Page 34 of Twisted Prince
One corner of his lips curls into a cocky smirk, and a dimple appears. “Do you dance, Miss O’Mara?” he asks, and rather than taking my hand, he lets his eyes roam appraisingly down my body.
Thankfully, I had the sense to change out of my uniform before coming over, so I’m dressed in a decent pair of jeans and a nice shirt.
“I can learn,” I state confidently.
“Take a seat,” he suggests, gesturing to one of the open chairs across from his booth.
I do, keeping my back straight as I hold his company in my periphery. So far, these men have been perfectly respectful. But they don’t look like your everyday businessmen. I get the sense that, despite their fine clothing, they’re perfectly capable of violence, should the occasion arise.
A strong sense of foreboding washes over me as they call to mind the first time I met Pyotr Veles. But they’re definitely not Russian. If anything, I’d pin Keoghan’s accent as Irish, so they’re not Bratva.
Relax, Mel. You can’t come waltzing in asking for a job and then judge the man in charge because he has tattoos. And a ridiculous amount of muscle for a club owner.
“Do you know exactly what kind of burlesque lounge this is, Miss O’Mara?” Keoghan asks.
“I was told I might have to dance in skimpy outfits but that it pays well.”
“We pay better than well, I assure you. We take good care of our girls here.”
“My friend told me you offer housing for single mothers,” I add, my heart rate kicking up a notch.
Keoghan nods, his eyes appraising me once again. “If that’s something you require.”
“And soon-to-be mothers?” I press. Might as well get the ugliness out of the way right now.
“I don’t make a practice of turning away women in need, Miss O’Mara. But I don’t offer free handouts either. Or couples housing. So, to be clear, the father’s not in the picture?”
“Correct.”
“Then, I don’t see a problem. We have a contract, of course. Essentially stating that the girls who board in the single-mothers facility won’t be bringing guests over to spend the night. It’s the best way to ensure fair and safe boarding to all the women I offer shelter to.”
“Understandable.” Not that I intend to have a man I would bring around anyway.
“Daycare is provided for your shifts, free of charge. And in return, you’ll work full-time for me. That’s six shifts a week, either four to eleven or six to one a.m., when the club closes. You give three stage performances as well as private dances upon request?—”
“I was told this doesn’t involve lap dances,” I cut in, panic rising in my chest. “That the men don’t touch us.”
Keoghan holds up a hand, silencing me with a commanding gesture. “They don’t. Ever. My men ensure that. But you may be asked to interact with the crowd during performances on occasion.”
What “interact” means exactly, I’m not sure, but I feel better knowing they have men to enforce the no-touching rule.
“Look, Miss O’Mara, I won’t beat around the bush. The kind of dancing you’ll do for my lounge is most definitely sexual in nature. But this is not a sleazy strip joint. It’s a high-class establishment where customers pay top dollar to watch beautiful women perform. Any private dances will take place in a room where you and your customers will be separated by bulletproof glass. And my men are trained to protect you from anyone who might try to test that line.”
Bulletproof glass? What kind of line might they try to cross that would require something as extreme as that? Though if Keoghan’s friends here are any representation of the protection I might have, I doubt anyone would come near me without my consent.
Taking this job would go against everything I’d hoped to make of my life. For a moment in time, I really imagined I could become a professional, someone people took seriously. That I could be more than just an object of men’s desire.
But I’m running out of time—and options—with a baby on the way. And this job would solve all of my most pressing concerns. I can worry about my dignity later.
“Well then, Mr.…” I falter, suddenly realizing the bartender never gave me Keoghan’s last name.
“Kelly,” he provides, his smirk returning in full force.
“Well, Mr. Kelly, if it’s still available, I’d like the job.”
This time, Keoghan extends his hand across the table, and it nearly swallows mine as I accept it.
“I look forward to working with you, Miss O’Mara.”
