The Billionaire’s Valentine Vixen Wyatt, Dani (red white royal blue TXT) 📖

Martel has an engagement ring on her finger, she’s living with him at his massive, gorgeous cabin and he has a fierce protectiveness over her that gives me a twinge of envy.

“Alice?” My sister’s voice breaks through the happy memory. “When will you be back? I can’t put off the payment.”

“I guess I’ll try to be back in the morning,” I bite out the sharp answer. I had hoped for a few days just with me, Bria and Martel and driving back and forth to placate Lydia was not in the plan. “I’ll let you know. I need to hang up. I have to concentrate on driving.”

“Please, Cheery.” She uses the nickname my father gave me when I was little. “You know I hate to ask for money, but I really need you to be here tomorrow. Okay?”

“I’ll do my best.”

She’s still griping when I end the call and my good mood from this morning has nearly evaporated. I love my sister. I do. She’s twelve years older than me but , even at nineteen I’m way more responsible. I try to constantly remind myself that she didn’t do well with our parents’ death, but I didn’t either.

She was such a train wreck after the accident, there wasn’t much room for me to fall apart. My mother always told me I was an old soul, more mature than most, and since they’ve been gone Lydia has regressed, and I’ve been left to help prop her up more and more as time goes on.

She’s the one that got me the job at The Sunshine Lounge. She worked at the club as a housekeeper first, then she became what they call the house mother. Marvin, nickname Popcorn, who was just a shift manager at the time, fired all the girls one night when they came to him asking for more security when one of the girls had an overzealous customer follow her into the restroom. They all stuck together, made their request a demand, said they weren’t going to perform unless changes were made.

He fired them all. Anyway, Lydia knew I needed money for school; I’d just turned eighteen and the hours were conducive to my upcoming class schedule. I have my mother’s exotic sort of beauty and a body to match. It’s all genetic luck of the draw, but at this point in my life, it’s paying for my pre-med and keeping my sister from being homeless. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be dancing for a living, but desperate times and all that.

At least when Dale owned the place, I could convince myself it was just a job.

Now that Popcorn’s at the helm, everything’s changed.

Now, I do my best to just keep my head down, do the job, smile and work it to my advantage without getting dirty, so to speak. Which, is ironic because the only thing I’ve ever done in real life with a boy is kiss. Bobby Klosky in sixth grade. One kiss and he tried to stick his tongue in my mouth and I gave him a black eye.

I’ve got a plan in motion that may—may—be able to free me from the depressing job as well as pay most of my schooling and dig Lydia out of whatever trench she’s currently in. It’s a back-and-forth online negotiation right now with this guy who’s being a total ass, and I don’t dare tell Lydia. I know now why my Gran gave me the brooch when I was fifteen and told me to keep it a secret. She said, that someday, it would point me in the right direction in my life. It’s a gold, antique Scottish wedding brooch; back then I didn’t think much about it, but when Bria moved out of her father’s place and I realized everything was changing in my life, I went online and poked around trying to find some history on it.

Holy kapow. My Gran was right about it pointing me in a direction. I sent pictures to an online appraiser to be sure and when I got his email back telling me the history, provenance, and the potential value…I knew she was looking out for me from heaven. So, I have my fingers crossed that the brooch’s value, estimated between one-hundred and fifty and two-hundred thousand dollars, is going to be the saving grace I need right now.

The back of the Buick starts to fishtail, heat bolting through me as I hold onto the steering wheel harder.

“Jesus take the wheel.” I grit my teeth and steer into the swerve. Living in Michigan you learn how to handle driving in the snow, but it also teaches you when to change your plans.

I slow to a near crawl on the freeway, hitting the button for my hazard lights until I see a sign for a rest area and pull off, park and call Bria.

Her chipper voice comes through.

“Hello there, Cheery Cherrie.” She blends my father’s nickname for me with my stage name. “How’s the drive?”

“Not so good, actually. It’s coming down like mad. This rear-wheel-drive isn’t cutting it. I pulled off, not sure what I should do. Probably turn around, I’m closer to getting back to my sister’s than coming all the way to you.”

“Yeah, the roads up here are a mess. No plows are going to come to our area for a while. Martel can get our little road plowed for you with his truck, but the dirt roads leading into the property are going to be dicey.”

“I was so looking forward to coming. I need my bff.”

“I know. Me too. I miss you.” I hear the pout in her voice. “Maybe Martel can drive and pick you up…”

“No,” I snap, my instincts kicking in. I never want to ask for or accept help, sometimes to my