Will I ever escape Aces? My sister?
I finally have a man on my side who might be able to help me.
We’ve had sex a few times now, and it was electric. But chemistry in bed doesn’t necessarily translate to wedding bells.
If this thing with Harrison does pan out, I’ll have to stop taking gentleman callers at the club. I’ve wanted an excuse to stop it for years, but the money was always too good.
And after what went down with Reflections, I felt like my body was the only thing that gave me value.
Harrison’s making me rethink that. He seems to like me for who I am.
But again, it’s all far too soon.
If I stop entertaining men at the club—at least in ways that don’t involve my voice—I won’t have the income to pay the rent for this beautiful apartment. I’d have to take a day job, or God forbid, ask my sister for a raise.
Of course, if I moved in with Harrison, that wouldn’t be an issue.
Too soon for that thought, of course.
Still, though. Every time I think of him, that familiar twitch in my eyebrow makes me feel that his presence in my life has some kind of purpose.
Maybe it’s just to get my sister out of power. Undo some of the horrible things she’s done, if she is in fact guilty of doing anything terrible.
I could always ask Harrison for a loan in the meantime if I needed it. I just don’t want him to think that I’ll be dependent on him, that I need him as a sugar daddy.
I’ve had sugar daddies in the past. I don’t let my clients get too attached anymore. I usually have a one-and-done policy these days. Before I knew better, when I was still nursing the wounds left in the wake of my experience with Reflections…
I let them get close. Let them get possessive.
One got particularly covetous. Rouge had to intervene. It was awful.
I shake the thought from my head. Tonight isn’t about the men I’ve taken behind the velvet curtains. It isn’t about Aces. It isn’t about Rouge. Not directly, at least.
It’s about exploring the town with Harrison. Looking for clues about his friends. And I’m looking forward to it.
Hell, I’m thrilled beyond measure.
I unlock the selfie camera on my phone, check my makeup. And then a thought occurs to me.
I’m wearing my usual lipstick, light pink with a touch of gloss.
That’s what I wear when I sing at the club. Rouge’s orders.
I’m not singing in the club tonight. I’m wearing a dress my sister would never approve. She prefers me in all white or light-colored numbers. This black-and-white dress is bold, and the amount of cleavage it shows is far more than she would allow. “Save it for the customers who really pay to see it,” she’d say.
Well, fuck her. And fuck the light-pink lip. I rush back into my bedroom and reach to the bottom drawer of my vanity, the one where I keep makeup I rarely use, and I pull out a dark-purple shade of lipstick. I’ve already applied a thicker line of eyeliner than I usually do, so that along with the purple lips will give me an almost gothic look.
I apply the lipstick and look over my entire ensemble. Something’s missing.
I need a small touch of color. I grab a lime-green ribbon headband—one I haven’t worn since an eighties party in college—and place it toward the back of my head.
Hopefully Harrison likes chicks with a dark edge, because that’s what he’s getting tonight.
I’ve played the innocent ingenue long enough. Rouge wants me to look virginal, pure, to entice more men. Joke’s on them—I’ve taken more men than some of the most promiscuous women. But a brand’s a brand.
Tonight, that’s not what I want.
I don’t want to feel like a girl.
