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That’s probably the reason Astrid is calling instead of texting.
“Do you think my dad knows?” I ask.
“I doubt your dad follows that page, but if other pages comment or tag you, he’s bound to see it.”
Or hear about it. I bite the inside of my cheek, annoyed. “Shit.”
I need to talk to Dad about this. But first, I need to tell Maddox.
15
Maddox
“And this iswhere guests and locals come for drinks and music,” I say, gesturing as we emerge into the club. I see quite a few more patrons than the past few weeks, which shows me that Whitney’s efforts have worked. We’ve had more visitors and increased sales. Always a plus.
I’d be a lot happier if it weren’t for the company.
My body is still stiff, as I had to go through an entire dinner with Dan Walters who happens to be almost as annoying as he is misogynistic. I guess it’s been a while since I last sat through a meal with the guy. We’re not friends, and I’ve met him in social events and basically small talked.
I want to give him the benefit of the doubt and say maybe the reason why he’s been talking about women nonstop and not under the best light is because of his divorce. Maybe he’s broken, and feels more powerful if he’s bragging about all the pussy he’s getting.
But the cynical part of me knows better.
This guy is a certified douchebag, and I hope Astrid can get a good shot of him because after this I’m done hanging out with him.
“Would you like something to drink?” the bartender asks, and Dan orders his favorite whiskey.
I follow suit, telling myself this will be just the one drink. Dan isn’t my date. My date, my woman, is probably waiting for me somewhere in the hotel, and for that I can’t wait.
“You have a great property here, Maddox. Maybe we can use the conference room for some meetings in the future.”
I lift an eyebrow, but refuse to comment.
I already promised a donation for his reelection campaign, otherwise this bastard wouldn’t have come. But to offer a free or discounted conference room for his people, to see his face more often is not in my plans. In fact, I’d pay to get his ass out of here if I could. I can’t get over of how he looked at Whitney… like she was only a piece of juicy meat.
I look around, searching for Astrid. She better take his picture fast, because I’m getting tired of this nonsense.
I catch a wisp of purple hair at the back, and relief pours through me. Great. Soon I can tell this douche goodbye.
“And if we do ever have a conference here, have that sexy little thing help us.”
I narrow my eyes. “Excuse me?”
“What’s her name? Willow? The one we just met,” he says, then scratches his chin. “These young things are always up for a good time. Especially now I’m divorced, man. I bet one drink and Willow would be all over my dick.”
Frustration escalates inside me, and before I can even think, I pick him up by the collar and slam him against a column. He gasps, surprised, eyes widened.
“What the hell, man,” he murmurs, lifting his hands in surrender.
“You keep her name off your mouth. Now, get the hell out. Tour is over, bastard,” I say between gritted lips, and every part of me is getting ready to fucking punch him.
He shakes his head, eyes widened. “What the—”
“Get out,” I say again, and loosen my hold on his collar.
He nods quickly, and scurries out of the booth.
My blood is still boiling when I see him past the exit of the club. I should punch him anyway, but I don’t want to make a scandal—that could jeopardize Whitney and her career. What if he links her to her social media, and decides to make her look bad? I know what kind of sewer rat Dan is. He’s the kind that would much rather make a woman look bad than a man. Especially a powerful man.
