Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“Hah.” Z barks out an incredulous laugh. “In her fucking dreams.”
“Uh.” Grinder lifts one hand in the air. “I realize I’m old and maybe not ‘with it’ but should we be concerned?”
Z slides a cautious gaze toward our SAA. “About?”
“Seems to me like a sick cry for help, no?” Grinder turns, looking for one of us to agree.
Fuck it, I’m with Grinder on this one.
“Yeah,” I agree. “All jokes aside, can we all admit, this ain’t normal?” I hold my hands in the air. “Not trying to yuck anyone’s yum but come the fuck on.”
“Kinda feels like we’d be feeding a bulimic a sixteen-course meal,” Hustler says.
“Hundred-and-one course,” Grinder corrects.
No one laughs.
Butcher sits forward and clears his throat, all serious now. “Prez, you sure she isn’t doing this as a way to get your attention?”
The icy-cold blast of Z’s glare prickles against my skin as it travels down the table, landing on Butcher. “I don’t give a fuck one way or another.”
“She’s a club asset,” Hustler mutters.
Z slices a glance at Hustler. “By all means, feel free to give her a referral to a therapist if you’re concerned.”
Rooster jumps in before Hustler responds. “I think some of it is that she feels like she’s getting older, so she has to do more extreme content to keep her audience.”
Hustler flips through some papers in front of him. “Her site still brings in way more than any of the other girls’.”
Rooster taps his fingers against the table. “I set her up with someone Teller recommended to talk to about her finances. Someone outside the organization.”
“I thought she wanted to play director with the new talent she’s bringing in?” Z asks.
“She does.” Rooster turns and glances down the table at Butcher, then back to Z. “Don’t get bent, Prez. But it did feel like she was hoping this idea would get your attention. In the thirty minutes I talked to her, she brought your name up a lot.”
“Let’s take a vote,” Z says without acknowledging Rooster’s theory. “I don’t want anyone complaining we robbed the club of an opportunity.”
We all seem to be on the same page, so taking individual votes feels like overkill. Z’s been by-the-book since he took over.
“Yay or Nay, we fund Stella’s ‘hundred-and-one man’ project?” Z rolls his eyes, then shifts his gaze to Rooster to cast the first vote.
“Nay,” Rooster says without any additional commentary.
“Nay,” I add.
Every brother at the table adds their no vote, finally ending at Z.
“Nay.” He slaps his gavel against the block, signaling the Stella portion of club business is finished.
“I’ll let her know if you want, Rooster,” Hustler offers.
Z side-eyes our treasurer.
“We have a chain of command she should follow. She should be aware of that,” Hustler explains.
“I’d appreciate it.” Rooster glances at Z. “I’d rather keep my involvement focused on the IT stuff for her site. Not her funding…or anything else.”
“Tell her she can do whatever she wants,” Z says to Hustler. “We’re just not paying for it or getting involved in any other way.” He sends a look around the table. “That clear with everyone?”
Meaning, no one at this table better jump in that hundred-man line.
We run through a few other minor matters, then Z sets us free. Rooster’s slow to leave the table, so I stick around too.
“You thinkin’ of pulling us out of Stella’s business, Prez?” Rooster asks once it’s just the three of us.
Z frowns. “No, why? You heard Hustler. She still brings in a lot of money.”
“No reason.” Rooster slaps his palm on the table and stands. “Just want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”
I’m not quite ready to leave yet.
“With Sway fucking off in Florida, it sounds like maybe Stella’s a bit…adrift, maybe?” I scrunch my face into one of thoughtful confusion. “They were a thing for a while, right? Maybe she’s missing that older man mentoring Sway was so good at.” It’s a struggle to keep my face stuck in serious mode.
Z groans at the reminder that he dipped his quill in the same ink as our old prez.
My work here is done.
I follow Rooster into the main part of the clubhouse. The room’s crowded, full of rowdy voices discussing the dirtier details of one hundred guys and one girl and the clink of glasses or popping of cans at the bar.
“You couldn’t miss that opportunity, could you?” Rooster slaps my back a few times and laughs as we settle onto two barstools in the corner away from everyone else.
I widen my eyes to a shocked and offended size. “At least I didn’t explicitly say he’s basically crossed swords with Sway.” I make an X with my index fingers to demonstrate.
“Nah, you were subtle as a brick.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Jesus Christ. Z might’ve shot you on the spot if you actually said that.”