Raw and Dirty(7)

I sweep my hands down the front of my dress and take another step back.

“I should go,” I say, knowing that coming here was a mistake, a side effect of my sometimes too stubborn personality. This is not an appropriate time or place for business, and I'm supposed to be representing my father here. I might be twenty-eight years old, but I can tell you that if he saw what I was wearing, my dad would go completely insane. Probably fire me, too.

“Go?” Royal asks, true puzzlement lacing his voice. “But you only just got here. Don't be so uptight, Pint-Size. Come party with us.”

When he reaches down to take my hand, the contact knocks the air—and any future protesting—right out of me.



Two minutes inside the hot, sweaty interior of the clubhouse and I can already tell that I''m being treated with kid gloves. Nobody talks to me, hardly even touches me. In the thick press of bodies, I'm the only person who seems to have a personal space bubble surrounding me. Or maybe there's some invisible sign above my head that says MAYOR'S DAUGHTER—APPROACH WITH CAUTION.

I sigh.

“Can I get a Midori sour, please?” I ask the bartender, draping my fingers across the black marble bar top and letting my eyes wander around the room. A snort from across the counter draws my attention to a pair of blue eyes and a strange half-smile.

“A Midori sour? Please, honey. Take a look around the room.” The woman laughs, her teeth white in her tanned face. “I can get you some draft beer, a Bud, or two fingers of Johnnie Walker. Take your pick.” I flush from head to toe and wish I'd left when I had the chance. Now that I've talked with Royal, I feel obligated to stick around for a while. Back in a jiff, babe. I check my phone. It's been fifteen minutes since Royal left. I don't know about him, but according to Merriam Webster, a jiff is a moment or an instant. Not fifteen of them.

“Yeah, uh, Johnnie Walker?” I say. It comes out as a question.

The woman stares at me with some small amount of understanding and compassion and nods her head.

“Coming right up.”

I climb onto the leather bar stool and listen to the raucous boiling around me. It's absolutely crazy in here. Never in my life have a seen a party like this—not even in college. There's enough alcohol floating around to drown a herd of elephants, and the air is thick with the double scents of tobacco and pot (this is still Humboldt County after all). Plus, if I was the kind of person who kept count … I've seen at least thirty pairs of bare boobs—okay, okay thirty-six—and some couples who look like they should maybe move their activities to a more private area.

“You're the mayor's daughter, right?” the blonde asks me, pouring some alcohol into a glass without even glancing at it. She lifts the bottle up and pushes my drink towards me.

“Is it that obvious?” I ask, thinking about Royal's expression when I first turned around. He really didn't recognize me. The woman laughs and shakes her head, her halter top and tight leather pants giving the impression that she's a regular here. A … leather lover, maybe? An old lady? God, I hate that term. I thought I was dressing the part in my tight red strapless dress and black studded heels, but I look more like a club rat than a biker chick. The girls here have tattoos and piercings, leather jackets and pants that look painted on. I really missed the mark on this one.

“Royal said we should be on the lookout for you. Didn't recognize your face and you don't look like a groupie to me.” I try to decide if that's a compliment or not. I think it is.

“So that's it,” I say, looking over my shoulder again at the mass of men in leather vests and jackets, the girls dancing on a small stage in the corner. “Everyone here knows each other?”

“Yeah, well, that's club life for you.” I study the blonde's face, the faint laugh lines around her mouth. At first glance, I thought she was in her early thirties, but really I think she's probably around my mother's age. Wow. It's amazing what a sea of tattoos, some makeup, and a confident aura can do for a person. “You come to talk business?”

I shrug. I'm not exactly sure why I'm here. At first, it was because I was just pissed at Royal for blowing me off. Now … now I'm just stuck.

“Sort of,” I say and then shake my head. “I mean, if I can find him in all of this.” I gesture at the craziness behind me with my right hand and slam back the whiskey with the other.

Holy. Shit.

Oh God, that burns!

I slam the glass down on the bar and get a round of cheers from the men seated on either side of me.

“Nobody ever say the mayor's daughter can't hold her booze!” one of them yells and then they all lift their beers and cheer me on as the bartender pours another round in my glass. Uh oh.