Party Girl (A novella from the world of House of Payne): House Of Payne Series, #12.5

By Stacy Gail

TRIGGER WARNING: This book deals with a character dosed with Rohypnol, a date-rape drug. Though the assault goes no further than that, if this is a trigger, this book is not for you.

 

 

Content creator. Trendsetting influencer. Society columnist.

Hannah Raven has worked nonstop since she was sixteen to make it big. Abandoned by her mother to a grandmother who didn't want her, Hannah fought to create a space for herself where she belonged. So what if it was on the internet? That didn't mean it wasn't real.

 

 

Decorated military hero. Doctor. One of Chicago's prized eligible bachelors.

Dalton Derico thought he'd seen it all, and what he'd seen wasn't worth a damn. Then a stunning woman collapses in his arms after being slipped a roofie, and everything changes. There is beauty in the world, and he will have it for himself… as long as he can convince Hannah that all her roads lead to him.

 

 

Flitting from party to party has always been Hannah's way, but now that she knows the darker side of party life, she's reconsidering where she belongs. Is she destined to cover the celebrations of other people forever, or should she risk putting her faith in Dalton by creating a new world that could belong to them both?

 

 

***This contemporary romance includes a fiercely protective Alpha who's hot enough to raise temperatures and drop panties. As always, no cheating, no love triangles, no cliffhangers. HEA guaranteed, with an epilogue built to make you happy-sigh. Due to adult language and sexual content, this book is not intended for people under the age of eighteen.***

 

 

52,000 words

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stacy Gail
• Release date: Jun 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201837068

Book preview

Prologue

...her name?

Hannah. Hannah Raven. From out of a baffling cacophony of sound, Hannah heard the voice of her best friend, Zenni. Oh, thank God. Zenni was there. Everything would be okay now.

But still...

Something’s wrong.

The world spun wildly, tossing her sideways, then upside down, then God knew where, like she was caught in a dryer and couldn’t get out. That didn’t make sense. How could she be caught in a dryer? And why did her best friend sound so panicked? Where were they? Hadn’t they already left Chicago Pulse, the paper where they worked together?

No, wait.

What’s happening?

She and Zenni had left work, but not together. Hannah remembered now. She had hoped to meet up with her friend later at a new nightclub’s grand opening that they were supposed to be covering for the newspaper’s Gossip section. Zenni had finally shown up with some hottie to make out with, so Hannah had left her to it. She was fine with working the nightclub angle on her own.

The nightclub was the last thing she remembered. After that...

Nothing.

Where was she?

I don’t know where I am.

A whisper of panic hit somewhere so deep it didn’t leave a mark, even as Zenni’s voice sounded once more. Oh God, I can’t believe this is happening. Hannah is always so careful about what she ingests. Should we call an ambulance for her, or get her to the hospital ourselves? We don’t even know what Rapey McBastard dosed her with—

Ambulance? Hannah tried to make the question come out, but the word lost its way from her brain to her mouth. What was an ambulance? She couldn’t quite hold on to that word. It sounded important. More alarms jangled through her, close to where she tumbled in that strange soup of fog and noise.

I’ve already called for an ambulance, Zenni. ETA, two minutes. The voice that answered was unfamiliar—deep, masculine. Authoritative in an I’m-in-charge kind of way, and it wrapped around Hannah like a blanket. It was the voice of a man who knew how to make everything right in the world. She’s going to be fine, you have my word on that.

Good, Hannah whispered, still not sure what they were talking about. But knowing the owner of that voice had everything locked down and under control sparked off a soothing wave of relief. Because...

Something’s very wrong.

No, no, no.

That wasn’t quite right.

Something was very wrong with her.

Was she sick?

She didn’t remember being sick. In fact, she didn’t remember anything beyond being at the new nightclub, doing her job. But now, they’d called an ambulance.

And an ambulance was...

She frowned, reaching for that elusive word so hard she groaned. Damn it, she knew what an ambulance was, she was almost sure of it.

