My jaw drops at the mention of his full name. He’s the owner of a chain of exclusive nightclubs called Zenith.
“Close your mouth. I told you I have an elite client list who just want an educated, attractive woman on their arms. Relationships and romance don’t interest these men because they’re too busy conquering the world to have time to date. You know how this works.”
“I know how it works for you, but I’ve never considered your line of work for myself.”
“I’m just a pretty face for hire. And tonight, so are you.”
Em darts out of the room to ready herself; she’s used to this lifestyle and has her routine down pat. She emerges wearing a navy-blue gown cut obscenely low in the front. I’m not sure how her breasts are staying inside the dress, but I’m so glad I didn’t ask to wear blue.
I don’t have the courage or cleavage to pull that dress off. Her hair hangs in waves around her shoulders. She reminds me of Jessica Rabbit with her red hair and curves in all the right places.
The sound of the doorbell interrupts my thoughts, and my heart beats out a frantic tattoo as Em glides slowly to the door.
“That should be Damon. I didn’t want there to be a bottleneck at the door, so my client will arrive at seven-fifteen. Let me look at you one more time.” She gives me a once-over before she smiles and tells me I’m flawless.
There’s a cyclone turning in my stomach that threatens to rise up and choke me. I move to the side and let Emma care for her client.
“Hi, Damon. Come on in. Katarina is all set to go.” She leans in and kisses his cheek. “Thank you for your flexibility. I can’t figure out how this happened.” Emma steps aside so he can enter the foyer.
“It’s not a problem. You know how much I hate these things. Thankfully, I only have to attend a few of them a year.” His eyes scan the room and lock on mine. “It doesn’t matter who comes with me as long as someone does. Attending these alone is the worst.” He talks to Em, but his eyes stay on me. He looks me over, and after a minute of silence, he smiles. Walking over, he offers his arm. “Katarina Cross, I presume?”
Wow. She wasn’t kidding. He’s a gorgeous man. Tall with espresso colored hair and blue eyes, he’s a real treat to look at dressed in his tuxedo. Maybe this won’t be so bad.
“Yes, but you can call me Kat if you’d like.”
His smile tightens. “I’d prefer to call you Katarina, and you can call me Damon for the evening. Shall we go?” His voice is smooth and sophisticated. It slides over me like warm honey.
“See you soon,” Emma calls out as Damon escorts me to the waiting limousine.
At the end of the sidewalk, a driver waits with the door open. Standing aside, he aids my entrance into the black stretch limo. I situate my dress, placing my small purse on my lap. The slit rides up my leg, leaving several inches of thigh exposed. No adjusting seems to pull it under control.
Seated across from me, Damon stares at my legs before his attention turns to my face. This man is definitely not gay. There is a gleam in his eyes, and his close inspection of me makes me squirm, causing the dress to ride up even farther.
His eyes drift back to my exposed leg. I grab my handbag and pull it to my center, like a shield, as if my three-inch-by-five-inch purse can protect me.
“You look nervous, Katarina. What can I do to make you more comfortable?” he asks. “Maybe a glass of wine will calm your nerves. Would you like one?” He looks directly into my eyes, waiting for my response.
“Thank you. That would be lovely. Just a small glass, please. I haven’t eaten much today, and I don’t want the alcohol to go to my head.”
He leans over me to reach for the decanter of red wine. The scent of him wafts under my nose as he fills the glass and places it into my shaking hands.
“Am I drinking by myself?” I ask.
He nods, sending a sweep of bangs across his forehead. “I never mix alcohol with business. People who drink too much make poor decisions.” He swipes the hair back and continues to study me.
I respect his decision not to drink. I’d abstain myself if I weren’t so nervous.
“We have a thirty-minute drive before we arrive at our destination. Tell me something about yourself. I’d like to get to know you.”
“I’m not a professional escort,” I say matter-of-factly. I don’t know why I feel the need to say this, but somehow it makes me feel better about myself.
Chuckling, he says, “I know. Emma said you’re her roommate. Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I’m a senior at UCLA, studying hospitality management, and also getting a minor in accounting.”
His eyes widen in surprise. “I graduated from UCLA with a degree in business management. We already have something in common. The two degrees are similar, except yours is more specific.”
“I’m certain I’ll enjoy working in the field, but my focus is on graduating.” I nervously pull at my dress to see if I can stop it from rising. If I don’t, by the time we arrive at the venue, it’s liable to be hiked up to my neck.
A knowing smile breaks from his lips. He seems to enjoy my discomfort. “I’m sure school keeps you busy, but what do you do for fun?” he asks.
“Fun?” I chuckle. “I don’t know what that means.” I take a sip of wine and continue. “I work full-time and go to school. There isn’t much time for fun.”
His fingers tap on the seat next to him, and I wonder if it’s a nervous gesture or if he does it unconsciously.
“You know, they say all work and no play makes Katarina a tired girl.”
I respond to his incorrect recitation. “I think the correct saying is ‘All work and no play makes Kat a dull girl.’”
“Are you a dull girl? Maybe your job makes you more exciting. Where do you work?”
He doesn’t care where I work, but I play along. In fact, I want to see how much of his attention I have. Is he genuinely interested in what I have to say, or is he going through the motions of being polite?
“I’m a stripper at Baby Dolls,” I declare.
His eyes dart from my legs to my face. I imagine he’s looking to see if there is any truth in my statement. His fingers immediately stop bouncing against the seat, and I laugh at his reaction. It pleases me to see he is paying attention.
“Somehow, I don’t see you pole dancing at Baby Dolls.” He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees. His new position divides the distance between us.
I continue to giggle and think maybe a glass of wine was too much.
“Oh, no, I’m much too uncoordinated to use the pole. I’m a cage dancer,” I tease.
He grins and continues to toy with me. “I know, without a doubt, Baby Dolls has no cage dancers. I find it highly unlikely you work there. Since the mere rising of your gown makes you blush, I can’t imagine you dancing naked.” The tapping begins again, only this time with just his index finger on his chin.
“So, you’re a patron?” I give him a pointed stare. “I guess you caught me in a fib.” With a tilt of my head, I shrug. “I work at Java Joes. If you want a great cup of coffee, then come see me. If you want a lap dance, you’ll need to look elsewhere.” My statement lets him know I have a sense of humor, but it also tells him I don’t plan on offering him anything beyond platonic companionship.