Page 29

Good Girl

“I ’d like to put all three of my children in lessons,” Ophelia Jane Longworth says.

She’s sitting on the chair primly, her knees together and a small cocktail purse balanced in her lap. Her entire demeanor is like someone who’s afraid to catch a disease from the place they’re in, and it pisses me off. Ophelia was the duchess in charge after Amy Matilda Behle, and she carried out the most heinous of the punishments when we were in high school.

OJ wasn’t afraid of getting her hands dirty back then, and she hasn’t grown up a whit if you ask me.

“I can do that, Ophelia. I’ll need to put them in different age groups—which means they’ll have lessons on different days. If you need to check their current activities against the open lesson grid, you can use the website to request their day and time.”

My smile is sunny, but inside, I can’t wait to get this viper away from me. She glared at me hard when she saw Teddy with his arms around me. I’m not sure if she’s holding a torch from high school or if she’s acting in defense of a friend, but she’s been an icicle from the second she perched her malnourished bum in my chair.

“Outrageous! I’ve been waiting in this dump for over an hour while you climbed on every bachelor in town like a cat in heat. Now you tell me you can’t register my children tonight? Wasn’t that your line at Parent’s Night, too?”

I whip a piece of paper out of the file folder, planting a pen on it a bit more firmly than I need to. “Ophelia, if you have all the information on all three of your children’s activities memorized, please fill out the request now. Note the line that says all spots are final once claimed, and if the child can’t attend a class, you will get charged. My time is valuable, and I do not wait for students who cannot be on time and prepared to learn. There is also a non-refundable fifty percent down payment due at registration.”

Her eyes narrow. I can see the wheels turning in her brain, trying to figure out whether I’ve written my paperwork well enough to keep her from fighting it if she risks it. I bat my lashes at her, waiting patiently. Jackson drafted all of my forms and paperwork for the gallery, and this weekend, Edgar and the boys helped me ‘Hollow Proof’ it. They’re all aware of how the snooty assholes in this town wiggle out of contracts and paying their debts, so I’m confident OJ can’t find a loophole.

“Fine. I will consult my calendar, the nanny, and our staff. Once I’m certain, I assume I can sign them up without having to waste time coming here, yes?” she snarls, curling her lip.

“Yes. On the website, Ophelia. It’s listed on every page of every form you’re holding,” I reply sweetly. She’s not the first socialite I’ve had this conversation with tonight, but she’s the least brilliant. Like father, like daughter, I suppose. Aldous may be cunning, but that’s a survival instinct.

“If I have any issues with this ridiculous process, I will let Mayor Sykes know of my displeasure.”

“Say hello to your father, Ophelia. We were so hoping he’d attend this evening,” I reply, trying to look innocent as I call her bluff about the Mayor. She’s used to people knowing that Aldous has the Mayor’s ear, and her angry expression betrays her intentions. My dig prevented her from using that connection surreptitiously—good. If OJ wants to come at me, she’ll have to do it directly.

She’s not the Queen Bee I’m worried about... not anymore.

When she stomps away, I breathe a sigh of relief. Since I moved home, I’ve had to confront a lot of demons from my past. Starting with Edgar, I’ve been working my way through the elites one by one. The boys may have grown up, but the girls have not. I still haven’t seen Jillian Marie Remington, Reese Emily Barrington, or the head mean girl, Amy Matilda Behle. Since I’ve had to deal with their parents in town and the next generation at school, I’m not eager to remedy that situation.

“They’ve been rough, eh, Peanut?” Seer remarks, coming up beside me to hand me a glass of champagne.

I gulp it down in one swig, turning to give her a grateful look. “At least none of them has called me a whore yet. I know they all saw Edgar’s little show, and trust me, it wasn’t received well. I’ll make a tidy sum with lessons and classes, but it won’t come easily. These bitches will make certain of that.”

Her lips quirk, and she tilts her head at me, giving me a mischievous grin. “Good thing I’ve got a plan to make everything better, innit?”

Arching a brow, I frown. “No retaliation for the moment, Seer. As much as I’d love to botch someone’s Botox or whatever crazy revenge you’ve got planned, I don’t think it’s time for Def-Con Seer yet. They’re spiteful witches, but they have done nothing but remind me why I stayed away from this town for so long.”

