“Yes, I understand.”
“Yes, I understand…sir.”
Heat explodes beneath my skin. My head feels like it’s about to explode.
I don’t know what the hell is going on here. If this is a test or a game, but I’m not playing. Since my first day, I’ve been respectful as possible—even with the handsy assholes. I’ve never been late. I get along with the other girls. Unless there’s something I’m missing, I’ve been a great employee.
And I know I should saysirto my boss. I really do, but the way he says it…like a command from the king. And maybe he is the king of his world, but he’s not the king of me. If he wants respect, he needs to give it. And at this moment, I’m not feeling very respected.
“If you think I’m going to say that, you’ve lost your damn mind.” I lean forward in my chair, making hard eye contact with him. “You’ve been nothing but rude since I walked in, demanding I sit as if I’m a dog. Then, ignoring me for ten minutes while you played on your phone. Time is money, in this case, mine, and I fucking need the money, but instead of being out there earning it, I’ve been sitting here waiting for you to deem me worthy enough to speak to so fuck you and your ‘sir’. I don’t respect people who don’t respect me.”
If he is the slightest bit affected by anything I just said, there’s no sign on his face, but after a moment, he nods. “Good. Keep that attitude when you’re upstairs. Don’t take shit from anyone.”
“U-upstairs?” I stammer, unsure if I heard him right.
He nods once. “We’re shorthanded, and I’ve watched you on the cameras. You can handle the clientele without breaking a sweat.”
My heart pounds against my ribs, remembering what goes on up there. It’s not just serving drinks or even dancing on the stage. Otherservicesare offered. And while I’m far from a prude, my stomach revolts at the thought of getting paid to have sex with absolute strangers. How does that even work?
I mean, I knowhowit works, but are there rules or something? Am I expected to just do whatever they want?
A single bead of sweat trickles down my spine. “I-uh… What do I have to do?”
“You don’t have to fuck anyone if you don’t want to. No one does. It’s just…an option for those willing and wanting to make extra money.”
Relief slams into me like an anvil, and I nod. “Okay. What do you needmeto do?”
“Whatever is needed. If they need servers, you serve. If they want a dancer on the stage, you dance. If they want a private dance in a room, you go.”
“Private rooms?” The anxiety threatens to shred me again.
“Just to dance unless you want to do more. No touching allowed without consent. Running prostitution doesn’t mean we tolerate assault.”
My heart races. This could be exactly what I need to save my apartment. It’s what I came here to do last week. “Is it just for tonight?”
His shoulders lift. “We’ll see. Get upstairs and do well, and I’ll consider letting you up there permanently. Though I will admit I need you down here, too. I need five more of you down here.”
I nod, doing everything I can to keep my tears at bay. It feels stupid to cry for joy that I get to take my clothes off, but it really does seem like a massive break after everything that happened last week.
I still don’t know where the money went, and no one has answers.
Just as I’m reaching the door, something occurs to me. “So, uh, Will won’t be up there, will he?” I do not need him saying anything to Graham, Casey, or Jagger. Though I’m aware it’s possible Jagger will show up and recognize me.
Then again, the uniforms are different, as are the masks. Not to mention the lights will be low. Perhaps he won’t realize it’s me. Although considering I haven’t heard from him in a week, I’m not sure why it matters or that I care.
“Will won’t say anything to you. If he does, ignore him.”
I press my lips together and nod. It’s not the answer I want, but it will do.
It only takes me a few minutes to grab my bag and take the employee access upstairs to The 1st Circle. Like downstairs, Lana, the club manager, has her office right next to the employee lounge. My knuckles rap against the frame despite the door being open. She glances up from whatever she’s looking at on her computer, hope glimmering in her eyes as she takes me in. “Please tell me you’re here to work.”
I nod. “Yep. That’s me.”
“Oh, thank God. I told Dom if he didn’t get me some help I was quitting, and God fucking knows I don’t want to quit. He pays too well. Come. Sit. Close the door behind you.” She waves me to the chair across from her desk.
Stepping inside the office, I smile at how she’s made the small space her own. The brick walls have been painted a pristine cream, making the room seem larger than it is, while a cream and navy abstract rug covers the floor. On either side of a small bookshelf behind her sleek, yet simple matte black desk is a matching pair of tall lamps with glittering shades casting a soft glow, and above the shelf is a set of three canvases, each with different words and their definition.
None of it is what I expected from the manager of a strip club. No. An illegal sex club.
