Abandoned Girl (Neighpalm Industries Collective, #1)

by Winston, Lexie

  This time she rolls her eyes. “Put the wallet down, you won't need it, and the phone, just shove it into the top of your dress. Lord knows those things are big enough to keep it safe.” She points at my breasts which are looking fabulous in the dress, though she's exaggerating about the size. Really, they’re just a little more than a handful for a man with average-sized hands.

  Doing what she says, we head down the stairs to the waiting car. “Good evening, ladies,” William’s elderly voice greets us as we climb in. He’s been the Boston’s driver for as long as I can remember and is in his late sixties.

  I shoot Maxine a dirty look before replying to him, “William, what are you doing driving us this late? We could have called a cab.”

  Maxine scoffs at me before he can answer. “Bitch, don’t get your nonexistent panties in a twist.” My heart in my throat, I look down at my dress to make sure nothing is showing, and she laughs, winking at me before continuing. “ I tried to, but he insisted on driving us. When we get there, he’s going to return and go to bed, and we’ll get a cab or an uber home.” She growls the last bit while looking at him in the rearview mirror.

  Wisely, William just nods and smiles. “Of course, Miss Maxine.”

  He points the car in the direction of Hartford, and we get moving. Maxine has her phone in hand, and her fingers are moving furiously across the screen. “The gang’s all there already,” she tells me without looking up. “They can't wait to see us.” I scoff and sit quietly as I watch the rural area roll by and slowly build up until we’re traveling through the city. ‘The Gang’ are all kids we went to school with. Snobby rich kids who always treated me no better than the dirt at the bottom of their shoe, but Maxine mostly protected me from the worst of their petty bullying. These people are all connected somehow, through business mostly. It all seems so incestuous from the outside, it also means that Max never wants to rock the boat too much. She walked a fine line between being my friend and supporting me and not pissing off the children whose families move in the same social circles as the Bostons. Not that I think Melinda or Chuck would care either way; they have no tolerance for snobby bullshit, but their daughter doesn’t know how to survive while adopting her parents’ attitude.

  William pulls the car up in front of a building glittering with spotlights and a line that stretches back around the block. A neon sign showcasing a horse head and palm trees with a martini glass in the middle is lit up with the words Club Neighpalm splashed across the front. I groan at the sight of that line and look down at the heels that Max made me wear. Unlike her five-inch, mine are slightly lower at about three inches, but I’m naturally taller than Max. I’m also not used to wearing them like she is. She spends an equal amount of time in boots or heels, whereas I try to go barefoot whenever I don’t have on my boots. Either that or flip flops. The thought of standing in line for a long time has me questioning my decision to come.

  We climb out of the car, thanking William, and he smiles and waves goodbye before driving back into traffic. I start to head toward the back of the line, but Max grabs me. “Where are you going?” she asks, looking confused.

  “To the back of the line,” I tell her, gesturing down the block.

  She just shakes her head and mumbles, “It’s like you don't even know me.” Then she pulls me toward the door, giving our names to the big beefy bouncer who eyes us appreciatively before stepping aside to let us in.

  “Ok,” I concede, “I should have known better. How did you get us on the list?”

  “You know my grandparents’ besties, Grace and Howard?” she says as we walk through the quiet foyer.

  “Nana and Poppy Summers?” I reply in confusion, thinking about the kind older couple that visit Nana and Grandpa Boston a couple of times a year.

  Nana and Grandpa Boston, Chuck’s parents, are an older, refined couple who I've always felt didn't agree with Melinda and Chuck taking in a stray junkie’s daughter. They were never outwardly hostile, but they never went out of their way to make me feel like I was wanted.

