69 Days With Lionel Shrike: Book 1

Macy’s Pov “Tonight, I’m gonna make sure I have one of the best nights of my life,” Ingrid declared energetically as she applied a fresh layer of blush to her cheeks. “Hmm-mm,” I muttered under my breath, knowing exactly where this predictable conversation was already headed. “What?” She glared at me through the vanity mirror, then marched over to toss her makeup kit into its box. “I should be asking you. You’re the one glaring at me,” I replied, entirely unamused. “You have that look again, the one that says you wouldn't be friends with me if we weren't technically sisters.” “We’re not sisters, Ingrid.” I deliberately drew out her name. “My dad married your mother strictly for political convenience. If they actually manage to pop out a kid together, that would be my sibling,” I shot back, slipping a silver bracelet over my wrist. “Are you finished yet? I want to leave before my dad gets back from his fundraiser.” She found her heels on the closet floor and shoved her feet into them grudgingly. “You really don't have to be such a b***h to me, you know.” There was no point in dignifying that with a response. I grabbed my long wool coat, tossing it over my shoulders to hide the raunchy outfit underneath. A microscopic black dress that left practically nothing to the imagination, paired with towering leather stilettos. My heavy dark eyeliner was the final, rebellious touch to the all black ensemble. “Take us to that underground club downtown, the one people go to when they desperately don't want to be found,” I instructed Roman the second we settled into the leather seats of the car. Roman had been my personal driver for two years now. He was close to my age, sharply athletic, and heavily decorated with military service awards, whereas formal education and institutional rules were never really my thing. He wasn’t just my driver, he was part of my dedicated security detail. Dad often bragged to his political colleagues that he trusted Roman with my life. Well, tonight, I was about to test just how far that trust extended. Being the daughter of a former mayor who was now a sitting Senator came with plenty of glittering rewards, but it also carried a mountain of exhausting drawbacks. I couldn't step foot anywhere in this city without the paparazzi ambushing me. And because I was proudly branded as the black sheep of the family, the wild, unpredictable daughter who loved to party until dawn, wear scandalously revealing outfits, and pull stunts that made campaign managers weep, I was a walking tabloid target. I loved being bad because it was the ultimate rejection of the pristine, suffocating cage my father tried to keep me in. I wasn't born to wave politely from a parade float or pose for glossy family holiday cards, I was born to burn the script. Naturally, my antics were severely hurting Dad’s political career whenever the media used me as leverage to smear his name. But ever since Roman took over as my driver, let’s just say we’ve been able to confirm all those wild media rumors firsthand. Because personal growth and sudden lifestyle changes simply weren't in my vocabulary. “We’re here, ma’am,” Roman announced smoothly, cutting the engine. He was already out of the driver’s seat, standing guard by my door and pulling the handle open. “Thank you, Roman,” I offered, stepping out. I lingered by the car door, leaning in close. “We’re going to be in there for a while, so you could always come inside and have some fun yourself.” I flashed him a flirty smile, treating it as an open invitation. Roman, however, reacted with the exact same level of enthusiastic interest he’d shown every single time I tried this before: absolutely zero. “Have a good night, Miss. Powers,” he said flatly, keeping his eyes dead ahead. I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Come on, Ingrid,” I snapped, turning on my heel and making my way towards the entrance. The club inside was an absolute sensory assault, a furnace of flashing strobes, heavy bass that vibrated straight through the floorboards, and a writhing sea of sweaty bodies grinding against each other like wild animals. I managed to lose Ingrid in the dense crowd during my short walk to the bar. I was almost worried for about three seconds until her text popped up on my phone screen: Met the hottest guy ever, see you when it’s time to leave! I sighed, pocketing my phone. Typical Ingrid. Always running off like a stray cat with the very first guy who breathed in her direction. Pushing my way up to the counter, I flagged down the bartender. “Get me a double shot of Electric Blue Absinthe, neat,” I ordered, needing something strong enough to numb my brain. As I waited for the glass, a sudden wave of restlessness washed over me. For some inexplicable reason, I didn't want to be here anymore. The bass suddenly felt like a headache waiting to happen, and the energy of the room felt exhausting. I decided I’d had enough, I was going to go wait it out in the comfort of the car with Roman. Turning sharply to weave my way back through the crowd towards the exit, I plowed right into a solid, muscular chest, nearly spilling my drink. “Watch where you’re going, princess,” a deep, mocking voice drawled from above me. Something inside me just snapped. Between the exhaustion, the suffocating club, and my general disdain for arrogant strangers, I didn't apologize. Instead, acting purely on impulse and a spike of adrenaline, my hand shot out. I snatched the expensive looking gold plated lighter right out of the guy’s open palm and bolted straight towards the exit doors, laughing like a maniac. “Hey! Are you out of your mind, come back here!” a voice shouted behind me. By the time I burst through the double doors, breathless and giggling, heavy footsteps were pounding right behind me. A tall, broad shouldered guy with messy dark hair and an amused, bewildered smirk shimmed into view, holding up his hands. “Seriously? You pickpocketed my vintage zippo and sprinted three blocks just to steal a piece of metal? You’re legitimately crazy,” he laughed, shaking his head. I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest, letting. “I’m impulsive, not crazy. Big difference. Besides, you’re the crazy one for running after me.” His dark eyes danced with amusement as he took a slow step closer, looking me up and down. “So, what brings a girl like you hiding out in a dive like this all by her lonesome?” “Looking for good s*x,” I replied instantly, holding his gaze without a single blink. He raised an eyebrow, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. “Ouch. And how’s that quest been going for you so far?” “So far? A whole lot of nothing.” I shrugged. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a card with a set of embossed numbers stamped in silver. He held it out between two fingers. “Well, if you’re still interested by the time you realize your current options are a waste of time... here’s my room number. Feel free to stop by.” I stared at the card in his hand, a sudden wave of stubborn hesitation washing over me. Instead of taking it, I crossed my arms tighter. “No thanks. I’m not interested,” I lied smoothly, turning on my heel and walking briskly back toward the parked car. I got into the back seat, slamming the door shut with a huff. I leaned forward, fixing my eyes on Roman’s rigid profile in the rearview mirror. “You know, Roman,” I purred, leaning over the console and letting my hand brush against his arm, “you really don't have to be so boring all the time. We could have a really good time together if you just loosened up.” Roman shifted slightly away, his voice entirely professional and devoid of any warmth. “Miss. Powers, please sit back and keep your hands to yourself. My job is to drive you, nothing more.” “You don’t have to be an asshole, you know?” A mix of rejection and anger immediately flared in my chest. I snatched my coat, jerked the door open and sprinted out of the car. Once I got out and breathed in the clean night air, I leaned back into the car window, glaring at him. “You know what? f**k you, Roman!” I yelled, slamming the door shut with all my might. Breathing heavily, I looked down at my hand. Resting tightly in my palm was the black card the stranger had given me, the one I had swiped right out of his fingers while walking away. Impulse taking the wheel once again, I turned away from the car, marched back into the hotel lobby attached to the venue, and rode the elevator up to the third floor. I walked down the hallway until I found the numbers matching the card: Room 304. I raised my hand and gave a three-part knock on the door. The lock clicked almost instantly. The door swung open, revealing the stranger leaning casually against the doorframe, he had an air of confidence, like he knew I would show up, and a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Took you long enough,” he murmured, his eyes locked on mine. He stepped back, gesturing into the dark candlelit room. “Shut the door... and walk slowly to me.”