I put a hand on my chest as if I was surprised and would be deeply honored to. He smiled a toothy grin and patted the spot beside him. Resting a palm on the table, I leaned in provocatively and whispered, “Not if you were the last man on Earth.”
I didn’t stick around to see the smile fall off his face.
Alfred seethed from across the room. His accusing eyes followed my movements as if I was a wild animal who’d been released inside his precious den of iniquity.
Security must be at lunch, I thought with amusement. The club didn’t even have a bouncer to snap at the patrons when they got handsy with the strippers. I guessed that wouldn’t be very classy.
“Mr. Brown?” I asked the only one in the room who fit the description and who happened to have a woman’s bare ass in his face while she danced in front of him.
He glanced at me, and a devilish smile appeared. “Well, well. Are you new here?”
“What about this outfit says ‘stripper’ to you?” I asked.
“What’s under it?”
A throbbing headache was imminent.
“Lucas sent me.”
Mr. Brown’s gaze filled with understanding, growing heated as it traveled down my body. Unwanted nostalgia, lingering eyes, and wet clothes chafed my skin.
“Damn, that’s unfortunate,” he drawled.
The dancer stilled with a huff, placed her hands on her naked hips, and glared at me. I rolled my eyes and handed Mr. Brown the envelope. He slipped it into his jacket pocket.
“Thanks, babe.”
I held out my hand. He glanced at it, then pulled his gaze to mine, and raised a brow in question. I wiggled my fingers.
“Ah . . . You want my money,” he commented with feigned disappointment. “I thought we had something real going here?”
“In your dreams.”
He smiled and took his time going through his wallet so he could check me out a little longer. Voices brought my attention over my shoulder, and my heart quickened at the sight of Alfred pointing in my direction with an overgrown man in a dark suit by his side.
Mr. Brown slipped a fifty to me. I snatched it up.
“I’d say thanks, but you really inconvenienced me today.”
“Whatever, babe.”
A mountain of a man was headed my way with irritation in his eyes. I probably had ruined his lunch. So I did what any sane woman would do.
I ran.
Pushing a black curtain out of the way, I scrambled to find a way out of this place. Multiple doors lined the hall on either side, but no red exit sign beckoned me to safety.
“I swear to God, when I catch you . . .” the bouncer muttered from not far behind me.
It felt like I was a preteen again running from the police with a pilfered can of baby formula in my hoodie. The only options had been stealing or listening to hungry cries while my foster parents of the month were out on a binge.
Where was the freaking exit? This Wonderland was no longer sparkly, but a nightmare of red doors and black curtains.
The sounds of the bouncer’s steps were closing in, and the idea of being caught in his oversized paws grabbed ahold of my chest.
I opened the nearest door and shut it with a quiet click. I kept my hand on the knob, listening to my heavy breaths and the bouncer’s footsteps pass in the hall.
“I said I wasn’t interested in entertainment tonight.” The cold and distant voice prickled my back.
Exhaling, I spun around to see I stood in a private room furnished with a silver pole, a bar, red velvet chairs, and a couch where a suit jacket had been discarded.
A man sat at the booth in the corner. His forearms rested on the table while he studied the paperwork strewn in front of him. A white dress shirt molded his torso like a second skin, the fabric pulled taut at his biceps. The lighting was dim, but by the way the shadows caressed his face, it was clear he was undeniably handsome.
The designer suit, the watch on his wrist, the fade haircut that probably cost more than my monthly rent—all of it screamed money. Though the more obvious tells of power were the set of his shoulders and the heavy presence surrounding him like a shield. It was hot and uncomfortable to the touch as if I was standing close to the thick heat of a fire.
“Honestly,” I sighed with tightly leashed exasperation, “do I look like a stripper?”
The man didn’t even glance at me. “I couldn’t care less what you look like.” He sounded distracted and annoyed. “Leave.”
I had no doubt when he said that single word women fled. His command burned in my stomach with the itch to submit. I hated it.
I’d grown a thick skin in my twenty-two years having to fend for myself a majority of that time. The best thing my mother ever did for me was put her boyfriend of the month—who she always swore was “the one”—before everything else, including me.
Her neglect taught me to protect myself from men at a very young age. It also showed me most of the male species sucked. And the fact this one threatened to crumble my confidence like the Berlin Wall with just a few words . . . well, that really annoyed me.
I took a step into the room, my eyes taking everything in, and nonchalantly asked, “Did your maid forget to put a chocolate on your pillow last night? Is that why you’re acting like such a prick?”
His gaze finally came to me. Deep, dark, and hostile. Clearly, he’d never been called such a name in his life. I relished the opportunity to be the first.
He slid a stare down my body, criticizing my attire with a single touch of his eyes. He didn’t have to say a word to announce he found me lacking in every way. Thankfully, I had a more-than-healthy amount of self-esteem.
“I can’t figure out if you’re a desperate attempt on the club’s part to interest me, or if you’re a lost orphan off the street who never got spanked as a child.”
The quick wit was so surprising, a laugh escaped me. “Let me guess, you want to spank me?”
“No. Go away.”
“Yeah, about that . . .” I ran my hand across the back of a soft, velvet chair. “We’re kind of stuck together for the time being.”
The look he shot me expressed he still believed I was a stripper; that this getup was a caught-in-the-rain waitress costume and I’d soon be taking it off. Though it seemed he wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t interested. He returned his attention back to his paperwork. Tension tightened his shoulders, frustration evident in the muscles beneath. He looked like he really could use a woman’s touch.
Too bad it wasn’t going to be me.
In my quest to touch everything in sight, I meandered over to the pole in my chucks, ran a finger down it, and then looked at the pad of it as if I was inspecting for dust.
“Why so glum?” I asked. “Did Daddy disinherit you?”
His gaze flashed to mine. “You’re shitty entertainment.”
I laughed. “That’s probably because I’m not here to entertain you.”
The man looked like a gentleman, but he was so bluntly rude and quick in return to my taunts I was beginning to enjoy myself. It wasn’t often men surprised me.
His eyes scalded my skin as I grabbed the pole and slowly spun around it in my wet, spaghetti-stained T-shirt.
“You’re lucky you even have a father,” I said. “Mine left me with too many daddy issues.”