  Nana and Poppy Summers were the complete opposite. They filled a much-needed void when they visited the house. My mother’s parents died before I was born, so I had no grandparent figures in my life, but every time they visited, they treated me as one of their own. Nana would bake with me or take me on excursions to museums and the zoo and things. Poppy would slip me candy and chocolate, and when I fell off my pony for the first time, he was the one who picked me up, brushed me off, dried my tears, and made me get back on. “You’re not a successful horseman until you’ve fallen off at least a hundred times,” he reassured me. They would always invite me to come and stay with them at their place in California, but that was the one thing I was never allowed to do. When Mom gave me up to Melinda and Chuck, she made them promise I would never be allowed to leave the state. Just another way to control and manipulate me throughout the years. Couldn’t let her precious cash cow get too far away from her, and heaven forbid I have some fantastic experiences with the family that took me in, things she wasn't able to provide or down right didn't want to. She would tease me with this regularly.

  “Yeah, this is one of their clubs. You know Neighpalm Industries is a huge family corporation, and they have an airline, hotels, record and movie studios, even an energy drink. This is the latest club to open, and they put us on the list when I asked them to. We also get to drink for free tonight. VIPs all night long.” She does a little happy dance as we walk, and I shake my head at her, but an amused smile crosses my lips. I love seeing her let loose and not worry about social perceptions, so I savor each moment of ‘my’ Max until we get in front of her friends and that all changes.

  We approach the large wooden doors that also have the Neighpalm logo on them. Just in case anyone forgot who this club belongs to. The thud of the music can only just be heard through them, the soundproofing doing what it's supposed to. We stop, and Maxine turns to me, eyebrow raised, putting her hand on the door. “You ready for this?” Taking a deep breath, I add my hands to hers, and together we push open the heavy club doors and step into a pounding, hedonistic delight.

  Chapter Two

  Harlow

  The club is a sweating, heaving mass of bodies as we enter, practically straight onto the dance floor. We get swept up in the swell of people and find ourselves writhing around, surrounded by like-minded individuals. The smells of sweat and sex are heavy on the air, the flashing lights creating a disjointed, jarring atmosphere, and the smile that crosses my face is huge as I revel in the intoxicating feeling of letting go. It’s always a struggle to get motivated to come to a place like this, but once I’m here, I love that the dance floor makes everybody equal. It doesn’t matter where you come from or how much money you have. It’s about letting go of all the superficial crap and moving with the rhythm.

  Bodies are grinding on each other, hands either in the air or exploring the person nearby. Nothing is inappropriate, just individuals enjoying each other and living for the moment. I let the atmosphere take me, my worries and cares slipping away. Throwing my head back and closing my eyes, I become one with the beat.

  I don't know how much time has passed, but eventually, I see Maxine pull her phone out of her dress and look at the screen. She must have been summoned as she gestures to me, and I slowly follow her out of the crowd and up a flight of stairs after being vetted by the bouncer in front of the VIP area. Upstairs is another dance floor, this one a lot less crowded and looking a lot less free. Here it seems like they’re dancing to be seen, not for the joy of letting go. It’s why I always hate the VIP areas of these kinds of clubs. I want to be downstairs in the anonymous flow of fun-loving bodies, where it doesn't matter who you are or how much money you have. All anyone cares about is whether you have the stamina to go the distance.

  But Max is my friend, my only friend really, and she has been there through thick and thin, so of course, I indulge her. Who am I kidding? If anyone was ever my family, it’s Max. A long bar area and
many booths fill the space, and it’s within one of these that we find her group of friends. Everyone cheers when she arrives, greeting her enthusiastically and dragging her into the chaos, leaving me on the outside. A few wave and give me polite smiles, the guys mostly, but the girls outright snub me. I smile in return but don’t engage. The guys aren’t really interested in being my friend; they just hope that I’m easy and a chance to score tonight without much effort. My mother's reputation preceding me once again. Shrugging my shoulders, I head to the bar, passing a waitress with a fake smile heading for the booth. I would much rather order my own drink than have to listen to them be patronizing and rude to the staff. Not Maxine, she’s better than that, but she doesn’t ever tell her friends to cut it out when they behave like that, and that pisses me off. She knows they will turn on her quicker than she could blink, but fuck it would be nice if she finally stood up to those superficial assholes.

