Page 39 of Dubious Match
Putting my bag down next to me, I pull out my phone to work on the app messages I may have there.
“How long will the drive be?” I ask. If I can knock some of this out, I’ll be in a better position to enjoy my evening.
“Half an hour,” Evan says, turning on the car. He’s well used to people working during commutes, so he doesn’t glance back as he pulls into the flow of traffic.
Pulling out my computer, I check how the stream of traffic is doing in the app, update a few things, and see how well it’s doing as it matches people. I’ve been using this app for about five years or so, and it’s helped digitize the questions I ask my clients to fill out.
Ten years ago when I first started, I used paper and had to pour hours of time into going over them before matching people. The app makes things so much easier since I built it myself and can add new programming to it.
By the time I get to the gentlemen’s social club where the Senior Mafia Families are meeting, I find the bulk of my work is done. It’s something I need to have time to concentrate on, but doesn’t typically take a lot of energy to do.
Putting my things into my bag, I hesitate.
“Evan, are you staying with the car by chance?” I ask. “I’m deciding if I should bring my bag or not.”
“Leave it,” he says. “I’ll be here to make sure it’s safe.”
“Thank you,” I say gratefully. Appearances matter when it comes to these men. Well, Adira did recently join this group, making it less full of testosterone.
It’s made it a bit more pleasant to deal with them.
Checking my makeup and hair, I grab my phone and slip out of the vehicle. The cold breeze makes me regret not bringing my coat, but I’m not going far. Stepping up onto the sidewalk, I close the door behind myself and stride toward the club's door. The doorman opens it for me, allowing me to thank him as I breeze by.
I doubt this will be as easy as answering a few questions and leaving. It never is with them.
“If it isn’t my daughter,” says a voice that almost makes me trip over nothing.
Fuck. I rarely see my father anymore since I left home. We don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, and I was practically raised by nannies to begin with. Why bother having me at all?
I feel as if I have something in my throat, but clearing it would be a major tell that I’m uncomfortable. I’m a great poker player because I keep people guessing what cards I’m holding close to my chest. The same is true for everything else that I do in my life.
Turning, I give my father a small smile.
“Hi, Dad,” I murmur. “It’s been awhile.”
“Yes, yes, it has,” he says, standing to come join me. His eyes run over me in an assessing manner, but I know he won’t be able to find anything wrong with my appearance. “Imagine my surprise to find my only daughter in a gentleman’s club. Do you have something to tell me?”
Fuck. This is one of the other reasons that I rarely see him. I’m not his only daughter. He has another! Maree. My twin. When my parents gave up the search for her, my father started to pretend she never existed.
Except she did. It may not have been for long, but she was my mirror image as a baby.
“I have a meeting with the Senior?—”
“Hollis,” Cian says, hurrying toward me. My hero. Holy shit. “I’m so sorry to steal her away, Paul, but the Senior Mafia Families very much need her.”
“They do?” he asks, shaking his head. “Why? She’s not part of the families anymore.”
Cian snorts. “That’s funny, sir. I find myself in her office at least once or twice a month needing her help,” he says. “Hollis may have left home, but she’s a very important member of ourcommunity. Your daughter saves lives and our asses on a regular basis. Best not to keep them waiting.”
My cheeks burn as I take Cian’s arm, unable to say anything as he whisks me away.
“Is he always like that?” he asks.
“Like what?” I ask, sighing.
“An ass,” he grumbles.
“I haven’t seen him in about four years, and it’s never pleasant when I do.” I explain. “They never got over the fact that I left home at eighteen and didn’t look back. Their views are very different from mine. They’re very traditional.”
