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)
I lead her over to the nurses counter and pull the tiny blue sticky note out of my bag. “Is this Vietnamese?”
She looks at the note, her eyebrows rising. “Where did you get this?”
“I went back to that club last night with Maddox. This was attached to my drink. Could have been a mistake, attached by accident.” I move my weight from one leg to the other. For some reason, my stomach is fluttering with nerves. “Is it just a drink order?”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s not that.” She scratches the back of her neck. “And you received this from a server?”
“I’m not sure if I received it or if it just made its way to me. All I know is that it was attached to my drink.”
Dinah swallows, looking back at the note. “Well, it is Vietnamese. The handwriting is a little scratchy, and one of the words is misspelled, but it’s pretty clear what the note is saying.”
My heart starts to race. “What does it say?”
Dinah stares at me, her eyes wide. “Please help me.”
22
MADDOX
I should have just opened the shop late, spent the morning with Alissa.
I’ve had a few people come in, and even one sale, but nothing worth a few extra hours with the woman of my dreams.
God…
Since when do I use the phrase “the woman of my dreams?”
I’ve never been a romantic. I’ve always been the type of guy who’s avoided a relationship in favor of focusing all of my energy on the shop. I’ve had one real relationship in the past, and one… Well, another affiliation with a woman that transcends definition.
I occasionally meet a woman at Aces, have some fun fooling around with her, and then leave it at that. Whenever I’ve taken a woman home, I’ve always been up-front about our encounter being strictly casual and unlikely to lead to a relationship. She’s usually just as happy as I am to keep those boundaries in place.
I always figured that if a relationship was meant to be, it would land in my lap.
And three days ago, Alissa Maravilla walked into my shop.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since.
The mere thought of her, of what we did last night, is enough to get all my juices flowing.
Fuck. Could I truly be falling in love with her?
I never thought it would be possible after…
After her.
One of the only other women who could rouse Mad Maddox from his slumber. My only true capital-R relationship. The woman who fucked me over when I was at my lowest point.
Laurie Caulkins.
Everyone in the Chicago political sphere made it to the funeral.
They’re supposed to be here. It’s their duty. You attend the funerals of people who held important offices, regardless of how unpopular they were at the end of their term, regardless of whether your political party was at odds with them.
And every political party was at odds with my father in the final year of his term.
He was supposed to win reelection in a landslide.
Instead, he threw it all away with some foolish legislation that no one understood. His advisors begged him not to, but all their counsel fell on deaf ears.
Just like they told him, he lost.
And within another year, he was dead. That last year of his mayorship took its toll on his physical and mental health. The press had a field day, and there was conjecture that his death might be ruled a suicide. The coroner laid those rumors to rest. Heart attack, the kind where you’re alive one minute and dead the next. It was quick and painless, in his sleep.
Probably a better fate than a lot of the people sitting right here in this cathedral—pretending to be focused on the program so they don’t have to socialize with their political enemies—thought he deserved.
I haven’t seen Dad since I left home a week after I turned eighteen. Mom called me every so often to check in, but she always seemed to do so when Dad was out of the house. He never visited the shop, but he cashed the checks I sent him every month with his share of the profits. I thought about holding onto a check once to see if he’d be forced to come to the shop to collect. He’d see everything I’d done—what I’d sacrificed a promising political career for.
But I knew that I wouldn’t get the reaction I’d be hoping for. So I always paid on time and in full.
Mom isn’t here. She’s become something of a recluse since her divorce from Dad. She scrapes together enough money to live, and I’ve offered to help her, but she refuses any assistance. She rarely takes my calls anymore, and when she does, I can tell that she’s been drinking heavily.
When—or if—the shop takes off, I’ll try to get her the help she needs.