  The bar area is through another door, sitting in a glassed-off area where you can still see the upper dance floor and booths, but the noise is significantly reduced; the glass must have noise-canceling properties. The air is much cooler too. I’d tied my hair up on the dance floor to get it out of the way, and I can feel the refreshing air blowing over the sweat-drenched tendrils at the base of my neck. The feeling instantly makes me feel better as I step up to the marble-topped bar and wait to be served by one of the bar staff. It doesn't take long as there aren’t that many people standing here. It’s a sign of status to opt for table service, so that’s what most of these pampered princes and princesses prefer.

  Turning, I lean against the bar and look back through the glass at the VIP area. A small dance floor has a few people swaying back and forth, but their rhythm is off, and it’s more about being seen than actually enjoying the music. There's a small mirror ball sparkling above, sending down little sparkles of light all over the wooden floor, and the area must not have a smoke machine because there's no haze in the air like downstairs. Snorting in amusement, I roll my eyes at the thought. I guess smoke would defeat the purpose of people being seen. Deep into the back of the room are numerous cozy, dark wooden booths with tables and deep green cushioned seats for a more intimate experience. I can see some of them are being used by couples for more seductive activities

  “What can I get you?” A voice draws my attention, and spinning around, I find a dark-haired, eyeliner-wearing, nose-pierced goth boy waiting for me with a smile on his face.

  “I’ll have a bottle of water to start with and a Moscow Mule, please,” I tell him, handing over the VIP card the bouncer gave us when we gave him our names to come upstairs.

  “Sure thing, sexy.” He winks flirtatiously at me and busies himself getting my order. He’s cute, and I might be tempted to flirt back if I hadn’t seen him winking at the person he had served before me. I guess if I had his job, and tips were a major part of my income, I’d be flirty too. Though it is nice to feel sexy. While I wait, I look back out toward the section where Maxine is. Surrounded by her sycophantic friends, she appears happy and comfortable. Smiling then turning back around to wait for my drink, a movement to my left draws my attention.

  “Wow, what a beautiful tattoo.” The deep husky voice is appreciative as his comment draws my eyes to my full sleeve. From my shoulder to my wrist, I have a black and white floral design with roses, daisies, lilies, and a sunflower. There are a few vibrant, eye-popping splashes of color here and there in the form of butterflies amongst the flowers. In my sleeveless dress, it’s on full display, but I often forget it's there. Smiling, I turn to thank the man who complimented me, but my voice hitches when I look into a pair of crystal blue eyes that seem to glow in the dim light of the club. Mesmerized, I’m caught in his gaze until, slowly, he blinks long dark lashes, bringing me back to my senses. He has a smile on his face as if he was waiting for me to say something.

  “Thank you,” I reply, studying the gorgeous man in front of me. He’s taller than I am in my heels but not by much. His midnight black hair is tousled and looks like it could have a little wave in it, but it’s not long enough for me to tell for sure. Black stubble crosses his strong jawline and surrounds his full lips, but it seems like it’s there because he forgot to shave for a few days, not groomed to perfection. Sharp cheekbones and a slightly crooked nose lends a somewhat cavalier look to his otherwise pretty face. My eyes drift down his body. He looks fit; his dress shirt has the sleeves rolled up, showing his sexy tattooed forearms, and his tie is loosened at his neck, the blue shirt stretched across his chest. His black pants sit nicely on his hips, his belt drawing my eyes to his slender waist, but it gives me no hint of what might be underneath. An amused look is in his aquamarine eyes when mine drift back toward them, and I shake my head in embarrassment of my perusal.

  “Sorry,” I apologize sheepishly. “I can’t even blame the alcohol since this is my first one,” I tell him as the bartender puts my bottle of water and my Moscow Mule in front of me and hands back my VIP card.

  He laughs indulgently, dimples appearing on both cheeks, as he steps closer toward me. “Don't apologize. I don't mind being eye fucked by a gorgeous woman.” He waves his hand at the bartender, who nods and starts to prepare him a drink without him even saying anything.

  “Is that a tattoo by a local artist? It’s amazing work. My brother owns a tattoo studio and would be interested in having an artist who can produce that kind of quality.”

