Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
My old man stayed true to his word. He signed the building over to me in exchange for half of my profits. He gave me a one-week grace period to get the hell out of his house. Luckily, there was a small loft over the shop itself that I could use as an apartment. Most of the family friends who gave me money canceled my birthday checks before I could cash them, but I was able to hold onto a few of them, just enough to furnish the small apartment. I went to several banks and finally secured a loan of a hundred grand to fix up the shop and buy my first round of inventory. Within a few months, I was open for business.
And I couldn’t be fucking prouder of myself.
It was pretty scant there for a while, especially since my father was eating up fifty percent of my profits. I lived mostly off ramen noodles those first few years—so I guess I got a little bit of the college experience after all—but I slowly but surely eked out a living.
Meanwhile, my dad’s political career went south. A few sexual scandals came to light after he passed some highly unpopular legislation, and he lost his reelection bid in a landslide. He divorced my mother shortly after, leaving her with next to nothing. They, of course, had a prenup—no one in my family gets married without one. And then he dropped dead of a sudden heart attack within twelve months of his loss. I didn’t see a penny of the fortune he had amassed. Nearly all of his assets went to the various charities he supported, but he did leave me two things.
His car. The Rolls-Royce that I drove Alissa home in just last night.
And the membership to his club.
Why he did that is anybody’s guess. I sure wasn’t going to question it. Aces Underground is the most exclusive club in the city, and my father’s estate is paying my membership fees in perpetuity.
Maybe he wanted to give me one last taste of the high life, convince me to turn back to the dark side, follow his footsteps, restore the Hathaway legacy.
It’s tempting. Not because I want to undo what my father did—it’s his own damned fault that he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants or his brain in his skull—but because he left a small fortune in a trust, available to me on the sole condition that I go back to Yale, pursue the political career he always wanted for me.
But I won’t do it.
I won’t fucking do it.
The seedy underbelly that is the Chicago political sphere is not one where I imagine myself.
But I enjoy Aces. It’s a great club.
And I can’t wait for my first date with Alissa.
5
ALISSA
Another boring day at the hospital. Big shocker there.
Of course, boring is a good thing for the patients in my ward. None of them are dying, none of them are in intensive care.
The clock is ticking slowly. I know it’s awful, but I wish something would happen. Something dramatic to distract me from this boring day. I don’t want anyone to die, but maybe someone could flatline for just a second, make me rush into their room to help revive them.
Medical shows should have better prepared me for the agonizing tedium that entails ninety percent of this job.
The day is going slower than usual for another reason. I have something to look forward to.
My heart races when I think about my date with Maddox tonight.
I brought a change of clothes with me to the hospital. They’re in a garment bag hanging in my locker in the nurse’s break room. I wasn’t exactly sure what I should wear to a speakeasy. When Maddox first described the place we’re going tonight, my first thought was a 1920’s jazz club, complete with feather-covered flappers. I don’t have any dresses that match that vibe, but I finally decided on a light-blue dress that I typically reserve for all my first dates. It brings out the color of my eyes, accentuates my blond hair, and shows just enough skin to keep a man’s attention.
Finally, my shift ends. I walk over to where Dinah is sitting, give her a squeeze on the shoulder. “Bye, Di. I’ll see you later.”
She grins at me. “Have fun on your date, babe.”
I bite my lip. “I will. He seems like an interesting guy.”
I told Dinah all about my little encounter with Maddox last night. She was shocked that I took a different route home—I’m wed to routine—but thought the story of how we met was cute. A story we could tell our grandkids one day, she said.
I’m not counting on grandkids quite yet. Maddox could end up like every other man I’ve dated since moving to Chicago. Creepy, sex-starved, or—perhaps the gravest offense of all—just plain boring.