by Sophia Gray
“I’d be exactly like I am now if I didn’t have that money,” she said, her voice low and angry. “And she needs to understand that.”
Amelia laughed. She’d gotten it down to a science. It sounded exactly like she was really amused. Of course, twenty-three years of practice would do that for any skill. “Everyone knows that,” she lied. “Why waste your time with little Katie when you’ve got yachts to sail on? Now, tell me honestly, which of the waiters would you take home?”
Lauren scanned the room, placated and diverted. “The guy with the veggie platter is pretty hot.”
Amelia looked at him, too. “Tall, dark, and handsome. Isn’t that a little cliché?”
Lauren grinned. “Well, darling, I wasn’t planning on keeping him.” She straightened her dress. “I’ll be back.”
Amelia watched her walk away. Apparently, the dress, though it looked fairly simple, was part of an exclusive collection just off the Paris runway. Everyone had been talking about it.
Amelia had to admit it looked good. It was form-fitting with a deep plunging neckline and a scallop down the front that enhanced and caressed all of Lauren’s curves. To be perfectly honest, Lauren would have looked good in almost anything. Her confidence would have carried her even if her hours with a personal trainer weren’t obvious in every move she made.
Amelia rubbed the back of her neck. Her hair, swept back into an intricate chignon, was starting to come down just a bit. It always did, even though she’d tried every trick in the book to get it to stay where she’d put it.
It wasn’t just the hair either. She felt like there was always something just a little off about her appearance, no matter how hard she tried to match the other women in her circle.
Her hair would invariably come down, or there would be a small run in her stocking, or she’d arrive in what she thought was the latest trend, only to find her clothing just a few weeks out of style. Amelia’s own little black dress had missed the mark of simple elegance that Lauren’s had hit so effortlessly; she felt boring and stodgy. She sighed, wishing she could leave and knowing she couldn’t.
A booming voice over the speakers shook her out of her musings and made her jump.
Ben Barlow, the Governor of Nevada, had leaned close to the microphone. “And now,” he said jovially. “Let me introduce you to the man who made this possible, your state representative, Gregory Stratton!”
Amelia turned to watch her father ascend the small stage. He was smiling out at the crowd and she felt a slight surge of pride. He really did care a lot about the people of the state he represented. It was easy to forget when he was infuriating her and treating her more like a three-year-old than a twenty-three-year-old, but he was passionate about his job. She’d been so proud of him when she was younger.
“Good evening,” he said, his well-trained politician’s voice echoing through the room. “I’m so happy to see you all here. With your help and donations, I know we can conquer the drug problem in Nevada!”
The crowd clapped enthusiastically. Amelia looked down at her shoes. They’d argued over the fundraiser; she’d wanted him to do something more concrete with people’s time and money than the amorphous “war on drugs” but he’d shot down her suggestions. She let the rest of his speech wash over her without letting it really sink in. She’d heard him practicing enough over the past two months anyway.
When he was done speaking, he waited for the applause to end before leaving the stage. The crowd began reaching for purses and wallets, fired up to save the youth of their state from the evils of marijuana. His Taylorpaign might be struggling, but Gregory Stratton had always been an excellent and effective speaker, able to sweep a crowd right along with him.
Amelia turned away, wanting another glass of champagne. The irony of the fact that half of the group was tipsy, some of them even verging on drunk, while they rallied to stop substance abuse wasn’t lost on her. She planned to stay in control of herself here, though. The last thing she needed was to make of a fool of herself in front of some many of her father’s friends.
“Let me get that for you.”
She turned as someone reached around her and picked up two glasses. She vaguely remembered the man, but she couldn’t quite place him. She saw so many people at these types of events.
The man was good looking, but in an average, nondescript way. He had thick, light brown hair and pale blue eyes. His black, slim, crisp-enough-to-cut-someone Armani suit didn’t justsay ‘money’; it practically shouted it. His tie was in a perfect double Windsor knot. She was sure by the way he was looking at her that she should know him.
“Are you enjoying yourself tonight, Amelia?”
“Yes,” she lied automatically, giving him her best social smile, wide and sincere. There was nothing she could do but be honest. There was no way to bluff an entire conversation. “But, I’m so sorry; I can’t remember your name.”
Those ice blue eyes blinked in surprise. “I’m Anthony,” he said, his suavity momentarily suspended, overridden by disbelief. “Governor Barlow’s son.”
Amelia’s face flushed. Of all the people to forget about. Governor Barlow was the man that her father was most hoping to impress tonight. “Of course,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
His smile was a bit forced. “It’s not a problem,” he said. “I had hoped to be as memorable to you as you are to me...”
“I knew your face,” she said quickly, hoping to minimize the damage to his ego. “I just couldn’t remember your name. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other,” she went on, turning the conversation as smoothly as she could. “I think the last time was at your father’s reelection celebration. What have you been doing with yourself lately?”
