Damn him. Damn him and all his expectations and guilt trips and goddamned cross examinations. It’s my life.
And it was a mess. She’d stubbornly put off dealing with it in the name of saving Wishful. But if she was to have any kind of career to go back to when the campaign was done, she had to get off her ass and start taking steps to straighten things out.
Even the idea of it left her feeling hollow and exhausted. But that was pretty par for the course these days.
The sound of the doorbell had her groaning. Company was the last thing she wanted. But it might be about the campaign. So many balls were up in the air, she really couldn’t afford to leave her phone off for long.
Schooling her features into an expression of polite welcome, Norah opened the door.
Piper, bounced inside. “This is a kidnapping!”
Norah stared at the very short skirt and pink straw cowboy hat her friend was sporting. “I’m sorry, what?”
“We failed to adhere to our sacred duty upon your arrival and must now rectify that oversight.”
“Which sacred duty is that?”
“The part where we go out dancing and drink to the shriveling of your ex’s dick.” This was stated in a tone of duh.
“She’s bloodthirsty, our Piper,” Tyler said from the doorway.
It was a sentiment Norah could get behind, even if the object of her ire was a little different. “While I appreciate the thought, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
The coalition meeting had gone well. She’d successfully sold them on a Shop Local campaign and laid the foundation for a grassroots movement. But even with the help of the new coalition chairwoman, Molly Montgomery—who evidently had a membership or officer position in every civic group in town—it meant her workload had quadrupled.
“All work and no play makes Norah a dull girl,” Piper sang.
“All work and no play makes Norah a successful girl.” She returned to her position on the sofa.
“There is more to life than work.”
An ache bloomed in Norah’s chest as she thought of Cam and his life lessons. There’d been no more of them since she broke things off. Not a surprise. And not that there’d been time. They’d both been working their asses off to get this campaign off the ground.
“You might as well give in,” Tyler added. “She doesn’t take no for an answer.”
Norah looked down at her yoga pants and sweatshirt. “I’m hardly dressed for going out. And Miranda will be home from her ER rotation in an hour.”
“She’s meeting us there when she gets off.” Piper stepped over the piles of folders and tugged Norah up. “Come on.”
Norah had no intention of going. She had census data to dig through and city tax records to analyze. Not to mention the website mock-up she wanted to finish before the next coalition meeting. But forty-five minutes later, she was being hustled through the door of the Mudcat Tavern, fully made up and wearing borrowed cowboy boots, as Piper had declared her knee-high English riding boots “too citified for this kind of dancing” and insisted that they did not meet Bitch Boot status. Norah was pretty sure some kind of magic had been involved.
The pretty, older bartender flashed a welcoming smile. “What’ll it be ladies?”
Piper slapped the bar. “Adele, we’re here for the Three Furies. Norah here has been wronged by an idiot man.”
More than one.
“Is there any other kind?” Adele asked.
Norah exercised more caution than Piper. “And what exactly does the Three Furies entail?”
“It’s a tradition of long standing, dating back to just after college when He Who Is Not Worth Naming walked out of my life,” Tyler explained. “First shot is tequila because you’re drinking to forget a worm. Second shot is whiskey, in honor of the fire in your belly. Third shot is Jaeger, which will kick all asses. And after each, you get a shot at Bob the Bastard.”
“Bob the Bastard?”
Adele lifted a sad burlap…thing from behind the counter. It had a crude face embroidered on and four rough limbs flung out akimbo. A fifth…protuberance was painted in red between the legs.
“Is that…a voodoo doll?”