Caila shakes her head nervously as if she’s too afraid to utter another word. If she thinks she’s afraid now, she’ll evaporate once she sees what I’m capable of.
“Daisy Pembrooke?” The sweetest Southern accent to ever exist bleats from the doorway, and everything in me deflates because I know exactly who that is. It’s Cassidy-Conversation-Killer-Clayton. For whatever reason, Caila clams up tight whenever her big sis enters the vicinity, but I’m not too interested in her cute little sibling foible. “Hey, girl!” Her entire face lights up at the sight of me. “My sweet little sis and I were just about to have lunch. Looks like we’ll be having some company.” Cassidy charges at me with open arms, and I stand and accept all of the love my good friend has to offer. “I’m so sorry, hon,” she whispers. “I can’t even imagine what you must be feeling right about now. I wish both you and Scarlett were already living out your legal dreams. I’d pay the both of you to double team that old rat coot.”
I pull back, the knot in my stomach already building before it accurately knows why.
“Hold that thought.” I glance back to Caila. I have a feeling that if I let Caila off the monetary hook for a single moment I’ll have to hoof it back to Briggs and just about everywhere else. “Caila, I’m begging you. Give me a job. I’ll be a sushi girl every day of the week.” I swallow my pride, quite literally. “Please.”
She shakes her head just enough. “I’m afraid I can’t help.” Her voice softens as she takes a step toward me. “Daisy, this club isn’t the place for you. I wish you the best of luck. I’m sure you’ll find something soon. You’re smart and beautiful, a real one-two punch. Go grab the world by the horns. You deserve everything it has to offer.”
“What the hell kind of pep talk is that?” I snap.
“Whoa.” Cassidy pulls me back as if I were itching to deck her sister, and I sort of am. “Caila’s right in everything she said.” Cass glares at her lookalike a moment. “All words I wish she would have utteredmonthsago. Daisy, you never belonged here. There are rules in these kinds of places, and they have nothing to do with you.”
I shake myself free from Cassidy’s grip. “Caila? Are you really going to do this to me? My life hangs in the balance. I’m going to lose everything if I don’t cough up a heck of a lot more money than I’ll ever get working at the student bookstore, or even waiting tables at the Black Bear. I’m not asking for a handout. I’m asking for a few hours of work if you can spare them.” A thought comes to me. “Which reminds me, there was a rather creative endeavor you talked me into for which I was never paid.”
Her eyes expand like silver dollars. “Honey, are you kidding me? Every creative endeavor I’ve offered, you’ve tossed to hell like a Greek salad. Neither of those parties will roll a fat nickel my way ever again.”
“What creative endeavors?” Cassidy looks spooked by the sound of it, and she should be.
“Oh, she’s full of them.” I dig my fists into my hips and lean in hard. “Who knows how many more ‘creative endeavors’ Caila has lurking around the corner of this queen-sized bed she’s squeezed in this room? God knows that makeup bag of hers is like a damn rabbit hole.”
“Wait a country fried minute.” Cassidy has that incredulous look on her face as if she’s just done the Caila Jace math. “Did my sister land you in that mess with the senator? And just what in the heck is a sushi girl, and do I really want to know?”
“Yes and no.” I look right at Caila as I out her. But I’m not interested in hanging around while the sister drama plays out. Instead, I peel out of there so fast Cassidy calls for me to stop, but my feet won’t listen to her charge. I jump into my car and drive straight back to Jet’s house. No sooner do I get inside than I notice my phone is lit up with a thousand messages—all of which sound just as cryptic as the message Cassidy whispered into my ear. One particular text catches my eye, Tiffany Ikeman—Abort! Abort! Do not, I repeat do not show up at the Legal Eagle rally this Friday night. I beg of you to spare both you and the Eagles the embarrassment.
Embarrassment?
I don’t waste another minute before checking the Internet. I’m just about to google my name when I realize I don’t have to.
“I’m trending,” I whisper in horror. I click over my name and hold my breath. “What kind of hellfire is about to rain down on me now?”
Senator Charles Danberry Admits to Affair with Dirty Dancer Daisy Pembrooke!
Senator Shakes, Pembrooke Doesn’t swallow! Senator admits to having oral relations but maintains he did not have sex with that woman. Danberry claims emissions were not expended.
“What? Holy hell, these are insane lies!” I fall hard into the seat beneath me and read on to my horror.
Senator Suggests Soldiers Were Dispensed—Held Back Fire!
Deep Throat Daisy Strikes Again!
Stripper Really Gets A Head in the World!
Daisy Pembrooke Has a Taste for Powerful Men!
Secret Lover Tended to Senatorial Erections!
No Honorable Discharge Given to Pembrooke! Senator Decries Completion.
Oh my shit.
I am so screwed. I am so very fucked.
I’m about to shoot a text to Jet before I realize I still don’t have his number. How can I sleep with a man on multiple occasions, exchange bodily fluids as if they were Halloween candy, and yet not have his seven digits?
I text Scarlett to get it from Rex, and she messages me back in three seconds flat. It does feel good to have real friends. I punch the number in, and before I start typing, I freeze.
“What?” I stare blankly at the messages I’m shocked to find that we’ve already exchanged.