He took a sip of champagne, apparently placated by her explanation. “I just finished my law degree.”
“Congratulations,” she said, actually meaning it this time. She leaned closer in interest. “What do you plan to do now? Is there a certain firm you’re looking at?”
He gave a negligent shrug, apparently getting bored with the topic. “I’m not sure. I’ll figure it out later, once I’ve taken a break.”
“Oh, I see.” She sighed as the avenue of conversation fell flat. Why did no one in her social circle want to do anything with their lives? Especially when most of them had the time, money, and status to do anything they wanted. She knew Anthony Barlow probably wouldn’t have much trouble finding a job in Nevada, but did he really have to sound so lazy about it?
“What about you?” he asked after a few moments of silence.
So much for hubris. Amelia glanced down at her shoes and held back a sigh. “Not much,” she admitted. “Helping Dad Taylorpaign for reelection and doing a lot of fundraisers and drives.” Or hindering him, depending on the day, but she wasn’t about to admit that to the man in front of her.
“That’s a lot,” Anthony said, looking over at her father, who was shaking hands with a senator and smiling as he spoke enthusiastically. “Your father has a lot of responsibility. I’m sure he’s happy you help him shoulder it, especially on a project that means so much to him.”
“Mmm,” she said absently as a sudden movement caught her eye.
Lauren was waving at her from a corner of the room. The wave grew slightly more frantic with each repetition. Amelia had no idea what could possibly be going on, but she needed to find out before Lauren drew too much attention to herself. Or before she gave up completely and walked away. Lauren Dorfman wasn’t known for her patience.
“I’m sorry, Anthony.” How many times was she going to have to apologize in one conversation? “Would you excuse me?”
“Of course.” He held out his hand. “I’ll hold onto your drink for you.”
“Thank you.” He was telling her to come back, then. It was too smoothly done for her to reject him, but she resented the pushiness of it all the same.
Amelia hurried over to Lauren and glanced around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. “What are you
looking so excited about?”
“I’ve invited a few people back to my hotel for a party,” Lauren said in a quick whisper. “Want to come with us?”
Amelia glanced around. She could stay here and watch as stodgy people sipped champagne while her father funneled money into a meaningless buzzword of a cause. She could keep struggling through a conversation with a guy she barely remembered while she tried her best to garner support for her father’s flagging Taylorpaign. Or she could go to one of Lauren’s lavish, impromptu parties. She knew what sheshoulddo. She also knew what shewantedto do.
“I’m in,” she said excitedly.
Lauren flung her arms around Amelia with a squeal. “I knew I could count on you. Come on, the waiter showed me a side entrance. We can sneak out right now.”
Amelia wasted no time in following the impulsive socialite down the hall and out of the side entrance. They walked down a short alley, past some garbage bins, laughing as they left the fundraiser behind them. It felt just like skipping school and Amelia knew she’d probably catch hell for it later, but she couldn’t take one more second of polite conversation.
# # #
Amelia stumbled into the foyer of her house at three in the morning. She tried to close the door quietly, but she misjudged the distance between her hand and the doorknob. It was much closer than it had looked. The slam reverberated through the hall and she giggled.
Her head was swimming from the alcohol she’d consumed steadily for the past few hours. It hadn’t been just champagne that Lauren was serving and Amelia hadn’t had any shortage of guys bringing her shots. She’d downed so many that the cab ride back had felt more like a rollercoaster. Now it was feeling more like a dream or a long forgotten memory. Had she paid? She probably had...otherwise, she wouldn’t be in the house. She giggled again.
“You’re finally home.”
She whirled around, slipped in her stocking feet, and sat down hard on the marble floor. Muted pain buzzed up her backbone, but she had to choke back another drunken giggle. She’d just remembered that her shoes, her horribly uncomfortable black stilettos, were at the bottom of the hotel pool. Lauren had thrown hers in, as well, and soon all the women had.
Her father flicked a switch and the chandelier seemed to beam directly into her eye sockets. Amelia gasped and smacked a hand over her eyes.
“Where were you?” he demanded tightly.
“Out,” Amelia answered. “Making political connections.” She peeked through her fingers and glanced up at him. “Just like you.”
“Out destroying my career!” Gregory shouted, hauling her to her feet as his strong voice echoed off the walls and made her wince. “Do you realize you stood thegovernor’s son up tonight?”
She pulled her arm away quickly and nearly lost her balance. “How? We didn’t have a date! Or...” She reached out and steadied herself against the mahogany bannister. “Was that why he was talking to me? It’s not enough that you control everything else about my life? Now you’re trying to marry me off?”
“He was interested in you,” Gregory said, looking her over from her messy hair to her bare feet. “I didn’t see the harm in the two of you talking to each other. Though, if he could see you like this...”