  My heart sinks a little with the line of questioning. I thought he was just using it as a pick-up line, but no, it seems like he's only interested in my ink. Of course he is, why would anyone actually be interested in me? I plaster a smile on my face and reply, “Yes, Tasha is a local artist. She works at Saint Ink here in Hartford, but I’m not sure if you’ll be able to convince her to leave since her boyfriend owns the studio. I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask.” My heart races at the thought that he may be interested in offering her a job.

  Tasha and I got to know each other really well during the time it took to do my sleeve, and I’ve got a few more that are covered by my dress. She's probably the only other person that I would call my friend apart from Maxine. Unlike Max's need to fit in, Tasha is more like me. Career-driven and happy with her own company, though I think she has her own issues. I see the way her boyfriend treats her, and I would punch him in his junk if he was mine. Maybe we are more alike than I think in other ways, but we avoid any of that kind of personal talk like the plague. I don't say anything when it happens in front of me because I can tell by the fear in her eyes that it would make it worse for her. He’s not only her boyfriend, but her boss, so until she decides she’s had enough, all I can do is be there for her, with a few thinly disguised hints at getting another job. I regularly email her open positions, but she hasn't bothered to take any up. Maybe she’s scared he may find out. I really wish I could help her more, and maybe this guy might be her way out. I pick up my water and Moscow Mule and give the guy a polite smile before heading back out to Maxine.

  The noise of the club is an assault to the ears after such a peaceful break, and I think I've just about had enough of the VIP experience. Deciding I can't be bothered with her vapid friends today, I find a booth on its own tucked back into a corner, and I place my drinks down on the table before sliding in and letting out a breath. I think about sending Max a text to let her know where I am, but she’s probably forgotten about me by now, and I wouldn't want to risk that she comes over to find me and brings her friends. This is perfect. Hidden back here, I’m sure it’s free because you can’t see or be seen, but that suits me just fine. I can just see the corner of the VIP dance floor, where Maxine and her friends have now moved to, but their movements are stiff and thought out. Wouldn't want to be seen not giving a shit. I roll my eyes in exasperation. For someone so confident, she does give in to societal norms with little to no fight.

  I take a large gulp of my water before I start on my Mule. Taking a sip, I savor the tart bite of the vodka, lime, and ginger beer, and
lean back against my chair. Once I finish this, I’m going to head back downstairs and join the masses; I deserve to enjoy my night out too.

  “There you are.” The husky voice can barely be heard above the music as the man from the bar slides into the booth next to me. The scent of his cologne, something spicy, tantalizing my senses. “I turned around to grab my drink, and when I turned back, you were gone.”

  “Oh, I thought you only wanted the information about my tattoo artist,” I reply in surprise, and a shocked look crosses his face. Now it’s my turn to blush again, realizing that I’ve gotten caught checking the guy out then accidentally snubbed him. 0 for 2, Harlow. Nice going.

  With a rueful smile, he runs a hand through his hair. “God, my flirting skills are rusty. I’m sorry I gave you that impression. I’m Jaxon.” He holds his hand out, and I grasp it. It engulfs mine, but I can feel that our palms are similar, rough and bumpy with a few callouses. He must do some form of physical labor for work, a bit surprising coming from the man decked out in a suit at a nightclub.

  Smiling, I introduce myself. “I’m Harlow. Don't worry about it; maybe it's my rusty social skills.” I look to where Max is on the dance floor, hiding a grimace when I see that they’re still acting like the perfect socialite robots. “I don't go out very often, and when I do, my friend Max seems to get all the attention.” I gesture to where she’s dancing with her group of friends on the dance floor.

  He smiles, his eyes turning to where I’m waving, but they come right back to me, not even paying attention to the girls all grinding on each other, unlike many of the other men scattered around. “So what do you do, Harlow? What brings you out tonight?” I study him to see if he actually cares or if he’s only trying to get into my pants, but he seems to be interested. He moves closer, and instead of letting go of my hand, he grips it a little tighter, and a tingle rolls through my body.