Page 16 of Stella
“My boss for the last four years,” I chirp. “I also have more listed below?—”
“Holy fuck, she’s got old Mayor Ringwood on the list,” Nevada chuckles. “And Senator Chisholm.”
“A glowing reference for organizing kids camp the last three years running, and raising funds for numerous small businesses owned by women; including Faux Paws, which I know Luna, Michelle and Kylie are all very happy about,” I sing happily.
Maybe I went a bit overboard. They may think I’m too squeaky clean, too in the pockets of some important names in New Orleans, so I add; “But my loyalties will always lie with the club. Club business stays within these walls, and my continuing charity obligations won’t interfere with what I’ll be doing here.”
Dad glares at Priest, but I ignore him.
The Soup Kitchen, one of my favorite places in the city, is a space where homeless and less fortunate people can go to eat. Also, Priest isn’t really a priest, but he is a Man of God, and the club’s spiritual advisor and Chaplain. He’s always there to lend an ear and give good advice when it’s needed.
I flick my eyes to Priest, and he smiles.
Ha. Bet they didn’t expect that.
“Hey, she’s a wonderful worker,” Priest says as I sit up a little straighter. “And always gives a hundred percent.”
“Ass licker,” Nevada coughs into his hand.
Everyone might still be gaping at my little speech, but I only see Cash as he’s finally handed his set of papers. He, too, slides his reading glasses on and looks down at them.
I sneak a glance at my dad, and he looks… proud for a second. He’s not happy about any of it, but even he can’t deny my credentials. He also knows what kind of person I am, and where my loyalties lie. So, he’s well aware that I speak the truth in all that I do.
Okay, shut up now.Let them think and deliberate. I have this habit of talking too much, and if I do that, they’ll just think I’m too much of a brainiac or mouthy, and frankly, who wants that in an MC? Certainly not a bunch of dudes who sit around making decisions for the rest of us.
“Your resume is nothing short of impressive,” Cash says, still looking down. “But being a prospect for the MC isn’t always about serving a hot bowl of soup, or arranging a charity auction, it’s about getting your hands dirty.”
I was ready for that.
I glance down at my notebook. “In point six, I’ve detailed the things I’ve accomplished without worrying about my manicure.”That earns me a few chuckles.“And further down the page, you’ll note in point eleven that I helped plant a hundred native trees last spring as part of the Let It Grow campaign with the high school, literal dirt under the nails,” I sigh.
If Cash was looking for an excuse to not let me in, he better have brought bigger guns than that. He looks up under his glasses. “When I said dirty hands, I meant more hands on shit; like taking a body out to the bayou for example.”
I swallow hard.Okay. I know the MC aren’t saints, and I sure as fuck know that those bastards deserved it.Still, the idea of having to haul a dead body anywhere fills me with complete dread.
“I’d be fine with it.” Is it just me, or did my voice go up an octave? “Also, I would do whatever it takes and what is asked of me, no matter what. I will protect this club and its secrets like any patched member would.”
“Not that bayou shit happens,” Harlem cuts in. “It’s hypothetical. Stella knows whatever is said in this room is club business, and it goes nowhere, right, Stell?”
I nod. “Yes, Obi-Wan.”
That earns me Obi-Wansome more laughs, but Dad doesn’t laugh. In fact, he narrows his eyes. “Bein’ a smartass won’t win you any brownie points,” he mutters.
I blow him a kiss, then address the table again. “I have no problem taking out the trash. You’ll note in point fourteen that I assisted Tag in an interrogation recently, and I was able to not only subdue the asshat in question, but also get intel out of him that neither Tag nor Pipes could get.”
I’d have to have it in the bag after that recollection, surely? Even Tag was mighty impressed with my efforts the day he was torturing a man for intel after being caught on the wrong side of the MC.
“I wouldn’t say we couldn’t,” Tag responds in his usual gruff manner. “More like you were in the room, so spillin’ blood would’ve been a little much for your dainty little stomach to handle. I also didn’t wanna be responsible for your puking.”
Way to go, Tag. I had no idea he could be funny.
I smile pleasantly, so pleasantly he narrows his eyes knowing I’m up to something. I’m always giving him shit, so me being nice and compliant isn’t what he’s used to. Throwing him off the scent, I laugh it off. “Okay, big guy, whatever you say. But people are more likely to give out information to me than they are to you because, well, I’m less intimidating than you are. They’re more inclined to blab if they underestimate me. Even you have to admit, getting him to spill to me wasn’t that hard.”
Just as Cash is about to speak — probably to tell me to stop being a smart ass — the doors push open and Manny walks in with two giant plates of the cinnamon rolls I was munching on earlier. “Morning, everyone!” he sings in an overly enthusiastic voice.
I can’t help but roll my lips. Perfect timing as always, Manny. He glances up as he sets one of the trays down near Cash’s end of the table and gives me a wink.
Of course, the food distracts everyone for a few precious moments while I use it to think. Multiple hands start grabbing the rolls as Manny moves down the table. Jesus, it’s like nobody ever feeds these boys. They’re like freaking cavemen.
