I want money and all your power, all your glory.

name: Olivia Lawson
birthday: August 24
place of birth: Liverpool, England
place of residence: Never stays in one place too long
schooling: California State University, Long Beach
occupation: Currently in between jobs
personality: sarcastic, independent, smart but doesn't apply herself

• Was put up for adoption at birth; ended up in foster care for most of her life 

• Former nanny for Mayor Harrison, hated kids anyways

• Currently the talk of town after her affair with the mayor was made public

• Kind of a loose cannon and would prefer the single life over a monogamous relationship any day

 

First things first, I hate kids. It should've been obvious that I wasn't nanny material from the start, but I guess that the security of dating the mayor of San Francisco helped. Making $15 an hour is close to impossible, especially when your job description consists mostly of driving kids to and from school, feeding the little brats, and relaxing on the couch while they do homework or chores. The thing is that I'm not dumb, not like the news makes me out to be. Sure I barely graduated from the party school I went to, but that doesn't make me any less of a person.  But now I'm sitting here with a man in a cheap suit prompting me on what to say during my court hearing. I didn't kill anyone, I simply slept with the wrong man.

"She's not pressing charges," He says with a look on his face like he might have had to repeat himself a few times.

I lift an eyebrow at my lawyer, the man who the rest of my paychecks would be going to. Where was I going to live? I had no money, yet an expensive wardrobe. I'd been living rent free with Colin's family, but they kicked me out the second his overly blonde wife walked in on his balls slapping against my ass while he pounded away inside of me, my breasts pressed up against the desk that I was bent over. Honestly, I probably deserved this. I wasn't a great person, this was karmas way of reminding me of that. "Pressing charges for what? Letting her husband fuck the hired help?" I flinched after referring to myself as the hired help... even though that's exactly the way they treated me and necessarily it was true. Well, not anymore at least.

My lawyer sighed, "You breached your contract."

My eyebrows lifted again.

"Mrs. Harrison is claiming that you sold your story to the Chronicle," He continued when I said nothing, didn't even attempt to speak up for myself. I didn't even see the point.

"They kicked me out without cutting a check for all the hours I put in," I replied with a shrug.

He sighs again, even louder. "Is that your way of saying that you did indeed sell your story?" This time, I sighed, annoyed since either way I was fucked. I was basically homeless and staying at the cheapest hotel that I could find in the Tenderloin and I wasn't going to be able to afford that for much longer... not until Mr. Johnson over here cashed his check. "Actually, as your lawyer, I don't want to know."

"Since she's not pressing charges, this is over then?" I asked hopeful, knowing that my past was going to come back to haunt me over and over again, this sort of thing was never over. That Dupree girl that slept with a Senator? Her name would forever be poison and I expected as much for my future... Maybe even worse considering that the Harrison's had been the picturesque family up until this scandal. The city was still broken up over it and everywhere I went people were whispering, asking each other if I was in fact the girl who lured poor Colin Harrison into bed. Truth was, we barely ever had sex in his bed. The whole innocent thing was an act and the man was a beast in bed.

He sighed for the umpteenth time, "I hope so."

I forced a smile, keeping my lips closed since they got me into trouble too often.

"I have to ask," He says as he stands up, gathering his paperwork. "Did you love him?"

I part my lips, tempted to let a lie, but I had literally nothing to lose anymore, "No," I said slowly as my eyes fell on the newspaper, a familiar face on the cover... But it couldn't be who I thought it was. I mean, what were the odds. "Who's this?" I asked, still scanning the article, the handsome man in the picture. I searched for a name, but was stuck on the face.

A palm splayed out over the text and the paper shifted ever so slightly, "Dominic Reid, business man. Inherited a company I think?" His words even came out as a sigh, a borderline groan. My lawyer loathed me. "Looking for your next victim?"

I lifted my head to narrow my eyes on him, not wanting to waste another minute of my day, not when I could be doing something more productive. Like taking a nap. "Are we done here?"