Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Elena stands out in a place like this, but that’s what I love about her. Even dressed down in a ratty old track and field t-shirt from the ‘70s, tight against her shapely tits and tucked into her high-waisted jeans, she looks like a fucking movie star. She can’t help it—the girl oozes energy and charm.
“Let me ask you something,” I say after ordering her some wine and asking for whatever local lager they’ve got on tap. “How often do you come to a place like this?”
“I’m not just some privileged mafia princess, you know.” She grins at me though and crosses her legs. “I’ve been to plenty of bars in my day.”
“Yeah, okay, but how many times have you been to a place like this without a security detail?”
She punches my arm. “None. And you’re an asshole for asking.”
“That’s what I thought.”
She silences me with a look, but I can tell she’s being playful. We banter a little bit about our favorite dives, and I can tell her taste is definitely more modern than mine. I prefer places that’ve seen things, places with stains on the pool tables and broken mirrors in the bathrooms.
“Don’t look now, but I just spotted her.” Elena leans into me and kisses my cheek. “She’s sitting at the end of the bar. Don’t look!”
I crane my neck anyway and spot Maggie O’Malley parked in front of a light beer and chatting with an older gentleman I don’t recognize. She’s not dressed for a date, so I figure him for a regular she’s friendly with.
It took a little digging to find out where Maggie was going to be this evening. She’s been avoiding her usual haunts, maybe because she got a little too predictable and needed to hide out, or maybe because she heard I was on the hunt. Either way, Elena managed to track her down.
“Should we just go up and start talking to her?” I start to push back from the bar, but Elena stops me.
“God, you’re such an uncivilized buffoon.” She rolls her eyes at me. “I’ll take care of it, okay? Come over when I wave for you.”
“I’m not uncivilized,” I grumble at her but she’s already walking away. I glare at my beer, not used to a person taking control of the situation like that, but Elena’s a force to be reckoned with. I couldn’t stop her even if I wanted to. She’s a damn hurricane, and I feel my life twisting around her, rotating with her in the very center of everything.
I watch as Elena pretends to spot Maggie and say hello. They have a short conversation and it looks friendly enough, though I can tell Maggie’s not extremely happy to be cornered by my wife. Somehow Elena manages to get her chatting though and even orders her another drink before gesturing for me to approach.
“I should’ve figured you’d show up sooner or later, Quinn,” Maggie says, but she sounds more amused than annoyed.
“I was just telling Maggie about our bet. Brody thinks he’s been to more dives than I have, and I’m pretty sure the guy doesn’t know anything about Chicago compared to me, so we’re hitting up a bunch of different spots to see who has a better feel for the city. This was his choice, and I admit it’s a good spot.”
I’m impressed by how fast she came up with that story. When Maggie looks at me, I tilt my head and shrug. “What can I say? This is my kind of place?”
“Mine too,” she admits, eyes narrowed. “You always struck me as a high-end kind of guy, Quinn. You and your whole lawyer family.”
“Not even a little bit. You think my dad won over all those union clients by taking them to the Four-fucking-Seasons?”
Maggie snorts and raises a glass. “Here’s to the real Chicago.”
We drink a toast and Elena immediately takes control of the conversation, relegating me to the position of grunts and nods, which is actually ideal. She tells stories about the various fancy parties she’s attended over the years with lots of emphasis on how absurd and out of touch they are.
“I know my family’s reputation, but we’re not all like that.” Elena beams and orders a Jack and Coke when the bartender comes over. “I mean, yeah, I can’t pretend like I wasn’t born with a silver spoon shoved down my throat, but that doesn’t define me.”
Maggie seems skeptical, and soon they’re lightly ribbing each other, and I’m left wondering when the hell we’re going to mention the Waterfront project.
In theory, that’s why we’re here. I have a million other outstanding problems to solve at the moment and a minor war to run. Instead, I’m at a dive bar—admittedly a dive bar I like—having a perfectly fine conversation about absolutely nothing. Maggie seems happy though, and Elena’s a beaming lightning bolt of charm, and it’s hard to be grumpy in her presence. But I manage.