It was something people needed when they were sick, or dying.

Oh God, what’s wrong with me?

What’s happening? The question stumbled from her misfiring brain and fell out of her mouth, the slurring words barely coherent. Her tongue wouldn’t work. She couldn’t feel her lips. She could barely make them move. She couldn’t even feel her body.

Why can’t I move? I need help. Please, please, someone help me...

I think she’s coming around. That deep voice of comfort was close, and there were hands touching her—on her throat, on her face. Light registered in a dim sort of way as those hands opened her eyes one at a time. Yeah, you can hear me, can’t you, Hannah? Open your eyes and tell me you can hear me.

Bossy, she wanted to say, but this time around her vocal cords refused to work and the response faded into the spinning fog surrounding her brain. But the order to open her eyes took root, and slowly she dragged them open.

The world swam.

Oh no. The moan came out all on its own as that amorphous panic fluttered again. Everything was wrong, just wrong, and she couldn’t figure out why. Help me, please. I’m not... I’m not...

Easy, now. I am helping you.

But I’m not... I’m not...

Shh, you’re safe now. Something compressed around her. Arms, maybe. Like a hug. Focus on my voice. Focus on knowing you’re safe.

Safe. Safe was good. It made the panic go away.

You heard me right, beautiful. A hand caressed over her hair. Mm. Nice. Nothing’s going to hurt you now that I’m here, you got that? I’ll never let anything bad happen to you ever again.

Again? I’m not... I’m not... I’m not okay. Yes. Finally got the damn words out.

I know. But you will be. I’ll make you all better. Again that pressure squeezed around her, spilling warmth throughout her body, until she could feel her arms and legs once more.

Thank goodness.

Who. The world refused to come into focus, and it infuriated her. She had to know who was talking to her. With what felt like the last of her strength, Hannah blinked and concentrated hard on the face hovering above hers. Through the tilt-a-whirl dizziness turning her stomach inside out, she could make out dark eyes and hair, and a face so beautiful it couldn’t possibly be real. God, this was such a trippy dream, or maybe even a full-fledged nightmare. Was he an angel? Who are you?

I’m your man, Hannah, the dream figure-slash-angel told her, and it sounded like a promise. Hold on to those words and know you’re safe. I’m your man, now and forever.

Okay, she whispered, and let the fog take her away once more.

Chapter One

And that’s the sitch, mavens, Hannah said, looking directly into the camera mounted just over the main monitor on her wraparound desk. She had a pretty sweet streaming setup—two large monitors and a laptop, in addition to a custom-built, water-cooled PC that fit under the desk. The key lights and boom mic were also attached to the desk, and through the high-end earphones one of her many sponsors had gifted to her, she could hear the crystal-clear quality of her voice coming through for her million-plus YouTube subscribers to hear. If she could reach even one person to get them on their guard, then maybe the nightmare she’d lived through wasn’t all for nothing. "You know who I am. I’m the woman who wrote a three-part article on how to protect against being dosed with date-rape drugs, yet look what happened. I got dosed. The fucker who did this to me was caught red-handed because my best friend just happened to be there, and she saw it all go down, but that still doesn’t change the fact that someone got to me. My message to all of you now is that if it can happen to me, a person who knows how to be careful out there on the club scene, it can happen to anyone. Even you."

The chat scrolled by lightning-fast, but she’d been an influencer for years now. All her AMA—short for ask me anything—livestreams were like this. Speed-reading was now just part of the job. Thanks for asking how I’m doing, Lemon Hippie. I’m doing great, at least physically. Mentally and emotionally, I’m trying to get back on the horse. As you guys know, I’m basically a professional party girl, and I love what I do. I’m the head Gossip reporter for one of the leading newspapers in Illinois, so it’s my job to go to premiers and concerts and grand openings. It’s a great gig, a total dream job, or at least it was. Most of the time I can hardly believe I get paid to go to parties. But right now, it’s kind of a lot. Her phone chimed and she glanced down at it. Then she looked up and grinned straight into the camera. Aww, there’s my best friend now. Hey, Zenni, glad you’re watching, and please feel free to add anything to the story that I might have forgotten, okay? Chat, we’ve got a lurker watching the stream, so everyone give some serious hype to the woman who saved me from a fate worse than death that night, Zenni Greer.

