Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
"Hope, you know I hate violence," I reminded her.
"But the difference is, these fighters want to fight. They enjoy it."
"Well, clearly, they need some therapy," I decided, stomach turning at the idea of anyone enjoying inflicting pain. For self-defense was one thing. I understood that, even if I had a hard time imagining myself being able to raise my hands to someone. But hitting someone for pleasure? That seemed sick. It was the kind of thing only sick people liked. Right?
"Don't we all?" she asked, giving me a knowing look as she turned to grab our drinks. I had no idea what they were, but they were red and didn't smell too horrific, so I took a tentative sip.
"Are the guys here?" I asked, remembering the bikes in the lot. "Is that why you wanted to come here? Do you have something going with one of them?" I added. Sure, Hope was not exactly a romantic, and certainly not a relationship person, but she'd always had an appreciation for men. Not quite the same way Billie did, but in a way all her own. Sex dynamics for Hope seemed to have a power play to them. And I could see how an outlaw biker might be intriguing for her.
"Ew," she said, shooting me a 'Are you out of your effing mind?' look. "No. I mean they are always good for a hang. You find yourself not busy on a Tuesday night, they are partying up at some place or another. There's never a dull moment. But no. Not my thing."
"What is your thing then?"
"Making money."
"But you're an unpaid intern."
"Yes, well, hence my thing being making money," she agreed, shrugging. "But yeah the guys are here. A few of them anyway. I think I saw Fallon and Seth chatting up two up-and-coming jewelry designers. They are nothing if not predictable."
It didn't escape me that she hadn't mentioned Niro.
Thank God.
I mean my relief was two-fold.
First, that I wouldn't have to endure any other uncomfortable interactions with him.
Second, I didn't like the idea of him fighting. Even if we weren't close anymore. I knew his dad fought, and that he had always looked up to Pagan. But I was glad this was one of the ways he had differed from his father.
"Crap. I need to go inform Billie that the guy whose lapel she is stroking is a massive cocaine dealer in the city. I'll be right back."
And with that, she was gone.
I watched as she moved through the crowd, grabbing Billie, saying something to the drug dealer as she led a reluctant Billie away, pulling her to a corner to relay her information.
"You are the prettiest thing in this room," a deep voice said at my side, surprising me, making me turn to find an attractive older man with a little salt and pepper in his dark hair and beard, and unreadable, but attractive, light brown eyes. He was a massive wall of a man, too. Tall, strong. Unlike everyone else—save for the Henchmen who had dressed down as well—he wasn't wearing a suit.
"Oh, ah, thanks," I said, feeling my cheeks heat. I had never been any good at receiving compliments, even though I'd never been afflicted with any troubling self-consciousness. I guess it just caught me off-guard. I had grown up around a ton of drop-dead gorgeous girls in my circle. And my girl-next-door sort of looks always paled a little in comparison.
"I'm Toll," he said, pronouncing it Tah-ll.
"That's an interesting name. Is it a nickname or short for something?"
"Tolliver," he explained, shrugging.
"Oh, nice. I'm Andi. It's not short for anything," I added, since everyone asked.
"So, Andi-not-short-for-anything, you already have a drink which would usually be my next line. So how about I ask instead how you found yourself here?"
"Oh, ah, my cousin dragged me," I said, pointing my drink in Hope's general direction where she was arguing with Billie who seemed like she wanted to go finish her conversation with the drug dealer, despite knowing his profession. "This is not usually my sort of thing."
"Me either. I got dragged here too," he said, shrugging. "What would you rather be doing?"
"Oh, taking my dog for a walk. Looking for a job. I just moved back to town," I explained.
"What kind of work?" he asked, seemingly genuinely interested, not just making polite chit-chat because he wanted to soften me up to his ulterior motivators.
"I'm a vet. Well, I have the degree. I'm not sure I have the chops for it, though, now that I finished all the schooling."
"You'll find your way. Everyone is in a rush to have all their shit figured out by the time they're twenty-five these days. Take it easy, angel. Life is too short to micro-manage every minute of it."
"You're right," I agreed, taking a deep breath.
In general, I had never been a micro-manager. I had always gone with the flow. But something about failing so quickly at my first "grown up" job was really eating away at my confidence, making me feel like I was behind the curve. But that was silly. There was no clock to beat. I could take my time.