Stepdaddy Savage (Savage People 1)
“I-I’m sorry,” I stutter, looking down. Jade, next to me, just stares at him like he just landed from another planet, and still hasn’t stripped out of his silver UFO coverall. Graham shakes his head and moves his index finger down my cheek in a way that’s not fatherly but not erotic either. It’s just plain intimidating. I shiver under his touch and close my eyes, inhaling deeply.
When he leans closer, my mouth falls open.
“To my office, kiddo,” he murmurs into my face.
Jade and I exchange terrified looks before I follow him silently as he leads the way. Jade takes a few steps in our direction, but he turns around swiftly, placing one hand on her shoulder. She literally jerks in surprise and I can’t blame her. Not only is he scary, but his hand feels like steel. He once gave me an impersonal hug on my 17th birthday and it felt a lot like he did something entirely different to me. I had to take care of that side effect in my personal bathroom. Twice.
“Not you. What’s your name?” he almost barks at her.
Jade opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Jesus, I hope she’s not going to faint.
“Her name is Jade.” I tilt my chin up, grabbing her hand in mine once again. I’m not going to let him intimidate my best friend. In a lot of ways, Jade is the only person I really talk to; it’s certainly not Annabelle I turn to when shit goes south.
“Right, Jade.” He scans her like she’s a piece of trash he needs to take out. I’m pretty sure he is going to forget her name before the night is over. “Well, Jade, I’m not your dad and it’s not my job to discipline you. A cab will be waiting for you outside, free of charge. Don’t worry, I’ll call your parents tomorrow to fill them in on your little adventure. Carter, Rome,”—he jerks his chin toward my friend— “make sure she gets home safely and take the driver’s number and license plate. Dahlia, in my office, now.”
I hug Jade quickly, mouthing “sorry” and feeling our hearts clashing together, fast and furious. Then I wipe my sweaty palms over my mini dress as I stagger into Graham’s office. I’ve never been there before—never been to this club, actually—and for some reason coming in here makes me feel alarmingly excited.
I close the door behind me and scan his office, all brown leather and deep oak furniture. It looks like it was decorated by a caveman. Then again, Graham is a bit of a beast. One in a
special-made suit, at least. His Irish accent is soft but his voice is threatening when he leans against his desk, his palms flat over the surface, still standing up.
“You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Really? I wasn’t the one whose club was playing Ghost Town. You should fire the DJ and burn down his station before you hire someone else.”
I swear this stupid shit just slips out from my mouth without even meaning to, and I think Graham is biting down a smile but I can’t know for sure, because believe it or not, I’ve never actually seen him smile. It’s a depressive thought, but luckily I have no time to dwell on it.
He shakes his head. “Take a seat.”
I take a seat on the chair next to his rich-wood desk, exhaling sharply.
Then I fold my hands over my thighs and look down, playing my part as the chastised child. I’m not scared of my mom. She hardly ever tells me what to do, and she sure as hell doesn’t give a damn. But Graham…Graham is someone I don’t want to cross. I’m not even sure why, he’s never been mean to me. He’s never been anything to me, to be honest. Mostly he just ignores me. But I know that he’s a very capable man. Capable of ruining me, among other things.
“Care to explain what the fuck you’re doing in my club?” He leans on his desk, looking casual yet somehow frightening. His eyes, green like lime, shine with a hint of danger in them, and his lips purse.
“I wanted to…I dunno, to unwind. Have some fun.” I shrug, looking down.
“Be specific,” he orders.
“I wanted to drink and dance,” I admit through gritted teeth, feeling myself blushing again and hating myself for it. “And Jersey is small and I didn’t want to bump into my usual high school crowd. All the seniors are going to stupid house parties, which I don’t like. I knew I could probably sneak into this place because it’s so…”
Full of underage bimbos, I’m tempted to add, but I don’t.
“It’s New York.” I heave a sigh, shrugging with one shoulder. “I knew we’d eventually get in somewhere.”
“Drink and dance?” he repeats coldly. I doubt Graham has ever danced. I know he drinks but he seems to be too icy and calculated to do something as fun as dancing. I offer a little nod, feeling a tad less scared but a lot more intrigued. He turns to the wall behind his desk There are long shelves full of expensive liquor behind his desk. They cover up the whole goddamn wall, to be exact. With his hands knotted behind his back, he examines the liquor like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world before plucking one full bottle of scotch. He takes out four shot glasses from the drawer in his desk and places them in a straight line. After which he unscrews the cap and pours the alcohol into all of them with the skill of a bartender. I flinch. Is he going to get drunk in front of me just to show me that he can and I can’t? What a douche.
A hot douche, my brain corrects, quite unnecessarily. He is my step-dad. I shouldn’t even think about it.
“What song did you say was playing? The one I should have my DJ fired for?”
Oh, shit. He is definitely smirking. And hot damn, he has a dimple. Just the one, on his left cheek. He is so perfectly imperfect. This is not looking good for me. I’ve lived with this man for three years and I’ve only just noticed that he has one dimple. I love dimples, goddammit.
“My Boo by Ghost Town.” I swallow. I actually really like that song, but it’s so nineties. Graham plops down on his executive chair and rolls himself toward the giant Apple screen. He taps his keyboard a few times before the familiar song starts blasting through his speakers.
Then, he leans back on his chair and stares at me closely.
“What?” I ask, knowing that my eyes are wide and that I look, in all probability, like a deer caught in headlights.