My Favorite Daddy (Dark Daddies 6)

We settle in and slowly the crowd starts to enter the room. I tell Aria about the people that walk past, like the old couple in diamonds that Jeremy approached.

“Farmers,” I tell her. “Very rich farmers.”

“Come on,” she says, giving me a look.

“Really. He’s a cattle farmer. Granted, he’s the biggest cattle farmer in all of New York.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

I point at a short man wearing a tuxedo with tails. “That’s one of the most powerful insurance adjusters around.”

“Sounds impressive.”

I point out another couple. “They buy and sell plastic cups.”

“Really? Very exciting.”

“They’re the cup couple of Philadelphia.”

She grins at me as I keep going. Each new group of people gets some wild or stupid descriptions. Some of them I actually know but most of them are total strangers. I treat them all equally.

Eventually, the whole thing starts off. A woman with blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun starts by talking about the role of charity in an advanced society, blah blah blah, and I’m basically falling asleep by the time she’s finished. Aria has to step on my foot to keep me awake.

“Whiskey,” I say to the waiter that stops near our table. I put my hand on the guy’s arm before he can leave. “Make it a double.”

Aria rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.

Another speaker comes up and talks about her charity, something to do with children and cancer or whatever. I make a mental note to write her a big, fat check when I get a chance. I hate kids with cancer. Kids shouldn’t get fucking cancer.

After she’s done, my whiskey appears. I take a big sip and lean toward Aria. “I’m bored already,” I whisper.

She glares at me. “Grow up.”

“Come on. This sucks. Let’s leave.”

Her eyes go wide. “We can’t. We’re… right in the middle of things.”

“After this guy’s done talking, people are gonna clap. We’ll slip out.”

“No way, Brady,” she says.

I just grin and nod at her.

The next guy that speaks drones on for what feels like a half hour at least. I drink most of my whiskey by the time he finishes. I swear, it’s like being teleported somewhere. One second, I’m sitting at the table while the guy talks about whatever, and the next everyone’s suddenly clapping.

I grin at Aria. She shakes her head.

I get up, half crouching, and walk off to the side. Aria hesitates but follows me. I’m sure half the room watches us leave, and I bet Jeremy is having a fucking stroke, but I couldn’t care less.

We slip out a side aisle and into a back hallway. Waiters bustle past and I think we’re near the kitchen.

“We have to go back in,” Aria says. She grabs my hand. “Come on, you idiot.”

I hold her hand tight and tug her away. “This looks more fun,” I say.

She groans as I lead her back to the kitchen. The staff is running around, cursing, cooking, arguing. It’s disorganized chaos.

“I worked in a kitchen when I was younger,” I say to her as we walk through the madness. “I loved it, actually.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Worked line prep. Learned some of my best curses from those duck-fucking dick garblers.”

She laughs at that, unable to help herself. I snag a glass of champagne from a tray as it passes and the guy holding it glares at me. One of the chefs yells at us to get out, and we hurry through the group toward the back.

“Come on,” I say, turning a corner. “I bet we can find something more interesting up here.”

“We should go back in,” she says. “Really, this is dumb.”

I drink half the champagne and hand her the other half. She hesitates but throws it back.

I grin at her as she shrugs and puts the glass down on a counter. “No use wasting it,” she says.

I lead her around a corner toward a few large doors. I pull one open at random and we stumble inside. It’s dark at first until I find a power switch.

It’s a storage room. Shelves and racks full of dry goods line the walls, with some prep tables in the middle. I’m guessing this is where the hotel normally does pre-prep in the mornings, getting ready for big lunch and dinner rushes.

“What are we doing here?” she asks. “It’s not exactly exciting.”

“Oh, sure it is.” I turn back to her, my hands suddenly on her hips.

She bites her lip. “Come on, Brady.”

I turn her toward a table and lift her up. She gasps a little as I put her down and kiss her neck.

“This is much better than sitting in that stuffy room surrounded by all those rich bastards.”

“You’re a rich bastard, you know,” she says, fingers running through my hair.

“So they tell me.”

I kiss her softly, mouth opening, tongue against tongue. I pull back slightly, looking into her sparkling eyes.