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“What is it, Daisy?”
“Was it for her or for me?”
“The money?”
She nods.
I take a step toward her, my face pinching together in concentration as I remember that day and the pain I felt letting Shannon go. I remember writing that check like it was yesterday. And I recall distinctly why I wrote it.
“It was for you, baby girl.”
“Why?”
I take a moment to form my response, not quite sure how to express exactly what I felt that day, writing such a big check for a little girl I had never met. A girl who should have meant nothing to me, but I wanted her to have the world regardless.
“Because I wanted to take care of you.”
The moisture in her eyes glistens from the streetlamps overhead. When she doesn’t respond, I take another step closer, wiping where a single tear trails over her cheek. “It’s your money, Daisy. Do whatever you want with it. Go live your big, poetic, musical life. Make it fucking amazing.”
When she sucks in a breath, another tear falls, but I don’t wipe that one away, because she doesn’t need me to—not anymore.
RULE #42: PUT YOUR MONEY WHERE YOUR MOUTH IS
Daisy
I never should have let him leave. There was so much I wanted to say. Instead, I stuck around at the bar with Geo, Eden, and Mia for another hour before my exhaustion hit again, and Geo walked me home.
The entire night, instead of replaying every moment of being on that stage and singing my songs out loud for the first time, I was replaying the few short moments with him. I wish I could give him back that million dollars and make him mine again.
When I woke up today without an ounce of energy, I laid in bed all day, trying to catch up on enough sleep to make climbing out of bed even possible before my shift at the club. It’s packed today, and I’m still dragging as I try to deliver drinks to everyone here for the charity auction.
It’s probably a good thing he’s not here because if he knew that I skipped two meals today, he’d be very disappointed in me. But with everything going on lately, the most I can manage is a small snack here and there, without wanting to either throw up or pass out every chance I get.
Oh yeah, he’d be so pissed.
It’s so busy tonight that both bartenders are behind the bar and Mia has stepped in to help me deliver drinks.
“Quite a turnout,” I say as we pass each other. She beams proudly as she takes a look around the crowded room. As the event planner of the club, Mia puts a lot of work into each of these events, and I’ve never seen one go badly.
“If only I could get that billionaire boyfriend of yours to show up, I’d call it a real success.”
I stiffen at that word. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I correct her with a polite smile.
She screws her face up as she quickly apologizes. “I’m sorry. I’m just flustered. I didn’t mean that.”
“It’s okay, Mia,” I reply with a laugh. “Don’t worry about it.”
A moment later, the auction begins, and I’m so busy rushing around the room, I barely get to watch as each VIP rich guy takes the stage. On the side of the room, there’s a screen showing the bids as they grow higher and higher to the donation goal.
It’s rowdier than I’m used to, and I like the energy. Especially since they’re tipping bigger than normal tonight. When I look up and see Clay standing in the middle of the stage, he and I make eye contact. He shoots me a wide-eyed, scared-looking expression, and I laugh as I drop off a tray full of drinks at a table full of women excitedly bidding for a date with him.
They bid back and forth for a while, but just when I expect him to go to a nice older woman for over six grand, a confident voice at the back of the room calls out, “Ten thousand,” and we all turn to see Madame Kink herself holding up a hand with a devious grin.
When I catch him grinning back, the announcer calls it, and everyone cheers just as Clay climbs down from the stage. I make a mental note to myself to ask her about that later. I sort of assumed it was a one-time thing with them. But maybe I was wrong.
After Clay, there are a few more men to take the stage, and I start to feel more and more dizzy with each trip back and forth from the bar. I just need to keep it together for another hour and then I can ask to be cut early and go home to sleep this off.
“All right, ladies. You won’t want to miss this one,” the announcer says, and I’m barely paying attention until I hear his name. “Mr. Ronan Kade.”
