While I move through the club, I make sure that everyone’s drinks are full and their bodies are moving, grazing a hand over the lower backs of any beautiful women I come across. I pass a woman with blonde hair that hangs halfway down to her ass, her body hugged too tightly by a light blue dress that shows off her insane rack. I’m almost certain she’s one of the models that Mariah invited.
“Hey darlin’,” I shout to her, “let me introduce you to someone.”
I take her by the wrist, pulling her behind me to weave between partygoers until I catch sight of Emmett at the opposite side of the bar, nursing a cocktail.
“Emmett!” I shout, throwing an arm over his shoulder. “This young lady could use a drink. Get her one.”
“What the hell are you doing?” He laughs.
“Getting you laid. You’re welcome,” I shout into his ear. “Call me DoorDash.” I clap him on the back before turning to his new friend. “Emmett’s gonna take good care of you tonight, darlin’. Whatever you need, you just let him know.”
Plant the seed and watch it grow.
I leave the two of them by the bar and make my way back into the center of the party, letting myself ride the high while it’s with me.
It doesn’t last long, maybe twenty minutes, but I don’t waste a second of it. I slip into a group of people, dancing with them. I have no idea who any of these people are, but they’re a good time, so I hang out. One of the women in the group is bent over, moving her hips side to side to make her ass shake under the loose fabric of her dress. I crouch down behind her, putting my hands on my knees, bumping my ass against hers with a twerk, letting out a loud laugh before moving on to dance with someone else.
Time passes at warp speed while I dance through the party, moving from person to person, group to group, until I land back at Mariah. I grab onto her hands and force her movements with mine, making her match the shimmy in my shoulders.
This is the best damn night I’ve had in a long time. Everyone is here, everyone is having a good time, and my club is fuckingawesome. The influencers that were invited are snapping picture after picture and uploading videos to their social media feeds, basically doing a shitload of free marketing for us. It’s perfect.
Noelle would love this shit.
•
I don’t even know what time it is when I wake up; all I know is that my head feels like it’s been split open as soon as I sit up, before I even open my eyes. Squinting to keep as much light out as possible, I look next to me at Mariah’s naked body sprawled out, then to my own. “Nice,” I tell myself with a satisfied nod before I climb out of bed in search of sunglasses and pants.
As rough as the hangover is, I’m always a little glad for the long sleep I get after a night like last night. Sleep is too damn quiet; it doesn’t agree with me much.
THIRTEEN
Sophia
Ava:I love you.
Ava:Just think about the day that you’re finally out.
Ava::*
I play my best friend’s text messages over and over again in my head while Nash gives me a ‘pep talk’ about my shift tonight. It’s presented as an inspirational conversation, but what it really is is a warning; the final straw, telling me that I’ve skated one too many times on ice too thin and one more screw up will be my last.
“So, sweetheart,” Nash croons, hooking his finger under the strap of my bodysuit. “Are you going to be able to behave yourself for us tonight?”
Fighting back the disgust forcing its way up my throat, I nod my head. “Yes, Nash. I won’t let you down again.”
My stomach churns as his hand trails over my jaw and down to my shoulder, but I don’t let it show. Nash Montgomery is the prime example of looks not being everything. He’s a good-looking guy; hot even, like Henry Cavill’sSupermanwith a neatly trimmed and styled beard, but his personality cancels out his good genetics within five seconds of his mouth opening.
The man is a slimeball wrapped in gold and Versace.
“Get up there, then,” he tells me, “and greet your customers.”
“Of course.”
Throwing him the fakest smile that I can muster, I reach for my tray and a stack of menus, tucking both under my arm while I head up the stairs and into my section for the night.
It’s a group of regulars tonight; older guys, usually respectful enough and relatively hands-off until they order a house special. I spend a few hours with them, flirtatiously tossing my newly-blonde hair over my shoulder, servings drinks, pouring drinks into their mouths and letting them take shots from between my breasts, laughing at their crappy – and almost always a little bit offensive – jokes.
I join them for a few drinks, which I’m not really supposed to do, and I serve one of them off of the HOUSE SPECIALS menu. The entire time that I’m with him in that room, I think about him dying. I’m not a violent person; I can’t even bring myself to squish a bug, most of the time, but it helps sometimes to think about bad things happening to these guys. To picture his head getting smashed in with a steel beam or his leg getting chopped to bits by a boat propeller, instead of opening my eyes and watching his face while he moves inside of me.
