We all stare at him in disbelief; he’s been known to accept a lot more than drinks from customers.
“Well, you know, Ryan expects us to be extra nice to VIP customers. Plus it is your favorite, Lauren,” urges Angela.
“The guy is a cutie too,” Trish adds.
Michael glares hard in my direction, but it totally has the opposite effect on me. Staring straight back at him, I moisten my lips, put them on the straw, and suck up a good, long sip.
I turn back to Trish. “Tell him thank you, and that it’s my favorite.”
The disappointment on Michael’s face makes me giddy.
“Oh, he knows. I told him. It’s his birthday too,” she adds before disappearing into the crowd.
“L, you should go tell him happy birthday,” Angela urges me with a nudge.
“I’m not doing that,” I say indignantly.
“Oh, come on. Why not? A little flirting would do you some good.” She laughs.
“It’s desperate and unprofessional. I sent him my thanks for the drink. That’s all I’m doing,” I declare, making my way from the bar.
I would rather work than hear her urging me to talk to some guy like she does every night.
I glance at my watch. It’s one thirty in the morning, and my bed is calling. I hope my roommate, Hillary, isn’t home. If she is already home at this time of night, she usually has a companion. The amount of money I have invested in earplugs is crazy, thanks to all the noise they make. I’ve already put on my coat to leave when I see my manager, Ryan. He’s heading my way, and it’s too late to go in the other direction—well, without being completely obvious.
“Lauren, I’m so glad I caught you.” He’s beaming and his tone seems, dare I say, nice. He’s hardly ever nice, and I place a bet with myself he’s going to ask me to stay another hour.
“Hi, Ryan,” I reply warily, beginning to change into my flat shoes.
“Oh, you’re leaving,” he says with a pout resembling a two-year-old’s, only not as cute.
“Yes, I’m off now,” I remind him, praying he won’t ask me to stay, or worse, tell me to stay.
“Would you mind doing me a tiny favor?” he asks, walking over to me.
I knew it was coming. I still haven’t learned to leave faster. What am I supposed to do, tell my boss no? My body screams hell yes! My mind directs me to smile weakly.
“Sure,” I give in with a sigh.
“A very good customer of mine wants to meet you. He’s been eye-humping you all night,” he explains while helping me take off my coat.
“What?” I snap before even getting a chance to censor my tongue. He is my boss and, as always, a bit of an A-hole, but who the hell does he think he is?
“Just say hello and nothing else. He’s a reporter for the Tribune. He can bring a lot of exposure to the club,” he says urgently.
“I don’t know.” I do know. I don’t want to do it!
“It’s just a quick drink. It is his birthday, after all, and the VIP room is filled with people. Just a drink. If you’re too tired, I’ll switch your shift. Maybe you’d rather have Monday night instead of this tiring Saturday shift,” he suggests slyly.
That’s low. Monday is the absolute worst night for me to be in the club. It’s slow, which means fewer tips, and I have a class on Tuesday mornings.
“Okay. I’ll do it.” I hang my coat back up and start to follow him out, but he stops me at the door before I can even cross the threshold.
“How about I give you time to put on your other shoes and let your hair back down?” He winks.
I bite my lip in frustration. Fuck you, Ryan. I go back to my locker to get my heels.
“I’ll meet you upstairs in a few minutes.” He smiles, but before leaving, he pops his head back in the doorway. “A little lip gloss wouldn’t hurt either,” he quips before disappearing.
Jerk-off. I slip out of my gym shoes and let my ponytail back down. I purposefully don’t put on any lip gloss. Just a quick drink then bed, I tell myself and try not to feel like such a pushover.
The VIP room is buzzing with people but empty compared to the other floors. With a minimum three-bottle purchase for a table, it makes sense though. Dan, the VIP security guard, is standing at the entrance. He’s pretty intimidating to anyone wanting to start trouble. At almost six foot four and at least two hundred ninty pounds—his death-grip headlock has brought many to their knees—he’s a good guy to have on your side. He’s busy flirting with two girls trying to talk their way in for free, but he gives me a quick nod of acknowledgment.
I take a deep breath and remind myself I need my job. Having a drink with a guy for my boss isn’t that bad. Wait, that even sounds wrong. Being pimped out is not a part of my job description. I hope this guy isn’t a complete asshole, drunk or sober. Even if he isn’t, I hate the dating scene. I’ve had two serious boyfriends: Daniel, my high school sweetheart, and Michael, who, as it turned out, wasn’t that serious about me after all.
I’ve been on a handful of dates, many of which turned out to be complete disasters, since I moved here from Michigan. I’ve grown to hate the whole situation. First the obligatory awkward conversations, and ultimately my date’s disappointment when I don’t put out after the first date. The guys I run into are nothing like the princes in the stories my aunt read to me when I was a little girl. My adult theory: the Prince Charming myth is the other curse God created to punish Eve and every other woman for biting that stupid apple. Looking around the room, I spot Ryan sitting in the corner, talking to a short blond woman accompanied by a man in a blue dress shirt and black slacks.
Ryan sees me and waves me over. As I get closer to the guy, I have to agree that Trish was right—he’s cute, in an Abercrombie and Fitch sort of way. He has dirty-blond hair and green eyes, even a coy smile, but that still doesn’t mean I like being coerced into talking to him. When I reach the table, Mr. Abercrombie and Ryan stand up while the woman just smiles in my direction.
“Lauren, I would like you to meet Jason Daniels. He’s doing a story for the Tribune’s entertainment column. And this is his partner, Marie.”
“Nice to meet you.” Jason shakes my hand, a huge grin on his face. “Very nice to meet you,” he repeats again, almost nervously.
“How about I have Diana make you one of my favorite drinks, Marie?” Ryan asks, gesturing toward the VIP area of the bar.
I keep myself from rolling my eyes. I guess he wants Jason and me to have alone time, because Ryan can easily have Diana at our table in less than a minute with just a gesture.
“I would love that.” She links her arm with his and leaves Jason and me alone.
He seems tongue-tied at the moment. Awkward conversation avoided, maybe?
“Would you like to sit down?” he finally says.
Crap, no such luck—he’s not mute. I smile graciously as I sit in the plush leather booth.
“Did you like the drink I sent you?” He smiles.
“Yes, it’s my favorite.” I look down, trying to avoid the awkward silence filling the air. “Even though I’m the one who should be buying you the drink. I hear it’s your birthday,” I say with forced friendliness.