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I caught a glimpse of my father at a table near the front of the stage. His arms crossed disapprovingly, which meant he wanted me to work the room more.
I sighed, forgetting the mic would pick it up.
“Well, as you all know. We get together on New Year’s Eve every year to celebrate all the good we’ve done together in the past year. As well as all the good we’ll do in the coming year.”
As I read the notes left by Louis on the podium, I could see my father nodding from my peripheral.
This is all such bullshit.
I grabbed the pile of notecards and crumpled them up in one hand, tossing them behind my shoulder. I heard Lucy gasp at the side of the stage.
Louis was immediately in my ear. “Um, Weston, Your father requested you read from the cards verbatim, sir.” His voice quaked.
I roared with laughter. Small pockets of whispers moved around the ballroom. My father’s stare was as lethal as Quinn’s was earlier.
“But I know you all here. And none of you really give a fuck,” I stated with a grin.
Knowing chuckles burst from the crowd.
“So, let’s do what we allreallycame here to do. Get shit-faced, let loose, and ring in the mother fuckin’ New Year!”
Cheers burst from the crowd, and I glared at the DJ behind me, and he took a hint. He blasted music that would get the people going.
Guests jumped from their seats, and the servers resumed passing around drinks and hors d’oeuvres.
I put the mic down on the podium and told Louis, “Cue the party shit.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, sounding defeated and knowing he would hear it from my father later.
Confetti shot through the air. Fire roared from the stage. The guests went wild.
As I stepped down from the stage, I looked around and found Lucy and Drayven standing alone.
“Where the fuck is Quinn?” I asked them.
“She left, dickhead,” replied Lucy, her eyes narrowed at me.
I didn’t have time for my sister’s judgment. I needed to find Quinn.
“Jax is on her,” Drayven confirmed, seeing the panic on my face. Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Jax.
“She’s gone, Weston.”
CHAPTERONE
QUINN
TWO YEARS LATER
“Oh no, darlin’!We don’t have any more in that size, I’m afraid.” My mama shouted from the stock room of her clothing boutique, Dahlia’s.
It was named after my great-grandmother. A hard-working, family-oriented woman who formed one of the founding families in Cedar Grove during the gold rush years.
I looked back at the weary shopper in front of me and shrugged.
“No worries, sugar. I’ll just have to find somethin’ else for my grandbaby’s birthday. I swear these kids grow by the foot every week. Clothes is what their mama always wants,” Abigail said to me with a wink.
“Well, when’s the party? I might be able to get it ordered before the big day arrives,” I assured her, already scrolling through our online vendor site.
