The roar of the motorcycle and the rush of wind tore past their ears as they weaved across the street. After a quick turn, the two women slipped down a narrow alley and finally came to a stop at the end. The door to the bar stood wide open, looking unremarkable from the outside. Inside, just two or three people were quietly tidying up, getting ready for the night ahead.


    Alessia pulled off her helmet and ran a hand through her long hair, smoothing it absentmindedly. Ste, with her neat, close–cropped hair, gave it a quick tousle and seemed content to leave it be–until Alessia rolled her eyes and reached over to pat down a stray tuft sticking up at the back.


    A server spotted them and rushed over, taking their helmets. Ste tossed him her keys as well, then slipped an arm around Alessia’s shoulders and led her inside. At five–six, Alessia wasn’t short, but Ste still had nearly a head on her.


    “So? It’s just like your ns,” Ste said, barely through the door before her excitement bubbled over. “You’re supposed to be the co–owner, but you never even showed up for the grand opening.”


    “You know I prefer to keep a low profile. Besides, didn’t I send you some little gifts as an apology?” Alessia cupped her face in her hands and winked. “Miss Laine is far too gracious to hold a grudge–right?”


    “Oh, I wouldn’t dare be mad at my favorite sponsor.” Ste nced over at the disy of sses and bottles behind the bar, shaking her head with mock admiration. “Seriously, though.”


    “Just some baubles worth, what, almost eight million?” Alessia replied with a smirk. That was exactly why Ste hadn’t worried when Alessia left the Tate family.


    How many pampered heiresses could, before even turning twenty–one, casually spend eight million on “little trinkets“-and, while she was at it, invest another million into her friend’s pipe–dream bar, all without any help from home?


    Alessia didn’t answer further. She simply made a slow circuit of the bar, Ste trailing behind her in silence.


    This wasn’t your typical bar, all neon and shadowy corners. Instead, the whole ce was bathed in a warm, golden glow–not sultry, but quietly luxurious. Anyone with an eye for it would notice: from the tiniest ss to the bricks in the wall, everything here was chosen with care. Some things, Ste knew, couldn’t be bought with money alone.


    <i>1/2 </i>


    Once she’d looked her fill, Alessia dropped into a cozy corner seat. Ste snapped her fingers, and a server appeared with a cocktail and a soda.


    Ste flicked her hair back, picking up her cocktail with one hand and draping her other arm along the sofa, looking effortlessly cool.


    “So, my illustrious patron–are you pleased with what you see?”


    Alessia arched an eyebrow, took a sip of juice, and set it down. “Not bad. With Justin and his crew handling the build, I’m not worried.”


    “How’s Queenie doing?”


    “She’ll be back by the end of the year, most likely.”


    “Good. She keeps telling me everything’s fine, but if something’s really wrong, nobody’s better at hiding it than her. Last time, she nearly died and I only found out because I was extra nosy. Otherwise, she’d still be keeping it from me.<b>” </b>


    Knowing this topic always riled Ste up, Alessia steered the conversation elsewhere. “But you called me over today–was there something important?”


    “Nothing major,” Ste said, shrugging. “I poached a new house singer from another ce. Pretty easy on the eyes. How about we grab dinnerter, thene back for a couple of songs?”


    Alessia didn’t look too interested, but she nodded anyway.


    “By the way, I heard you took your brother to see a doctor?”


    “Justin Keane told you?” Alessia cocked an eyebrow, catching the flicker of guilt on Ste’s face.


    “He stopped by for a couple drinks yesterday.”


    “Yesterday? Or does hee here every night?” Alessia teased, her tone light and yful.


    Ste made a show of sipping her drink, refusing to take the bait. “Don’t change the subject. What’s your angle?”


    “I’ve got to stick around for at least another year, so I figured I’d return the favor. It’d be a shame if he died at twenty–five. He’s not a bad guy–has some talent, too–so I just went with the flow and did him a good turn. The old man’s always wanted to take on an apprentice, and now he’s got one. At least he’ll quit nagging me about it for a while.”