Page 3 of The Daddy’s Girl

And maybe Matis will stick around as a mentor. I’m sure if we asked him to, he’d come and help out. I mean…look at us. We’re a mess. We’ll need some guidance for sure.

“Wait, so we’re really doing this?” Phoenix asks.

“I guess we’re really doing this,” Jack replies.

I bounce excitedly in my spot, and then I feel the cold, harsh eyes of Elizabeth as she glances over at me. And instead of scowling or glaring, she actually smiles.

Weston rushes off to the bar for a round of shots to celebrate. A moment later, he returns with a tray of lemony vodka drinks and passes them around to everyone.

“To the new club,” someone cheers as we all hold up our drinks.

“Wait,” I shout. “Dad said we could rename it. So what should it be?”

Jack grins at me. “Well, he said our parents created a legacy. So I say we do the same.”

Phoenix nods. “Legacy.”

“I like it,” I reply with a wide grin.

“To Legacy,” Weston cheers.

In unison, we all hold up our drinks with an excitement that is infectious. “To Legacy.”

I realize this could actually be the start of something good. It’s probably for the best that Matis isn’t running the place again. I need to get over that crush anyway.

What did I really expect to happen? For him to suddenly realize that he’s in love with me, his goddaughter?

I might be a dreamer, but that is downright delusional.

Rule #1: The only thing holding you back is yourself…and that massive crush on your father’s best friend.

Amelia

Almost two years later

Most girls my age have vision boards. I imagine they’re covered in things like wedding dresses, elaborate tropical vacations, attractive age-appropriate partners, maybe even a few kids and a white picket fence.

But I don’t have a vision board. I have a pile of unfinished sketches, scraps of mismatched fabric, an espresso-stained crop top, an Adderall prescription, and a lifelong crush on the one man I cannot have.

The speaker in the corner croons a lo-fi hip-hop station, the only sound that lets me focus, because the one thing worse than music with lyrics is complete silence. But the sultry slow melody and calming synth beat is just the right combination of sound.

The club is still hours from opening, and the view from my window displays a hazy orange glow over Paris. I don’t know if any of the other owners are in yet, but I assume at least a few are. Most of the internal workings of owning a sex club can take place during regular business hours. The only ones who really need to be here late are Weston, since he runs the bar, and Elizabeth, who manages the performers. Jack and Julian are both out of here by dinnertime most days now, especially since they’ve settled down and found themselves a loving partner. Or partners in my brother’s case.

Then there’s Phoenix. But she intimidates me a little, so I try to avoid her.

With one knee perched on a rolling chair, I hover awkwardly over a floral spring line. I feel as if I’m swimming through ideas—or drowning in them, rather.

This isn’t for the club, of course. Nothing about these floral chiffon sleeves or empire waists screams sex club, but I’m working on more of a side project right now. My best friend, Freya, has been pushing me to submit for a designer’s fashion program where they take young ducklings and grow us into full-fledged designers.

Which I guess has always been the dream.

The only problem is Freya is focused, hardworking, disciplined, and brilliant. She just opened her own restaurant to astounding success.

Whereas I forget to eat most days, still live with my parents, and probably only got this job because my dad was the one handing out the positions.

My best friend believes in me, which is amazing, but she doesn’t really understand. She doesn’t get so overwhelmed with choices she shuts down. She doesn’t look at mile-long to-do lists and crash out in tears.

And her love life isn’t completely stalled out by a useless crush on someone twenty-eight years older than her.