Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“I wasn’t trying to spy on you. At first, I wanted to surprise you with lunch or something. Then, I looked up the place, realized what it was and…” Her voice trails off, almost into sadness.
“It’s just a job, Emily.”
The corners of her mouth twitch into a sad version of a smile. As if she’s already saying goodbye to me in her head.
I can’t have this be what ends us. And part of me recognizes with a woman like Emily, it’s a real possibility.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Dex
Stepping inside Crystal Ball after Emily leaves has me questioning everything.
Why the fuck am I inside this dank, loud hellhole instead of following Emily home and showing her that she means more to me than a job?
The answer is simple.
This isn’t just a job. It’s a business my MC owns.
And MC business always comes first. That’s how I’ve lived for the last sixteen years of my life. Club first. Everything else after.
Tonight it looks like business consists of two of my dancers about to throw down in the hallway outside of the dressing room.
I flick my gaze to the ceiling. You’ve got jokes tonight, huh, universe?
“Bitch, you ain’t gettin’ up on my pole tonight,” one of the girls threatens in a loud screech.
I touch the girl who issued the threat on the shoulder and lean down. “Whose pole, Stacia?” I ask in a low, menacing tone.
She jumps and turns. Guilt and shock widen her eyes. “Dex! Where’d you come from?”
The girl she’d been yelling at, Desna, rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her gold glitter-coated chest.
“You about to get yours, bitch,” Desna taunts.
“Don’t get too excited, Desna,” I warn. “You.” I point at Stacia, then the dressing room. “Go have a time-out and rethink that attitude. And I’ll decide if you’re fit to grace my stage tonight.”
“But…” The protest dies on her lips as she takes in my face. “Okay. I’m sorry,” she says, without looking at Desna again.
Stacia ducks her head and scurries into the safety of the dressing room.
Desna watches her leave with a smirk stretched across her face.
“And you,” I say in a louder voice to capture her attention. “You’re here as a favor to Loco. I find out you’re starting shit, you’re out. Got it?”
Her wide red lips part and challenge glitters in her dark eyes. Then she closes her mouth and nods. “I like working here, Dex. I wasn’t tryin’ to provoke anyone. I don’t even know why she went off on me.”
Unlike Stacia, Desna hasn’t given me any reason to question her. A twinge of guilt prickles over me for snapping at her. “She’s been here longer, so I guess she thinks she owns the place,” I offer. “You’re doing good, though, hon, so don’t sweat it.”
She glances down at her six-inch, clear heels, and wiggles her toes. “You’ll tell Loco that, right?”
“What? That you’re fitting in well?”
She lifts one shoulder. “Yeah.”
“Why? He giving you a hard time?” Loco’s an important business associate of the club. He’s also a massive pain in our collective asses.
“No. But he’d be okay with me goin’ back to escortin’ too,” she says quietly.
“Do you want to go back to it?” I ask.
“Not at all.”
“You still livin’ at his place?”
“For now.” She glances down the hallway toward the stage. “I’m saving for my own apartment.”
Normally, I only schedule the girls for a few shifts a week. Customers get bored if they see the same faces night after night. Desna’s one of a handful of Black dancers on our roster. She’s developed a devoted fan base. So far, I’ve been trying to spread out her shifts to keep her popularity high. But if she needs cash to get into a better situation maybe I need to readjust the schedule.
“You need more shifts?” I ask.
“Maybe one more night?” She lifts her eyebrows. “I can’t do much more than that. I got school.”
“Think on it and let me know what works with your schedule, all right?”
She nods quickly, relief lifting the corners of her mouth. “Thanks.”
After she leaves, I wait outside of the dressing room, listening for sounds of fighting. But only the normal excited chatter filters through, so I continue down the hallway into the main part of the club. A quick glance to my left shows Lisa’s on stage, high up on the pole, hanging upside down by her thighs while her long blonde hair flutters below her. I’ve watched her do this trick dozens of times and a knot of concern still squeezes my lungs for a second. But she’s got it.
Sweaty, dazed men in a range of ages take up all the seats near the stage, offering their appreciation of Lisa’s skills with dollars they toss on the stage.
Thank fuck Emily didn’t take me up on the offer to come inside. Through my jaded eyes, all of this has become mundane. To Emily, it would be a shock. Crass and seedy.