The chat went from fast to crazy-ass warp speed, the hearts and hype emojis clogging the chat stream in a cascade of internet love. That was so sweet, she thought, grabbing up her keyboard, clicking into a new tab and typing fast. Zenni deserved all the love in this universe and beyond.

Chat, you should also know that Zenni probably won’t be able to talk too much, because day before yesterday, the girl up and got her fine ass married to one of the two men who helped me that fateful night. Remember I said she’d brought some hot guy to the club? Welp, you guessed it. That hot guy turned out to be Zenni’s future husband, and one of my heroes that night. Give him a kiss for me, Zenni, and congrats again on your shiny new marriage. Hope you’re having a great time on your honeymoon.

More emojis showered through the chat, this time champagne glasses, confetti and popping bottles. Her chatters were the freaking best. They knew how to communicate with emojis better than most people who used actual words.

I do admit, I feel a little exposed now that you’re off somewhere in Honeymoon Land boinking your new hubby’s brains out, she added, only partly kidding. I’m now on my own out here on the job, with no wing-woman to watch my six, hunting down the best and brightest party spots in all of Chicago. But for those of you who might be worried about me, she added, grabbing up her new, red-glitter water bottle, "I’m now living by a new motto—BYOWB, also known as bring your own water bottle. This baby is tightly sealed, filled by me personally and never out of my grasp. Yeah, that can be a bit of a juggle when I also have a digital recorder, a notepad, and camera going full blast with the vlogging thing. But at they say, where there’s a will there’s a way. I mean, who am I to complain when this is the life I chose, right?"

She kept her eyes on chat, and smiled when she spied Zenni’s response. "Talon says you need to choose another life. He also says I need to get my ass back in bed, so gotta go. Great show tonight, love u, byeee."

Bye, Zen. Have a great night, you two. She had no doubt they would, and that was enough to make her chuckle. And on that note, I think Zenni has the right idea in wrapping things up, so I’ll just say this in closing before turning on the Q and A feature for tomorrow night’s show. When you’re clubbing, no matter how safe you might feel, please remember that you’re not. If you’re out on the town, enjoy yourself and have a blast, of course. But never forget there are predators out there just waiting for you to slip up. Believe me, it’s the truth, so do me a favor and never let your guard down, okay? Don’t trust anyone, no matter how cute or harmless they seem. The moment you relax is the moment you could regret for the rest of your life, and I don’t want that for any of you. You’re my family, and I love you all. With casual efficiency she typed in a command for the automated moderator. Okay guys, you know the drill. I’ve now opened up the Q and A feature, so go ahead and type in your questions for tomorrow night’s scheduled chat with NBA rising star Tatum Wise and his new clothing line that he’s designed himself. Please use the hashtag I just spammed in the chat, and Tatum and I will get to as many of your questions as we can. She frowned as a sudden post leaped out at her. Doctor D, I’m actually getting off-stream now, so your question of whether or not I think my advice to shut down on total strangers is going too far will have to wait. Though in all fairness, that’s not what I said, she added, looking back into the camera. I said you can’t let your guard down while clubbing because there are predators out there just waiting for you to make a mistake.

You also said don’t trust anyone. That’s shutting down.

Her frown deepened as the response came almost immediately. Was she dealing with a troll? Doctor D, I leave it up to each individual to decide who’s worthy of their trust. But personally, I know what my response to a stranger should be, and that response is to make sure they don’t get within touching distance of either me or my drink.

