Page 111 of Savage Daddies

It’s like the boys are here with me.

I should shoot them a text for an update—if things haven’t already been plastered all over the media.

Felix escorts me to a table. There are many, and representatives stand around each one talking about various types of wine. It’s all too boring for me. To take the edge off on the weekend, a cheap Walmart vodka does the trick.

Felix raises a glass to his lips. I look at the bottle—that Bordeaux shit he was drabbling on about earlier.

“Here.” Felix passes me a glass, and in his most genteel voice, demands I try some.

“You’re supposed to avoid alcohol consumption when on sertraline,” I say.

He issues me a glare, and then goes on to force the glass into my hands. After that, he distances from me to talk to representatives from the vineyard.

“…yes, sir, we can make arrangements for Zoe and yourself to visit.”

“…oh, how wonderful.”

I slip my phone from my clutch and message Wrangler—we created an untraceable number the other day to be in communication for the event.

Me: Plan A failed.

I click off the phone and pretend I’m enjoying myself as I await a response. Everybody has now filtered inside and the sounds of chatter echo around the lobby as people laugh and sip alcohol and talk wine jargon. Suited people are everywhere, and I’m tired of it. My eyes crave leather. My ruggedly handsome bikers.

A message pings through.

Unknown Number: Let me guess. He charmed the audience with his words?

Me: Yup. Made me look like a total looney.

Unknown Number: Time for plan B. You still have evidence of the marriage contract on your phone, right? All you need to do is show that to somebody that works in the media.

Me: But what if they don’t want to believe me?

Unknown Number: You’re Zoe fucking Warrington, okay? You can do this.

Me: IDK if I can. You don’t understand. He can squash anything. He’s too?—

“What the hell are you doing?” Felix snaps in my ear. “You’re testing my patience tonight.”

I put the phone back into my clutch and stare up at him. “None of this is bullshit.”

That’s when he swoops me away. My legs no longer belong to me, pretty much like everything else. Arm clutching mine, he ushers me further into the lobby, away from the tables.

“If you’re going to do this,” I say, “take it outside. There are too many people here.”

But Felix continues into the building. I know why. Escorting me outside will draw too much attention, and will involve us having to thread between the crowds to make it out of the front doors.

I’m filed through a door, and then pushed up a couple of stairs. A wall partitions us from the wine tasting shenanigans below. Back here are boxes full of unopened bottles of booze. Storage, it looks like. Up ahead, a microphone rests on a stand. Probably the evening planner has asked Felix to do a speech or something later.

SLAP!

Right across my face before I can even fully turn around.

I wince. Press a hand over my cheek.

“Is that wise? Leaving an imprint of your hand on my face? Remember, we’re at a public event. You don’t wanna fuel the conspiracies.”

“Stop it. Right now. You are skating on very thin ice.”

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