Page 3 of Daddy's Bad Girl
“You look hot,” she says approvingly. “But why do you do this, Ems? I mean, you don’t need to work as a hostess. Your dad gives you plenty of money for school.”
I check my lipstick in the mirror, pressing my lips together before nodding slightly.
“He does,” I acknowledge. “But this isn’t about the money for me, although I have to say that it does feel nice to make my own coin. It’s about the stress relief that Club Z provides.”
Minnie looks confused though.
“But I thought that you’d taken up meditation,” she says in a low voice. “Weren’t you also trying yoga, Pilates, and that new thing? What was it called? Solidcore?”
I smile while stepping into sky-high black heels.
“I did do Solidcore last week, and that’s how I can walk in these shoes without falling flat on my face! Because I stretched my core muscles until they were screaming and begging me to stop. Plus, the workouts and meditation are excellent, and they do relieve stress for me. But it’s not enough. I need Club Z to really work the anxiety out of my mind and body.”
Minnie looks apprehensive.
“It just sounds really ... I don’t know...”
“Bizarre?” I ask with an eyebrow quirked. “Imbalanced? Insane, even?”
“No, of course not!” Minnie protests, her cheeks flushing. “I’d never judge you, Emma?—”
“Except you are,” I say in a firm tone while grabbing my clutch. “I know that Club Z sounds sketchy to outsiders because it’s a billionaires’ club where rich guys get to do whatever they want. But if you think about it, that’s what happens all the time, in every situation, all over the world. The world is ruled by a coterie of wealthy men doing whatever they want, and the only difference is that at Club Z, they don’t need to pretend anymore. They don’t need to pretend to care about rules, laws, or even social mores. This is a place for Masters of the Universe to relax and put their feet up, without being judged. In that sense, I think Club Z is much more real and honest than most social situations.”
“Wow,” Minnie murmurs, her blue eyes wide. “Sometimes I think you really are too smart for your own good, Emma. I mean, would you agree with that?”
I shrug.
“Brains are what’s killing me right now, girlfriend, and Club Z is where I go to relax,” I say with a saucy smile before giving her a small wave. “The club is my happy place, and you, Mary Amelia Morehand, get to reap the benefits too because tomorrow, I’ll be a much more cheerful person. I’ll be radiating sunshine, and happy as a clam. So what do you say? Should we get bagels first thing? I say we go to Black Seed over on Courtnay Street because their lox cream cheese is divine.”
Then, with another quick wave, I’m out the door and down the stairs to where my Uber awaits. With a quick hop and a skip, I’m into the massive black SUV, which pulls away from the curb in a smooth slide. Then, the streets go by in a blur as I stare out the window because my mind is pre-occupied. What if Minnie’s right? What if I’m seeking stress relief in all the wrong places? After all, girls our age are vying to be “West Village It Girls” while streaming videos of themselves dancing to catchy music. They make reels of themselves drinking iced matcha lattes and showing off their latest glittery manicures, before going out at night with a bunch of fratty dudes. Meanwhile, I’m doing the exact opposite: I’m headed to an elite billionaires’ club where wealthy, older men await pretty young things, no backwards baseball caps in sight.
But this is where the pedal hits the metal because the truth is that I adore wealthy, older men and the security they represent. I dream of losing myself in the arms of a powerful alpha male who isn’t two years my senior, or even ten. He’s two decades older than me, and established with a successful career and bulging bank account. With his help, I’ll be able to put this pre-med stuff behind me, and potentially even leave it forever because I want to be cared for by my man ... but only in my heart of hearts, can I admit that.
2
Emma
The SUV pulls up to the curb of an elegant granite building on the outskirts of the city. To be honest, this isn’t the best neighborhood in Minneapolis, but it’s a discreet one that hasn’t been “discovered” by Instagrammers and tourists yet. Which is important, because black cars pull up to the building at all hours, dropping off gorgeous young women dressed in scandalously revealing outfits.
Now, it’s my turn to make an appearance, but right when the car pulls to a halt, my phone buzzes. I look down and see that it’s my dad, Rick.
“Give me just one second,” I say apologetically to the driver. “I’m so sorry, but I have to take this.”
“Sure thing, Miss,” he says before turning away and pressing a button. The partition within the SUV goes up with a buzz, and I’m left in the privacy of the backseat. I press the green ‘answer’ button.
“Hi Dad,” I say into the screen. “Sorry, I only have a few minutes because this isn’t the best time.”
My dad’s face flashes on-screen, and to be honest, Rick looks worse for the wear. My dad is generally a handsome guy with dark hair and flashing blue eyes, but the new baby has put him through the wringer. His hair stands on end, and the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes have developed into deep grooves. Not only that, but there’s a splotch of unidentifiable liquid on his t-shirt, and oh my god, but is he getting jowls? Holy shit!
But Rick merely chuckles.
“You don’t have to hide it, sweetheart. I know I look bad.”
My mouth pulls into a sympathetic smile.
“Did you get any sleep last night?”
Rick exhales and shakes his head.
