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Cutting her off I asked,“My type?”arching one brow.

“Yes, your type. Cocky, headstrong, a smart ass.” Her lip quivered, hand caressing the back of her neck.

I brought my hand up to halt the barrage. “Alright, alright. I get your point.”

“No matter what he says to you, I'm just asking that you be nice is all.” Her finger pushed against her bottom lip, chewing on the skin. “Forget it,” she spat quickly, moving to the side. “Forget I said anything, just go talk to him.” She rubbed her forehead, looking towards me under hooded lids.

Gliding my fingers over her hair, she jumped back, glancing at the door. “Don't worry, your father is going to love me.”

Turning away from her, I gripped the cold glass knob. It was flashy, different cut angles glistened with the dull lighting.

Electric nerves sparked from head to toe, a rush of uncertainty and discomfort sat heavy like lead in my gut.

I didn't remember ever feeling so uneasy about meeting a girl's father. Especially since this one actuallywantedto meet me.

'Clank, clank.' My knuckles burned against the wood.

“Come in.” A deep voice, barely a whisper above the music, called out.

Opening the door, I stepped inside. The scent of cheap cigars hung in the air. A small lamp, hardly emitting enough light to give a full spectrum to the room, rested on the desk.

“Close the door, please.” The man, who I assumed was Cadence's father, pulled a long, drawn out inhale on his cigar. A roll of smoke lit up as it cascaded by the lamp. The ghostly wave flowed out, swirling across the single chair set before his desk.

“Hello, I'm Quinn.” Stepping forward, I held my hand out.“Be polite,”her guidance sat like molasses in the back of my brain.

“I'm aware of who you are, Quinn. I'm Louis.” His massive hand gripped firmly, a bear size paw wrapped around my fingers, comparable in size to mine. “Sit,” he said, leaning back, forefingers straightened, pressing against his mouth.

Lowering into the chair, I could barely squeeze in. The seat looked old, made during an era where men my size hardly existed. The arms clenched around my hips, causing me to angle one side just to hit the cushion. Comfort was nonexistent, my ass was sore as shit after a few seconds.

Despite the music, an eerie silence paraded through the room. He sat, staring into me. “Do you know why you're here?” His hands fell towards the desk, chest following to hover right above the detailed mahogany.

“Cadence told me you wanted to see me and thank me for last night.” Squinting my lids, my forehead raised to my hair line.

What kind of question is that?

“Yes, Cadence, and the debacle in my bar.” He lifted his cigar from the tray that cradled it. “But, to thank you, no.” Dragging the long ash head across the edge, a sinister grin spilled from his face as it crumbled into dust.

What the fuck? Had she lied to me?

Filled me with a bullshit story, but for what?

My body tensed, I felt trapped, uncertain of what his intentions were. “Then what the hell am I here for?”

She wanted me to mind myself, be nice and not mouth off to her dad, but these types of games didn't sit well with me.

Will I play nice to get what I want? Absolutely.

Will I chase a wet pussy? Absolutely.

Will I stand by and be mind fucked? Not a chance in hell.

Opening a small oak box on the desk, her father turned it towards me. “Cigar?” he asked. His yellow teeth were a shade of orange under the light.

Shaking my head no, I gripped the arms of the chair. The wood was so brittle, I could feel it splintering beneath my palms. “You didn't answer me. I asked you why I was here?” My brows narrowed, eyes glaring down.

Pulling a cigar from the box, he ran it under his nose, inhaling heavily. “These are expensive. Do you know how much a single one costs, Quinn?” His fingers twirled around the securely wrapped casing.

Was this what she meant by 'be polite?'