CHAPTER 77
Lindsey Grant stared at the mirror. A woman stood there, one she no longer knew.
Tommy had come to her. He always did before a big fundraiser. They hadn’t even bothered to undress. He’d lifted her skirt, shoved down her underwear and taken her right on top of the peach chenille bed cover. Still in his dark suit, the auburn tie she’d chosen for him, and polished leather shoes.
Four minutes. Four minutes and he was zipping up as he headed for the door.
“See you in thirty, babe.”
And he was gone.
Thirty minutes until the fundraiser. They didn’t need the money. The election was theirs, signed, sealed, and delivered, but the political machine was rolling and you couldn’t stop the funds now. A hundred other elections around the country were benefiting from the Grant money-making
