“Not bad, Kiana.” Max’s voice echoes behind me, and he walks into my dressing room. I do cover up when he enters—even if he did see me on the stage.
“That’s for me?” I motion to the money in his right hand.
“Yes.” He nods and throws the money down on the table beside me. “Why are you taking off your makeup? You’re not done.”
“I thought I only had to do one dance tonight.” I blink in surprise, and a feeling of uneasiness settles into my stomach.
“One dance, yes.” He nods and motions toward the club. “But I want you on the floor until closing.”
“Oh.” I look down and feel a lump rising in my throat. “I didn’t realize I was doing that tonight. You said…”
“I know what I said, but that was before you made them fall in love with you.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Put your outfit back on, and go give them all a reason to come back tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.” A feeling of defeat settles into my veins, but I simply nod in agreement with his request.
Max watches me while I dress. He doesn’t even pretend to look away. I do my best to reapply my makeup, but I don’t put as much on as I wore when I was on the stage. Max gives me a slap on my ass when I finally walk through the door. I’ve seen him do that to some of the other girls too. Most of them smile, so I do as well, even though I don’t want his hands on me at all.
I wish I could hate Max. He gives me the creeps. It just isn’t that easy.
Nothing like this ever is.
I walk out into the club, and the bartender calls me over. He gives me a few drinks on a tray and points out a table. Guys stare at me as I walk by. There are comments—dirty, filthy comments. I smile and pretend that they excite me, because that’s what Max expects. I watch some of the other girls and see how they flirt with the patrons, so I try to do the same thing. I feel foolish, but the guys don’t care what I’m saying. They just want to stare, fantasize, pretend.
“I was hoping you would come out here tonight.” The older man, the one old enough to be my grandfather, smiles at me when I set a glass of whiskey in front of him.
“I’m just delivering drinks.” I smile at him.
“How much to go back there?” He motions to the curtains where the girls take the guys that pay for a lap dance.
“I’m sorry; I’m not allowed do that yet.” I shake my head and pretend not to be happy that I have to turn him down. “Maybe in a few weeks…”
“I’ll be your first customer then.” He flashes a devious grin, and it looks ridiculous. “Save your first dance for me; I’m here every night. The name’s Bill.”
“Okay, Bill.” I nod and almost introduce myself as Kiana but catch the name on my tongue; he already knows my stage name. “I can’t wait!” It comes out with more enthusiasm than I intended because I almost got tongue-tied.
I have no idea if I’ll even have a say about who I take behind the curtain when I’m allowed to do it. I make a mental note to mention Bill’s request to Max. If he comes into the club on a regular basis, Max will probably let him pop my lap dance cherry.
I’m not looking forward to it.
Chapter Two
Bram
One week later
I hate strip clubs. The only reason I’m here is because my newest client is a punk kid who just turned twenty-one and has never been to one. Trust fund kids. I hate them almost as much as I hate strip clubs, but his daddy’s money is going to save my company, so I have to pretend that I’m happy with his choice of entertainment for the evening.
“Do you want a drink?” I look over at the spoiled brat I’m babysitting, Clarence Jackson IV—people call him Jack.
“Hell yeah, bro.” He flashes his billion-dollar smile and walks over to the bar.
Bro. Another entry on the list of things I hate. It’s a new addition—I added it ten minutes after I met Jack.
“His drinks are on me.” I hand the bartender my company credit card before Jack can place his order.
“Let me get…” Jack taps his chin a couple of times. “Vodka! The good shit.”
“You want a drink or a shot?” The bartender glances at the bottles on the top shelf.
“Both, bro! Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.” Jack grins.
“Coming right up.” The bartender and I exchange glances. He shrugs. I do the same.
“I’ll have a whiskey, neat.” I point at the bottle I want.
Jack downs his shot as soon as it is placed on the bar, then grabs his glass. He walks to a table while I wait for my whiskey. When I turn around, I see that he has chosen a table that is as close to the stage as possible. Just fucking fantastic. We’re going to be so close that we will have to throw money at the girls or look like a couple of assholes. It’s a good thing I carry cash.
“This place is lit, yo!” Jack grins at me as I sit down. “Thanks for bringing me.”
“Yeah,” I say as I take a drink of my whiskey.
I miss the days when my life didn’t require me to cater to the whims of assholes with more money than common sense. I never thought I would see the day when I could say I preferred combat over civilian life. So many of those days have passed me by now that I’ve lost count.
“I like her.” Jack’s grin gets wider as a woman who is introduced as Salacious Sandy saunters to the stripper pole. “Do you think it’s one of those places?”
“What do you mean by those places?” I grunt my response at him.
“You know what I mean, bro.” He nudges me. “Can I take her home if I like what I see?”
“I have no fucking idea.” I reach into my pocket and pull out some money so I can tip Jack’s new infatuation; it looks like his only intention is to drool.
“Well, find out for me.” He snatches a couple of bills and tosses them at the stage.
“Yes, sir…” I avoid a disrespectful reply, somehow.
The list of things I hate is getting long, but I think there’s still room to add solicitation to it. I have no intention of asking the owner of this club if the girls on the stage moonlight as prostitutes when their music ends, but I’ll let Jack think that is why I’m leaving the table.
I walk to the bar, make conversation with the bartender, and then disappear out of Jack’s line of sight once I have a fresh drink in my hand. I’ll get another one on my way back to the table. If there’s a god in heaven, he’ll make my current trip to hell as short as possible. There’s no reason for Jack to be in a place like this. If he wants a girl, he’s got the money to get someone a lot better than the ones on the stage.
I know that for a fact.
I’ve had my fair share of girls who chase money without taking their clothes off—professionally, at least.
Maybe Jack is just too young to know better. He certainly wouldn’t be investing in my fucking company if he had as much sense as dollars in his bank account. Then again, he didn’t earn a single one of them. At least I intend to do something good with the check he’s going to write. It’s enough to save my company and keep an awful lot of people from standing in the unemployment line; enough to end the financial woes my company has been under since my best friend decided it was time to cash out.