“Ah, Peanut. You mistake the source of my excitement. There’ll be no arguments once I tell you, right?”

“That’s not a suspicious request at all ,” I retort. “But I trust you. What do you have planned?”

Her grin widens, and she vibrates with excitement. “I’ve already told your lads to shove off because we’re driving to the city to have a girls’ night. I have all the shite to take off in an hour, and they’re going home to man the animals. It’s you, me, alcohol, and the dance floor tonight, just like old times.”

My bestie is so excited about her plan; I can’t tell her I’d rather go home, down a couple of milkshakes, and let the boys coddle me until I fall asleep. It’s not a school night, and I’m not scheduled for the farm tomorrow. I don’t have even a hint of an excuse to pawn her off. She’s clearly had this plan in motion for most of the evening, and I’ll hurt her feelings if I refuse. So I muster up as much enthusiasm as I can and give her a bright smile.

“The Terror Twins of Tripoli ride again!”

Seer whoops loud enough to turn more than a few heads our way, which she silences with a glare that could freeze a flame in place. “Aye, that’s my girl! Now, get these women settled, and we can shut this down on time. I can’t wait for you to see what I’ve got planned for our entrance.”

Oh, sweet baby Hercules and the minions of Hades. I gave her another reason to dress me up.

* * *

“ Seer ! My ass is hanging out of this. I have enough dudes clogging up my kitchen in the morning!”

Her laughter is contagious, despite the insanity she has me strapped into. She insisted we drive into the city to go dancing at a club she found online, and if what I’m wearing is any sign, the boys are gonna be pissed we didn’t invite them. I tug on the bottom of the tux jacket a bit as we walk, finally understanding why she insisted on leaving it a shade longer than I would have preferred.

She intended the damned thing to be a mini-dress for this outing.

Saoirse O’ Flanagan could have built her own fashion house from the ground up, even without her family name, but she chose the avant garde route as a personal costumer instead. The fashion world should both weep and be glad she decided her talents were better used for individual designs rather than the mass market.

I watch her stride up to the bouncer in the white corset with a fluffy bustle that trails over her matching fishnets to the heels of her knee-high raver boots. His eyes widen at the shock of flaming hair, wild fairy makeup, and leather accessories on her thighs, wrists, and neck. She could be the bait in a bondage themed paranormal romance, and she knows it.

The dude rakes his eyes over me as well and I glare, holding up the cuffed wrist with a haughty smirk. “Sorry, bud. Not on the menu.”

“Shame,” he mutters, lifting the rope in front of the line so we can slip in. “The Boss would like you—both of you.”

I share a look with Seer, and she giggles. There was a time where we would have taken Gigantor here up on that offer. But, alas, no more. No matter how many people tell me ‘I’m gathering’, I’m content with the amount of people demanding my attention at the moment. I don’t care if his boss is Jason Momoa; I’m good.

“Keep yer shorts on, bruiser. I might be free later,” Seer says, winking as we walk into the dark club.

A swift yank on her train stops her, and when she turns to look at me, I hiss, “I’m not running around here alone while you pick out your favorite sausage or taco for the evening, you know. You said this was a girls’ night.”

“We won’t be alone, Peanut. We came to see the show. You’re going to love it.” Seer grabs my hand and I sigh, letting her pull me deeper into the club.

The inside of this place isn’t at all what I would have imagined based on the name. Howl isn’t some trendy Goth disco, or even a warehouse rave—it’s a velvet seating, crystal chandeliered room with modular seating facing small stages. They dressed the staff like it’s the roaring 20s, and the bar is mahogany.

A few of the areas have curtains drawn around them, and the ones that don’t have darkened prosceniums. They dressed patrons in everything from cocktail gowns to bondage gear to what appear to be period costumes. The one thing the clientele of... whatever the hell this place is... have in common is they’re all ridiculously good looking and almost certainly wealthy.

“Saoirse Viola O’Flanagan, where the goat slaughtering hell are we?” I mutter under my breath. I don’t expect her to answer; she’s too far ahead to hear me. However, even when we were gallivanting around the world, we never came to a place like this. It’s... otherworldly. There’s just no better word to describe it.

