Once settled inside the vehicle, I take off. Away from the house and feeling free, I know just where I want to go. The Back Door is a bar I visited last summer when they first opened their Hamptons location. The atmosphere is casual, fun and best of all, nobody will come looking for me there.
***
Maddox
I walk intoThe Back Door, the bar I manage, and nod at the hostess waiting to serve the guests who prefer tables to standing around the bar.
“Everything quiet?” I ask Sheila, who has been with the place since our opening. I came on a few months after.
“Yes. Nice turnover in the dining area.”
A glance tells me every table is full, with more people waiting outside. The owners, Zach Dare and Remy Sterling, will be pleased.
I nod. “Keep up the good work,” I say, then walk straight through to the bar where Cal, the head bartender, holds down the fort. “What’s going on tonight?” I ask.
Cal looks up from the glass he’s holding and wiping down the counter with a rag. “The usual,” he says. “And I’ve been keeping an eye on her.” He tilts his head toward the end of the bar.
Following his gaze, I see a pretty, young blonde stirring her frozen drink with a straw. She wears a halter-top that covers her neck and ends with a soft ruffle beneath her chin. Her arms are tanned, her skin golden, and her soft hair falls over her shoulders, straight and silky.
She mixes the drink, staring into the glass, something obviously weighing heavily on her mind. From her dainty movements to her clearly expensive clothes, and gold Cartier Love bracelet gleaming on her delicate wrist, every instinct I’ve honed over the years and learned from my brief but lucrative career on Wall Street, tells me she comes from wealth.
So why is she drinking here where the common people gather and not at Daddy’s social club?
As I watch, her pink lips purse around the straw, and my cock twitches in my pants.
Fuck. Seems I learned my lesson about spoiled rich girls but my dick hasn’t gotten the message. “Did you card her?” I ask Cal.
“Of course, boss. She’s legal.”
“Barely, I’m sure,” I mutter.
“Excuse me, Cal!” the woman under discussion calls out, waving a hand to get his attention.
“On a first name basis already?” I ask.
The bartender turns her way. “What can I get you, princess?”
“Princess?”
Cal shrugs. “What can I say? She’s a drunk-talker, and I gave her a nickname.”
She points to her glass, indicating she’d like another.
“How many margaritas has she had?”
Cal shrugs. “This would be her fourth. But I was going to cut her off. She’s been going at it since she walked in a little over an hour ago. Rich girl with rich girl problems. I kinda feel sorry for her.”
“Excuse me,” another patron calls out, an annoyed tone in his voice. “Can someone get me a refill?”
“Coming,” Cal says.
“And I’ll take care of the princess.” I sigh and stride over to her end of the bar.
She glances up with glassy eyes that grow wide at the sight of me. “Well, hi there.” Her gaze rakes over me, approval obvious from her small smile.
“Hi yourself, princess.”
She perks up at the nickname. “Why can’t my parents want me to marry someone who looks like you?” Glassy emerald-green eyes fringed by long, black lashes, stare up at me longingly.