Good to hear. Obviously you need to be careful, and I’m glad you’ve got your eyes opened to how dangerous your job is. But when someone shows you who they are right up front—for instance, not leaving your side during your ER stay and carrying you into Zenni’s guest room because you were still woozy—you should believe that person is someone you can trust.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

It was only thanks to the years of being in front of a vlogging camera that Hannah didn’t completely freak out. With a single keystroke she shadow-banned Doctor D, making it impossible for anyone but her to see his posts. Which was exactly the way she wanted it.

What the hell was Dalton Derico doing, watching her livestream?

And with that, I’ll say goodnight. Don’t forget to tune in to Raven’s Haven tomorrow to get your pop culture fix for all things trendy both here in Chicago and around the world. Sweet dreams, my lovely mavens. Blowing a kiss as she always did when signing off, she hit the button on her stream deck to terminate the stream, made sure she was no longer live, then slumped back in her chair with a hand plastered to her chest.

Holy crap.

Dr. Dalton Derico had watched her AMA livestream.

Why?

Since she’d been dosed with a roofie a month ago, she’d done everything she could to be open about it. She’d talked about her experience with her viewers, holding nothing back, from horrified tears to almost incoherent rage, to determination to never allow anyone to harm her like that again. She’d opened up all her social media platforms to those who wanted to share their own stories, bringing the painful subject of date rape and acquaintance rape into the spotlight where it belonged. She’d even talked about Zenni and her man, Talon, who’d saved her while she’d been zonked out and helpless.

But there had been another man there that night along with Talon and Zenni, who’d come to her rescue when she’d needed it the most. For some reason, though, Hannah couldn’t bring herself to mention him with any detail. If she’d mentioned him at all, it was simply as one of the two men who’d been there to rescue her from the dope-pushing fuckwit. But he had a name.

Dalton Derico.

It was a total mystery why she felt so reluctant to talk about him. He was her hero, after all. Why wasn’t she comfortable with talking about his role in saving her that night from a fate worse than death?

He was too pretty, came the immediate and irrational answer. Dalton Derico had that rangy, dangerous build Zenni’s new husband had, which made a certain amount of sense. Both men had apparently been total badasses in the army not too long ago, pulling off daring rescue missions that rivaled even the most outrageous Mission: Impossible scenarios. Their actions had garnered them both the Bronze Star for uncommon valor, making them official decorated war heroes.

With the last name of Derico, she guessed Dalton came from Italian heritage, and heaven knew he looked it. Though he kept his dark brown hair short in an ultra-cool fade cut, it was clear his glossy, thick hair had a natural curl that he had no hope of taming. That hair was glorious, and his clean-shaven face was a perfect match for it—rugged and square-jawed, with a nose that looked like it had been broken at least once, and lips with just the right kind of fullness that made a woman hunger to take a nibble.

But as riveting as his face and hair was, it was his eyes that had haunted her from the time she'd dizzily managed to focus on him. In that moment, when she’d had no idea where she was or what was happening, she’d looked up into Dalton’s eyes and felt safe. When her world had gone topsy-turvy, feeling safe and protected had meant everything.

She hadn’t been able to get that moment—or those eyes—out of her mind. Surprisingly soulful, Dalton’s eyes were a mesmerizing, liquid black, and so darkly fringed with lashes she had at first thought it had to be makeup. No one could be that naturally beautiful.

But he was.

When she'd finally come to her senses the morning after and found herself in her friend Zenni's apartment, she'd almost convinced herself that she’d dreamed the man who had carried her into Zenni’s guest bedroom. He’d been too perfect to be real. Clearly he had to either be imaginary, or an angel.

But no.

He was real. At Zenni’s wedding where she had been her friend’s maid of honor, she’d come face-to-face with her dream man. At first she'd been so stunned all she could do was stare at him like an idiot, before suffering a crippling wave of mortification. There he was, the most beautiful man she had ever come across, and his first impression of her had been when she was a drugged and drooling mess.

How embarrassing

But it wasn't just her feminine pride that had her wanting