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“I don’t,” Draven says, an interested gleam in his eyes.
“The execs at Music Horde Records all had some kind of hand in raising me.” I smirk. “My dad was on the road a lot, or would take me into the office and drop me in front of the main conference room at the label. I colored a lot, while watching people come in and out of that room. Or, as I got older, I did my homework as a homeschooler. My dad didn’t want to deal with questions at school about where he was. I wasn’t ever home alone, though there were times I’d have a long-term babysitter or Jordan would stay with me.”
“So what was your dad’s deal?” Draven asks, confused.
“He scouted talent for the label. Whenever he could, he would try to make his trips quick so I would have him home as long as possible,” I explain. “When I was six or seven, I remember sitting at a desk next to his and playingRecord Labelmake believe games. My dad thought it was hysterical. It’s justall I’ve ever known. For the most part, I had a really decent childhood, not like Lenny.”
“Lennon had a rough go of it with her crazy fucking mother,” Mav rumbles.
“Your childhood feels a little lonely, Chick,” Draven says worriedly. “What about your Mum?”
“I don’t even really remember her,” I say. “It’s always been my dad, Uncle Jordan, and the label. It’s why people call me “The Label Princess”, if only they knew. My dad had a big fight with my uncle when I was seven, but he always insisted on staying in my life, even if they would barely speak to each other at times.”
“They fought over Lenny, right?” Atlas asks, looking sad. I don’t like a lot of my dad’s decisions when it comes to my big sister, and they make me disappointed.
“Yep,” I mutter, looking out the window. “Now Dad is in a psychiatric facility for possibly the rest of his life, and Jordan is all I have, so let’s not fuck this up, alright?”
“We wouldn’t fuck this up, not when it counts.” Mav growls.
The car slowly comes to a stop in front of the Irish Flower, and it appears to be a fairly nice club. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the rich brick building with the gorgeous sign was not it.
“Nice digs,” I murmur, thanking the driver as I open the door. Due to having so many large men with me, we had to get one of the larger ride-share cars, so Tyler meets me as he opens the door in the third row.
“Seán seems to be doing well for himself,” he agrees. Once everyone is out of the car, we make our way over to where Seán asked us to go. A large, scowling Irishman stares us down as he watches us.
“The line is over there, girlie,” he says dismissively.
“Cormac?” I ask, waiting. I could play the damsel in distress card, but I’m not feeling it. “Seán asked me to come to this door, as he’s waiting for us. I don’t think it’s healthy to detain our group.”
“Mr. O’Brien,” Cormac stresses with a glare, “is waiting for you, but don’t make your presence to mean more than it is. You’re just a little slut he’s taken a shine to.”
There’s a distinct Irish brogue to his words, his vitriol coming out worse for the accent.
“I think your mama should have taught you manners, Sir,” I tell him, flipping my hair over my shoulder. “Are you going to get out of the fucking way or do I need to call your boss?”
Cormac growls, stepping toward me when his phone rings. Grumbling, he picks up the call, talking to whoever it is with respect. Hanging up, he looks at me disdainfully.
“Right this way,” Cormac mutters. “You lot don’t look like the type to carry weapons, you’re too fruity or soft.”
“You called me fruity, oh what shall I do?” Draven drawls. “Enough with the cutting words and let us in. We’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible.”
“Aye, we will,” Mav confirms.
Cormac looks at Mav appreciatively for a moment before yanking open the door to let us in. Draven places his hand on the small of my back, making sure I’m as far away from the grumpy Irishman as possible.
“Sometimes it works in your favor to be adorable and tiny,” Draven growls in my ear. Shivering, I force myself not to squeeze my thighs together. This man manages to turn me on at the worst times. I’m pretty sure I’ve ruined these panties.
“Draven,” I gasp as Cormac calls someone over to walk us through the club. Draven merely smirks at me as his thumb rubs my back.
I can feel Mav and Atlas’s eyes on me, but I choose to ignore them. I don’t need to explain my life to them or my relationships.
Following the tall man through the club that Cormac assigned us to, I ask myself if everyone Seán employs has these ridiculous muscles and anger issues. Maybe it’s part of the job description?
My lips twitch as I move into a VIP part of the club, led to stand in front of a large table where there’s a man waiting alone. I would have thought that he’d have people with him as such an important man, but he’s merely sipping his whiskey in a perfectly tailored suit.
“Layla?” he says, brow raised. Nodding, I say hello, waiting to see if I’m supposed to sit or stand the entire time. As much as he growled at me on the phone, this man is not a pussy cat. “Well don’t just stand there, come sit and send your little entourage to the bar. Honestly, who needs so many panting men at her feet?”
I can’t help it, I have to swallow a laugh as I raise my hand to my lips. “They insisted,” I tell him. “What can I say? Some of them think I can’t handle myself.”
