I shouldn’t be doing this; Nash would kill me if he knew I was talking back to a paying customer. Probably literally – I’ve seen pictures of him in a fuckingprison jumpsuit– but I don’t care. I am miserable here, and this guy is being a dick.
“You can’t talk to me like that when I’m paying for you,” he scolds.
“You know what,” I gasp, “you’re right. I should take that shot off of your bill, it looks like we just ran out of vodka.Sosorry about that.”
“Get back over here,” he orders while I slip my outfit back on. “Ipaidyou.”
Ignoring him, I step out of the room, making my way down to the bar.
“Vinnie, my dear,” I say to my friend pouring someone a drink, “there’s a customer in room two that could use some tough love.”
“He hurt you?”
“No, he’s just an asshole,” I smile.
“Alright.”
“Love you, big guy,” I tell him as he slips out of the partition, following me back upstairs.
I stop back at the table, because I’m still working and still assigned here, and my ex is still throwing a temper tantrum because he didn’t get what he wanted.
Vinnie’s going to have fun.
Gosh, I just wish I could feel terrible for him.
•
“Sophia,” Nash scolds from behind me as I enter the lounge. “You denied a paying customer service tonight.”
“Oh he hadn’t paid yet,” I assure him; not making much effort to hide the sass in my tone, which might be a mistake.
No, itisa mistake.
“Sophia.” He circles me, his movements fluid like those of a cat stalking its prey. “That’s twice in as many months. Are we going to have an issue?”
“I have personal issues with the guy,” I tell him.
I probably could have lied, but lying to Nash is a risk, and I have to start being more careful in taking those here. I’m getting reckless and it’s going to put me in danger soon, if it hasn’t already.
Was I petty tonight? Could I have just stuck it out and drifted off to my happy place? Sure, I’ve already been doing that for years. With the way that Nash is speaking to me, though, I may as well have made as much a scene as I did when I ran out on the first guy.
That guy was another new client, and he was not safe.
That didn’t matter to Nash, though. I told him that the guy had slapped me across the face without me agreeing to it, and that he wanted to use actual, genuine weapons with me. He didn’t just want it to be rough, he wanted it to beviolent. He wanted to hurt me. So I ran out of that room as if I was running for my life – because it felt like it was. All that Nash could say to me was ‘the customer is always right.’
“You leave those at the door, you know that. You have a job to do.”
I step closer to my locker to get away from him, scrolling through the numbers on the combination lock holding it shut. “Right.”
A hand finds its way to my shoulder blade, sliding across my skin until it wraps around to the side of my chest. Nash’s middle finger traces lazy circles at the skin on the sideof my breast and a shudder runs down my spine at the contact, making my stomach churn.
I can feel his breath hot against my skin as he leans in closer to me.
“Don’tmake me have this conversation with you again, sweetheart. You won’t be happy with the outcome.”
“Right,” I say through gritted teeth. “Sorry, Nash.”
I’m going to go crazy if I stay here, if I even survive it.
