#dixiepresident

There’s a loud CRASH that fills the grand entry way of the multi-million dollar home Whitney resides in with her fiance. That is the sound of expensive China colliding against a wall, narrowly missing Richard’s head when he enters the door to their home. The miss was intentional, if she wanted to -- and believe her, she thought about it -- she swore she could’ve hit him. But no, no death wasn’t what she was aiming for...at least not today, she had a fucking point to get across. “You son of a bitch!” Her voice carried throughout the house as she walked down the stairs, Whitney swearing she could hear the wait staff scurrying to various parts of the house to avoid being collateral damage in her vicious tirade. “I don’t ask for much.” A lie...kinda, she asks for a lot but those were material items, this was different. “I slap a smile on my face, be your arm candy and deal with your crew’s constant bullshit. I show up every-fucking-time you ask me to. And the one time -- the one time I ask you to show up for me, you fucking ghost.” This wasn’t her usual crazy outburst, underneath all the anger there was actually pain. “Make me look like a fuckin’ idiot sitting there for two hours waiting for you. Do you know how embarrassing that was?! If you don’t want to do this Richard -- fuckin’ say it -- because I will not have you make a fool out of me again.”

A few knocks at the door, Lorenzo let himself in anyway, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets as a thin, barely-there smile adorned his features. His shirt was unbuttoned at least three down, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Cocaine, copious amounts of alcohol and blaring music often did that to a person. Kobra was often too tame for his likings so he ventured for sturdier clubs, EDM and ecstasy were a weekend ritual and he’d been in recovery. 

Third glass of champagne in hand and hardly feeling the affects, Genevieve watched the scene unfold before in amusement. Whitney had already stormed off after alcohol collided with her designer dress, leaving Richard as prey to the thirsty housewives of Atlanta. As his Vice President, she should swoop in to help but lingered far enough to watch it all unfold for a little while longer out of pure joy before making her move. Downing the contents of her glass, she sat it on a passing tray as she walked over to Richard, arm looping around his. “’Scuse me, mind if I borrow him for a sec?” Not bothering to come up with an excuse as to why, she’s already tugging the President away to safety. “I swear, half my job is saving you from getting groped and gawked at by every lonely Stepford wife in this city.”

😈