Chapter One
Miranda
There are three rules for a night out on the town. Wear a good bra, leave the stilettos at home, and if you didn't come with him, don't leave with him. Somehow, I've managed to break two of the three without even trying. My boobs feel like they're in a cage and if I don't get off my feet, I'm going to stab someone in the eye with my pointy heel. My feet are screaming for mercy, but my best friends show no signs of letting up anytime soon.
Luckily for me, they're easily distracted by the promise of alcohol purchased on someone else's tab…mine.
"You guys go," I say, fanning my face as I drop down into the booth at the back of the bar. "I'll get our waiter's attention and order more drinks." I point at the empty glasses scattered around our table, subtly reminding them that we're fresh out.
"Boo," Joey calls, cupping his hands around his mouth like we're at a sporting event instead of a crowded bar in downtown Chattanooga when—let's be honest—we've never stepped foot inside a stadium unless it was for a Lady Gaga concert. "The night is just getting started, baby girl. Don't think you're getting out of prancing your sexy ass around on the stage to sing for us."
"I'll sing," I promise him, knowing I don't have a choice. If I don't go willingly, Joey will drag me to the karaoke stage kicking and screaming. He's been my best friend since we were in kindergarten, and he has always been stubborn. Nothing ever slows him down or dulls his shine. He's bright and loud and I love him to death.
But if I don't take a break, my feet are never going to forgive me. Letting Lauren, my work bestie, talk me into stilettos was not my best plan ever. We've only been dancing an hour and I'm already tired.
"You're riding the bull tonight," Lauren says.
I groan loudly and glance toward the bull. It's set up in the middle of the bar, with a wooden safety fence around it. The thing is honestly intimidating. It's been bucking drunk college girls off since we got here. My dad will flip if he sees pictures of me riding the thing. But I can tell by the wicked gleam in Lauren's hazel eyes that my dad has no sway here.
Apparently, it's tradition at Davis Financial Group for the birthday girl, or boy, to take a ride on White Lightning. With a dozen other coworkers currently on the dance floor, I know there's no way I'm getting out of it tonight. Not unless I want to tell them all those pesky details about my life that I've kept private. Like the fact that my dad is a billionaire and I'm his only heir.
Lauren and Joey are the only two here who know the truth. And they're both sworn to secrecy. I prefer to keep it that way. People tend to treat you differently when they know you're rich. I should know. I've been treated like a spoiled little rich girl since I was a baby.
"Oh! This song is my shit!" Joey squeals when the opening bars of Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy blare over the speakers. He grabs Lauren by the arm and drags her onto the dance floor with him, already shaking his ass and throwing his hands up in the air.
I throw my head back and laugh as he clears space on the floor. Did I mention he's a showoff? He's been dancing since we were little and will take any opportunity to show off his moves. He's an amazing dancer and choreographer though. If I had his moves, I'd probably want to show them off too. Okay, probably not. I'm not a big fan of being the center of attention.
I take a drink of water and kick my feet up in the booth, wiggling my toes.
"Next time I let them take me out, I'm picking my own shoes," I mumble to myself, and then glance down and grimace. "And my own outfit."
Lauren has me in a black bodysuit with lace detailing along the top, a tiny pair of cutoff jean shorts, and mouse ears. The top molds to my body like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination…and I'm pretty sure my vagina is going to catch a cold because of how short the shorts are.
I feel ridiculous, but she and Joey both think I look hot.
Judging by some of the looks that have been coming my way since we got here, I think she may be right. The outfit isn't something I would have chosen. I spent my childhood surrounded by politicians and men like my dad—those who make millions before they even open their eyes. I learned to dress the part early. It's what I know…what I've always known.
I don't regret the way I grew up. My dad is the most amazing man I know. He always makes sure he has time for me and my mom, no matter how busy he gets. He's given me everything in life and then some. I want to make him proud of me.
I also, desperately, want to prove to the world that I'm not some spoiled little rich girl like they all assume. Which is why I took the internship at Davis Financial Group six months ago. I don't want to make it in life just because of who my father is. I want to succeed, or fail, on my own merit.
So far, things seem to be going all right. If my boss, Grant Davis, knows who my dad is, he's kept it to himself. He doesn't treat me any differently than anyone else who works for him. Instead, I'm working my way up from the bottom, just like every other would-be financial analyst who comes through the doors of his company.
Which is a good thing in my opinion. Grant Davis is the best financial analyst in Tennessee, but he has been in a foul mood since his sister, Sienna, married his best friend a few weeks ago. He isn't mean, just…really grumpy. He's fired every assistant sent his way lately. I do not want to be on his bad side.
"Go Joey!" I yell, laughing when he breaks it down on the dancefloor in a one man show. Everyone else claps and cheers him on, letting him have center stage. Lauren stands off to the side, her head thrown back as she laughs along with everyone else.
The crowd around them shifts, blocking my view. I glance toward the mechanical bull just in time to see a blonde go flying off onto the mats. She lays there for a long moment, laughing like she's having the time of her life. She's insane if you ask me.
No free shot and photo on the wall of achievement is worth all that.
"You thinkin' about riding, Minnie?"
I look over to the left and then blink at the man sitting in the far back corner of the table next to ours. He's got his arm propped up on the back of the booth I'm in, a beer in his hand. I don't know how I missed him back there because there is nothing forgettable or missable about him. The left side of face is partially obscured in shadow, but his full lips and sharp jaw are visible. So is his close-cropped blond hair and deep-set, steel blue eyes.
He's big and brawny, like a cage fighter or a Viking. The sleeves of his button down are rolled up, showing off the tattoos crawling like ivy up his sun-kissed right forearm. The way he wraps his long fingers around his bottle, gripping it firmly, makes me want to squirm, but I'm not sure why. He just seems so…commanding or controlled, maybe. Like nothing fazes him.
"I didn't see you there," I say.
"I know." He flashes me a smile. It's no more than a quick curving of one side of his mouth, but I feel like squirming again. He's beautiful in the same way wild animals are. Power and grace all wrapped up in a lethal, gorgeous package. "You didn't answer my question, Minnie."
"Miranda," I correct.
"Miranda." His lips curve again. "You got a last name, pretty baby?"