If you're looking for an adventure in the morally grey, and a crash course of the human condition, this is the story for you! What is good and evil? Where is that line drawn, and who decides that? Packed with humor, danger, feels, and awkward relati...
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They had finally left the dinner party her father had been invited to. Every time campaign season rolled around, her father went on a spree of parties, charity functions, and home visits to his closer supporters. They had months before the election still, and it would be her father's second and last term for a while, but that never stopped him.
For these functions, Rachel was just a pawn. She wasn't sure her father had ever loved her as anything else. At every gathering, she was taken to the salon, dressed up, and presented as a face for her father's functional family-man guise. They had far from a working family. When her mother had passed many years prior, Rachel had lost much of her ability to interact with her father, and their relationship had turned as bitter as his eyes were now.
As the mayor, the man got a lot of publicity and so did she. Or at least she had. They used to try and follow her, but her gang had made quick work of that. One reporter had ended up with smashed equipment and another with slit tires on their car. After the last one crawled away with a broken bone, the others were made sufficiently fearful of pursuing her and had stopped. On rare occasion, one tried and horribly regretted it, but those attempts were few and far between now.
Exhausted and bored in the car, she slid out of her overcoat, setting it to the side as she met her father's dark eyes. Rachel had inherited none of her genes from the man–not her looks nor her personality. Her father was imposing, wide of shoulder but slim of form. Just big enough to look in charge, but small enough to look friendly to his supporters. His eyes were bitter dark chocolate and his hair matching, though only from hair-dye. The man had started to grey some time ago.
"You were out with those ruffians again, I hear." Her father broke the stale silence, and she flicked her gaze up to him. Her father had heard nothing, only assumed, but he knew it was true.
"They're my friends, Dad." Rachel leaned on her armrest in their limousine. The interior was completely black leather, and there was a mini bar in the corner so her father could unwind from parties. The car was owned by her father, and he liked to show up in class and drive in comfort.
"Why can't you act more mature?"
Rachel fumed from the question, glaring at him.
Mature? Half of the functions she went to, she was stuffed in some party dress that squeezed her ass tighter than if someone were grabbing it. In her father's head, he wanted her to lure in some of his contributors' sons with her wiles so they would favor him.
What god damn wiles?
All the shared private classes with them, charity functions she was forced to intermingle in, and expensive clothes her father could dress her like a doll in, did not change her into the sort of girl who could woo people. In clothes that were the current style, fashionable, but still revealing in all the most subtle ways, it wasn't just the young sons of her father's backers that were looking at her.