We stop in front of a section near the back that looks half filled. Seer drops into one of the fancy booths meant for a smaller group and gives me a cheerful grin. Rolling my eyes, I slide in next to her with my hand over the back of the tux dress so I don’t flash anyone nearby. A server in a flapper dress appears, and we order drinks. My friend ignores my anxiety, humming under her breath as she looks at a menu to decide what she wants to eat. When I can’t take it anymore, I slam my fist on the table, making her jump.

Oddly, no one even looks in our direction.

“I need an explanation. Now ,” I growl softly. “Where are we? What is this place? I thought we were going clubbing.”

“We are, lass. But first, we’re meeting up with a few of my friends. They haven’t been to this side of the pond for a long time, and I’m up to high doh for them to meet you.”

The server reappears with our drinks—a Blanton’s neat for me and Ocean Water for Seer—then disappears once she places the food order. I’m not sure what the hell she ordered because it had weird names, but my BFF knows good food and she hasn’t steered me wrong in the past. Sipping my drink, I look at the stage for a moment before I sigh. “Seer, I’m happy you’re here, and I love going on adventures with you, but you need to tell me who?—”

“There’s the bawdy lass who always has a glass!”

Turning towards the sound of the booming voice, my jaw drops. Three impossibly hot people are making their way to our table, and behind them, the curtain around our module is closing as if it was waiting for their arrival. The woman is tall and pale, with silver and rainbow colored hair shaved into a rakish faux hawk.

There are designs shaved on the sides, and she’s dressed in skintight leather matching the streaks in her hair. Her companions are a brute who would give Benjy a run for his money in a ‘stuck in the doorway’ contest and a lithe, long-haired guy who could audition for an ACOTAR movie. It charges the surrounding energy as they approach, and I can’t help but wonder why I’ve never met them before.

“Aye!” Seer shouts, jarring the table in her enthusiasm. “Julia, Tharin, Zasha… this is Jolene Athena Whitley.”

I watch the motley trio, not sure why something inside of me is wary of their presence. I’m not one to be jealous of my friend, but I’ve also had a lot of reasons to suspect Trojans bearing gifts, so to speak. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you. Seer has told me absolutely nothing about you,” I snark, giving them my best Southern belle smile.

“She is a pip,” Julia murmurs, her eyes dancing. “I can see why you’re so attached to her, O’Flanagan.”

It’s hard not to bristle at that. People seem to equate my ability to stand up for myself with cutesy spunk of late, and it’s grating on my nerves. I know not all of them are being condescending, but it damn sure feels like it. “ She has a name, and she is sitting in front of you, Julia.”

Seer winces when speakers in the club squeal with interference, her gaze cutting to mine with a panicked look. “Now, ladies. Let’s not be a cliche trope. There’s more than enough of me to share.”

“That’s been true many a time in the past,” the big dude says with a knowing smirk.

Assholes.

Seer’s friends are assholes, and she’s giving me the ‘make nice with the scary people’ expression she patented years ago. Her penchant for finding the ne’er-do-wells in every crowd is legendary, and if she’s trying to get me to behave, I guess I’ll go along for now. “Yes, well, since we’re all aware of how flexible my bestie’s proclivities are, would you like to let me know which one of you is Tharin and which is Zasha?”

The smaller man drops into the booth next to me, flashing a toothy grin. “I’m Zasha, love. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance.”

Ah, I get it now. Julia is traveling with a grumpy asshole and a smooth talker. I can relate. “That would make Mr. Personality here Tharin, I suppose.”

Julia climbs into the booth, scooting in next to Seer, and motions for Tharin to follow. After a moment of watching him struggle to wedge himself in, she gives me a wink. “That’s spot on. We took a job that brought us back to the States, and when we heard it was near where Saoirse was living, we had to drop in. Apologies for the last minute notice.”

That was vaguely specific. Hm. “Will you be in the area long? I could recommend some hotels here if you need.”

Tharin coughs, and Zasha lets out a booming laugh. “Unnecessary, Miss Jolene. Saoirse has graciously agreed to host us while we consult throughout the state. We’ll be in and out as our contract dictates, but you will definitely see us.”

Frowning, I narrow my eyes at the server as she returns with a huge tray. Now I get why Seer ordered enough to feed an army—Tharin alone could probably eat all of it and us without getting full. I pick up something that smells delicious and looks fried, holding my glass up to the woman before she leaves again. I’m certain I’ll need more alcohol and a lot of terrible food to get through this evening.

Let the show begin.