“Five.”
I sound hesitant.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you hesitating?”
“I only got paid four times.”
“Why?”
“Someone wanted a private dance. He squeezed my bum, and I kicked him in the balls. I got fired and got no pay.”
A faint smile tugs at his lips.
“You can’t do that here.”
“I’m perfectly aware of that.”
He sucks in a long breath before pushing upright, sliding his elbows onto his desk, and speaking.
“Here’s the deal. The owner wants you to dance tonight and tomorrow night. Your friend convinced him to give you a try. I wouldn’t have done that if it were up to me,” he says bluntly. “I know your type. Very picky, hard to work with, and entitled.”
I gasp in resentment.
“You don’t know my type.”
“I surely do,” he says, bored, running a hand through his hair. “You’re an amateur looking for some quick money. Let me tell you something, sweetheart,” he rasps, setting his hand on the table and looking at me. “Men don’t pay for your type. Men pay for submission. Theyexpect women who don’t talk back and are nice to them. Women who can use their body to give them pleasure.”
“I thought I was hired to dance.”
“You said you’d done this before.”
I pull my mouth shut.
“Right,” he says, phlegmatic again. “Now go change. I want to see your body.”
I look at him like I’m about to call 911.
“That’s why you're here, aren’t you?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, my voice wrapped in wool.
“What are you waiting for then?”
“You said the owner wanted me to dance. You can see how I look.”
He sucks in a short breath and releases the air slowly as if struggling to keep his temper under control.
Calmly, he pushes his chair back, rises, and walks around his desk before stopping in front of me.
“What’s your name?”
“Stage name?”
“Whatever.”
