I take a long, deep pull of air to steady my nerves and then enter. Like the name of the room, everything is gold—from the suede couch, the mirror frames, the pole, to the painted wood floor. Even the wallpaper that covers the walls are gold. It’s like I’m trapped in an Egyptian tomb, which does nothing to reward me with the calm I desperately need.
Out of my peripheral, I note the paying customer is slouched back on the couch. Like he’s the antisocial one at a relative’s house during the holidays, chilling and drinking like he can’t wait for the event to end. Ugh, why am I doing this again?
Money.
I swear that was my subconscious answering.
You need the money, Vi. If you don’t do this, it will take that much longer to get out from underneath Trevor’s control. You need out. Now.
That’s all it takes to snap me back to the present moment where I summon all my energy to transform into the performer I am.
I dance.
That’s what I do.
I just so happen to be stripping for a complete stranger.
That’s fine.
I do it all the time at masked events, and I’m wearing a freaking mask now.
No big deal.
My heart is squeezing so hard it feels like it’s lodged in my throat and working itself higher and higher until something gives.
One deep breath in. One exhale out. And I’m approaching the customer whose face I don’t register until I’m a mere step away from his lazy gaze. Holy fuck.
I step back as quickly as I moved toward him. The man slouched on the couch with a hooded gaze and his legs open while he waits for me to entertain him isn’t just any man. It’s Benson fucking Bexley. Jamison’s little brother.
“Hey, honey,” he slurs, and I can see just how much work Skyla had to do to get him here. “You sure are a pretty one.”
“I-I’m sorry,” I say as sweetly as I can manage. “I think I’m in the wrong room.”
The half-shocked, half-disappointed look on Benson’s face nearly kills me. That doesn’t stop me from fleeing from the room and heading down the corridor to Malik’s office. He’s already halfway across his office by the time I storm in.
“What the fuck, Vi?” he roars. His face is already beet red, and this is not a good sign. I’ve seen him angrier, but this is definitely not good.
“I know him, Malik. I can’t dance for him.”
Malik’s face only contorts with more anger. “You’re wearing a fucking mask.” Spit flies from his mouth as he yells. “Get back in there or, I swear to God, you’re fired.”
“You wouldn’t.” My voice is shaking because even after the shock of seeing Benny, I can’t fathom this sort of circumstance. I can’t get fired. But I can’t go back in there either.
Malik steps closer. “Oh, I would,” he threatens. “I won’t think twice about it, but you better. You need this job. You need me. Therefore, your ass better get back in that room and make that man the happiest fucking client there ever was or else you’re gone.”
There’s no hesitation. There’s no second-guessing. I hear his threat, and my decision comes faster than I’m prepared for. “Then I quit.”
This time it’s Malik’s jaw that drops. “What did you say?”
I square my shoulders. “I quit. If you can’t respect me enough to accept the word no when I say it, then I quit.”
“Fine,” he hisses through his teeth.
“Fine.” With that final word, I’m pivoting to face the door and exiting with only one option for what to do next.
Chapter Twelve
JAMISON
I’m reviewing a stack of résumés in the back office of the bar when the door bursts open, revealing a very frazzled and flushed Violet. “My answer is yes.”
Confused, I shake my head and set down a résumé. Leaning back in my chair, I take in her thick coat of makeup and trench coat that is surely hiding her work attire. Her hair is pinned up in a high ponytail, and now that I’m focused on her deep-brown eyes, I can see a tinge of red around the irises.
While I’m secretly thrilled that she’s here and even more elated that she’s saying yes, I’m not sure what the question was. Unless… “To the job? Here?”
Her face falls slightly. “You did offer me a job, correct?”
I nearly choke on my next breath. “I did.” My eyes dart between hers because this can’t be as simple as she’s making it out to be. “You changed your mind then?”
She glares like I’m at fault for why she’s here. “I have no other choice at the moment, thanks to you.”
My balk is audible. “Thanks to me? What did I do?”
She steps forward and leans down, planting her palms on my desk. “Your stunt at the party the other night. My boss found out that I VIP’d and demanded I do the same at the club. He wouldn’t take no for an answer and gave me an ultimatum.”
Heat blows like a torch in my chest. I want to murder that man for forcing Violet to do what she’s never wanted to do. Then again, aren’t I at fault for that too? Suddenly, I feel ill. I went too far.
“So you quit,” I say, finally understanding why she’s here.
“Not until after I agreed to VIP.”
“So you did it then?” Just the thought of her dancing for another man drives me in-fucking-sane. Blood boils beneath my skin. “You should have told Malik to fuck off.”
She glares harder like this is my fault, too, but I can’t get over what she just said. “Oh, I did. Right after I walked into my assigned room and saw your fucking brother waiting for a lap dance.”
My brother? Anderson wouldn’t step foot in that club, and Cayson hasn’t even walked in weeks. She has to be talking about… “Benny.” I growl out the word, recalling our conversation from earlier. “He saw you?”
Violet shakes her head. “No, I was wearing my mask, but that’s not the point, Jami. I had to quit when I saw him. I couldn’t dance for Benny, and Malik was giving me no other choice. Don’t you see what you’ve done?”
Moisture thickens in her eyes, and it’s enough to kick me right in the chest. Fuck. All I’ve done is cause Violet pain since the moment I arrived. No matter what happened in our past, she’s still the last person on earth I’d want to hurt. “I’m sorry, Vi. I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”
She swipes at her eye, drying a tear before it falls down her cheeks. “Well, you did. And now I need a job. I don’t have time to submit résumés and interview until someone takes pity on a single mom with nothing but a dance and bartending background. I need a job now, so here I am.”
“The job is yours.”
She stands and places her hands on her hips. “I have conditions.”
I bite my tongue at the fact that she’s the one who barged into my office in desperate need of a job and nod, gesturing for her to continue.
“I’ll make my own hours.”
“Fine.”
“I get to keep all of my tips.”
“Absolutely.”