Royally Not Ready(3)

His eyes narrow. Nostrils flare.

Man, he might need more than a drink and a lap dance.

“Privately,” he says through clenched teeth. “I need to speak with you privately.”

Oh, okay, psycho. Yeah, let me just go somewhere private with the angry man. Sounds like a really good idea.

Keeping a smile on my face, I say, “Flattered, but I fly solo.”

I turn to talk to someone else when I hear him say, “It’s pertaining to your mom. Margret.”

My body freezes, my muscles stilling from the mention of my mom’s name.

Slowly, I turn back around and remove my headset so my conversation isn’t blasted for all of Ocean Drive to hear. “What did you say?”

“I need to speak to you about your mother. I doubt you want to do this with a crowd.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black card. Printed in gold is a singular address. When I look back up at him, he says, “Eight tonight, meet me there.” His eyes scan my body before saying, “Wear something decent.”

“Excuse me?” I say. “How fucking dare you?”

But he’s turned around and walking away before I can expand on my tirade.

“What the actual fuck,” I say as Timmy walks up to me, the crowd now dispersing.

“Who was that?”

“Some sicko,” I say, still clutching the card. “Says he wants to speak to me privately, something to do with my mom.”

“Your mom who passed away when you were seventeen? Seems sketch. Need me to call the cops on him? You know Luis would be more than happy to do his blonde goddess a favor.” He isn’t wrong about it sounding sketch. Mom died when I was seventeen. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard someone speak her name.

I watch as the man gets into an unmarked black sedan, my mind reeling. “He knew my mom’s name. He said, Margret.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” My hand shakes as I look down at the card again. “915 Washington Ave. Is that—is that the Moxy?”

“It is,” Timmy says. “Does he work there? Maybe he wants to hire you. Or maybe hire the Wagon for a private event.”

“But what would that have to do with my mom?” I ask.

“Not sure, but there’s only one way to find out.” He flicks the card in my hand.

“Are you saying I meet up with this man?”

“If he knows something about your mom, maybe about your dad? I would if I were you.”

I roll my teeth over my bottom lip as I continue to stare at the card.

Who is this man, walking in on my turf, looking like some sort of uptight security detail with his burly, tatted forearms and thick neck? And what could he possibly know about my mom?

Timmy is right, there’s only one way to find out.

But if he thinks I’m coming “decent,” then he has no clue who the hell he’s dealing with.





I flip my long blonde ponytail over my shoulder, adjust the deep V of my dress to make sure things are covered, and then, in my four-inch heels, I click-clack across the tiled floor of the Moxy, unsure of where to go from here.

All that was written on the card was the address. A name could have been useful. Possibly more of a meeting destination other than a vague address. But you know how it is with elusive men, they try to gain the upper hand with confusion. Little does he know, I’m not falling for his outdated tricks.

Instead, I stand in the middle of the lobby, people bustling around me, take a compact mirror out of my clutch, as well as my bright pink lipstick, which matches the boisterous flowers on my dress, and I reapply. I’m capping my lipstick when a man in a dark suit and sunglasses approaches me. “Miss Campbell, please follow me.”

I don’t move, and when he realizes that, he turns back around, a confused look on his face. Well, I assume he’s confused. Can’t really tell from the sunglasses and inanimate facial expression.

“Do you expect me to just follow you, a man I’ve never met before?” I shake my head. “Think again. I’m going to need to see your boss, or whoever sent you out here to get me. And I will need his name, as well. And his cell phone number.”

Looking far too confused, the man presses his finger to his ear and asks, “Did you hear that?” It’s all very secret service-type behavior, and it’s all quite comical. This is movie-quality theatrics, not everyday. “He will be right down.”

I know what you must be thinking—Lilly, what the hell are you doing? You don’t go off with strangers. And you’re right, I shouldn’t, but there’s something you have to understand—I lost my parents when I was seventeen to a horrible boating accident. I have no family. No grandparents, no brothers and sisters, no aunts and uncles. My dad was an only child, and his parents passed away when I was five. My mom, well, she never spoke of her side of the family. So, being the strong, confident, and smart twenty-seven-year-old that I am, I’d normally tell this man to fuck off and go on with my day following Miami’s trendsetters so I can make sure I have everything in stock in the Wagon. But, the little girl inside of me, the girl who misses her parents, the girl who will cling to any piece of them, she’s the one leading the show tonight.

Cut her some slack.

Folding my arms over my chest, I nod toward Mr. Suit and ask, “So, been doing this for long? You know, fetching young women for your boss?”