” she used to tell me. “Don’t feed a stray, Georgia. If he’s worthy, he’ll bring the kill to you.” She would brush my hair every night before bed and tell me all the ways to protect myself and my heart. “Don’t ever rely on a man to give you what you need. Find one and take it from him.”

I can still hear her words ringing in my ears every night when I brush my hair.

In true Mary-Grace fashion, she died at home in her bed, exactly how she wanted to. She was eaten up with ovarian cancer, and doctors gave her only weeks to live. The Senator was grief stricken, and the whole state sent an outpouring of love to the two of them.

I sat by her side nearly every hour until she passed, holding her hand and telling her I loved her. She would just smile at me and give me more of her words of wisdom.

“I’ve made sure you’re taken care of. There’s a trust set up, and Walker will make sure you have everything you need. I took care of everything for you, Georgia, just like your daddy would have wanted. I did all this for you.”

Squeezing her hand, I nodded in understanding. She’d lived her life so that I would never do without and never wonder who was going to take care of me. She may have gone about it the wrong way, but I knew she died having done all she could to help me.

Little did Mary-Grace know that six months after she died, good old Walker Keaton would have his team of lawyers revoke the trust and kick me out on the street with just the clothes on my back.

It’s a hard life lesson, but one we must learn. Never trust a southern senator.

I learned how to play poker when I was ten. Husband number two had a small gambling problem, so he thought keeping his card addiction at home helped him control it. After poker, he taught me how to play everything. Blackjack was his go-to, and we would play all the time. After a while I realized that I was better than him. He wasn’t letting me win, I was actually beating him.

One day he was sitting with his elbows on the table and watching me like a hawk. Suddenly, he flung his hand on the table and said, “I can’t beat a cheater.”

I had no idea what he was talking about. I was just playing my hand like I normally did. I remember being so angry that he accused me of something like that. I felt like I was finally good at something, and there he was, trying to take it away from me.

“I’m not cheating!”

“You’re counting cards, Georgia.”

“I’m what?” I looked down at my hand, thinking that I was holding two aces, and I knew one was about to land on the flop. How was that counting? That was just paying attention.

He got up from the table and left the room. We never played cards again, and his gambling problem only got worse. By the time it got really bad, we were already out the door and moving into the senator’s mansion. Mary-Grace was always ten steps ahead.

It wasn’t until I started playing with the security at the senator’s mansion that they told me what I was doing. I guess I won too many times, and they started to see a pattern. They were nicer about it, though, telling me it wasn’t necessarily illegal, but it would get your ass kicked out of every casino in Vegas.

Here I was with a natural ability to do something people would give anything for. Being good at something like that appealed to me. It was sneaky, and I liked the idea of thinking I could get away with it. And maybe if I was good enough, I could get away with it in Vegas.

Those were all just silly thoughts I had when we lived with the senator. It wasn’t until my mama got sick and passed away did I start to think that idea had some legs. I could set things in motion after she died, and it only took six months for me to be out of a home, and making my way to Vegas.

I remember the bus ride and feeling sorry for myself. But then I closed my eyes and heard Mary-Grace’s voice in my head. “Never let them see your mascara run.”

When I got to Vegas, the first thing I did was hit a casino. It was either walk out a winner, or walk out the same way I walked in. I didn’t have anything to lose, and that’s what makes the most dangerous criminals.

I turned twenty dollars into twelve thousand that night and was offered a room at the casino. I knew enough to know that I’d raised some flags, so I stopped and took my winnings up to my room. I had enough to last me a while, and at that moment I just needed a little peace.

When I went to bed that night, I cried until I couldn’t shed another tear. I never let anyone see.

“Missus…?”

“Oh, honey, I’m far too young to be called a missus. You can call me Peaches.”

The older man across the table from me blushes, and I give him a wink. He seems harmless, but I’m not taking any chances. I stick to my rules. Be polite, be charming, be their fantasy, but don’t let them touch you.