“What?” Amelia challenged. “Then he wouldn’t want me anymore? I had no idea that you were so eager to sell your only child!”
“Sell you?” Her father’s shoulders rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath. “I’m tired of you acting this way, Amelia May Stratton! Your drinking, your partying, your whining, your determination to run away from all your responsibilities to me, even at the expense of my career!”
“What?” Amelia began indignantly. “I--”
He held up his hand. “I’m not going to pay for you to behave this way anymore. And I’m certainly not going to fund you while you drag my name through the mud. This election has been hard enough!”
“Dad, I’m not--”
He cut her off brutally. “Get yourself together or pay your own way, Amelia. I’m done.”
She laughed, trying not to show the fear that was rising inside her. “And what exactly should I do, Dad? How do I prove I’ve gotten myself together?”
“Find a good man, marry him, and have some kids. Maybe help him with his career when you can. Keep your mind off of the stupid things you do when you’re alone.”
“Stupid things like enjoy myself with my friends?” she asked, furious that her voice was wavering.
Tears were beginning to sting her eyes. None of the people at the party were really her friends and her stomach was already beginning to twist from drinking too much. She didn’t enjoy herself away from home any more than she enjoyed herself when she was safe in the confines of her gated community.
“Or start paying your own bills,” he repeated. “I won’t pay you to flush your life, or my career, away.”
She opened her mouth to respond, then clapped her hand over it and ran up the stairs to the sanctuary of her ensuite bathroom. Showed what her father knew. She, Amelia Stratton, didn’t have a life of her own to flush away. She never had.
Chapter 2
Ethan
Ethan eyed the bike with a grin of pride and satisfaction that most people would have reserved for a wedding day or the birth of a child. Most people wouldn’t have directed it at the 1936 Flathead Harley Davidson in front of him. Surface rust covered the dilapidated bike from handlebars to tailpipe and it was missing a few pieces. The paint, which had been army green, was flaking off.
He loved it. He’d seen it on the poker run The Angel’s Keepers had done two weeks ago and he just had to have it. In his head, it was sleek and the chrome shone. In his head, it purred like a kitten and rode like a dream. In reality, it was going to take a shit ton of work.
He’d just started taking her apart when the garage door slid up and Taylor and Ryan walked in.
“Hey,” Ethan said, looking up quickly to acknowledge his road captain and his treasurer and then putting all his effort back into loosening rusted bolts. “Glad you stopped by, actually. Been meaning to talk to you about that ride out to the canyon and back.” It was getting close, but he hadn’t heard any final confirmations and that wasn’t like either of them. The wrench slipped from the pressure he was putting on the stubborn bolt and he skinned his knuckles on the engine. He switched hands and wiped the blood on his jeans.
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “We need to talk to you about that, too.”
Ethan finally pried his eyes away from his new bike long enough to notice how serious his road captain looked. His eyes flashed to Taylor, who was the treasurer for The Angel’s Keepers, and he saw pretty much the same expression. That wasn’t good.
Taylor laid a folder down on the sheet Ethan had spread out under the bike and opened it to find a long column of numbers. “The numbers are shit,” Taylor said bluntly. “And the ride ain’t happening. There’s no way we can afford it.”
Ethan leafed through the paperwork. There was a big withdrawal just a few days ago.
“What’s this?” he asked, indicating it with a greasy finger. “I don’t remember anything that should have cost that much from the last meeting.”
“Building taxes,” Taylor answered, his voice tight with anger.
Ethan’s brows drew together as he looked at the spreadsheet. Numbers weren’t exactly his strong suit, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen the prices that high before. “They aren’t usually like this, are they?”
Taylor shook his head. “No, not by a long shot. When I went down to pay it, I asked. It’s part of Stratton’s new safety act.”
“Right, because how much I pay in taxes makes me safer,” Ethan said sarcastically.
A shadow fell over the spreadsheet and Ethan glanced up to see his Sergeant at Arms standing in the garage doorway, blocking out the late afternoon sun. William’s massive arms were crossed over his chest and he was scowling hard. “It ain’t your safety he’s worried about, dumbass.”
“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” Ethan asked, going back to the numbers. There had to be some way to finagle them so they could still take the ride. Although, if there was, Taylor would have been the best man to find it.
“State Representative Gregory Stratton,” William growled. He stomped into the room and gestured for Taylor to get up off of the rolling stool he was currently occupying. Taylor stood quickly and without complaining. The Sergeant took no shit on a good day. No one in his right mind would argue with him when he looked like a thunderstorm.
“The taxes guy?” Ethan asked, turning away from the bike completely now. “Ryan, turn down the radio.” It looked like he wasn’t going to get any work done, and it looked like he had a damn good reason.
“Yeah,” William said, getting comfortable on the stool and lighting a cigarette. “This is gettin’ to be a serious problem.”
