His eyes get bigger, but he manages to continue without interruption. “—start trickling in.”
The rest of the call is uneventful, but Mr. Roth’s eyes on me are like molten lava. I wonder if I’ve finally turned the corner.
But at the end of the day, nothing has changed when the car pulls up in front of my apartment. Mr. Roth’s eyes travel from my face, down to my chest, over my cleavage to my keptnails. I’m close enough to him that he could easily reach out and touch me if he wanted.
“Have a good night, Ms. Kristoff,” he says in that deep, booming voice. I don’t know if he’s spoken to me directly like this all day. But he doesn’t move his hand, either.
I nod as I get out, disappointed once again. “Thank you, Mr. Roth.” I close the door, and the car pulls away.
But then it’s time to get ready for my after-hours job, where I can finally have all the things Mr. Roth denies me.
I only work my second gig three nights a week—Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Sunday is my true day off, the one I take to get my nails done. I do a facial when I can, and every two months, I stop in for a new cut and dye. Then I go on a run and get ready for the week.
Tonight’s Thursday, which means the lounge will be quieter than it is on the weekends. Still, I have some regulars who come in specifically looking for me on our less busy nights so they can catch me before I’m otherwise occupied.
After showering, I head to Octavio’s. It’s aclub on the top floor, with a bar area and dance floor. Downstairs, though, is a place far less well-known. That’s where I work, hosting gentlemen who are looking for a more lascivious activity.
Two other girls are in the dressing room when I arrive.
“Hey, Velvet,” they greet me. We all use pseudonyms here, and I always try to wear at least one piece of velvet on me as part of the gag. Tonight, I’m in a scarlet velvet skirt barely covering my ass, garter belts holding up black fishnets, with a lacy black and red corset. I ask one of my coworkers to tie it up for me, then spray on a bit of my favorite perfume before heading out onto the floor.
There are waiters working, but our clients always prefer it when we bring them their drinks. I scan the lounge to see who’s here, recognizing only one familiar face: Elias, the manticore who comes in from time to time and likes when I serve him. But he’s already occupied with Bunny, a tiny little Asian woman sitting on his lap with her bare tits in his hands.
Guess Elias won’t need me tonight.
Other groups of people are talking and drinking, already with women at their tables. I pass Veronica moaning as a man and a woman sittogether, fingering her. Down the hallway, where the private rooms are, I can hear another one of my coworkers cry out in carnal bliss.
But no one flags me down as I pass. Unusual. So I head to the bar and check in with Matt to see who might be in need of my attentions.
“We have a new guy,” Matt says, pointing around the corner. “In the VIP section. You should go welcome him. Maybe pick up a fresh client.”
I like the sound of that. Making a first impression is how you get a regular, and it’s a bonus if it’s somebody rich enough for the VIP section.
With a quick thanks, I beeline around the end of the bar for the smaller VIP room. The bouncer nods at me as I pass.
It’s quiet in here, with only three people present—two old men drinking whiskey, and then one man with his back facing me. I nod and smile at the two men, who give me cursory nods back before returning to their conversation.
Not interested. My new guy must be this massive pair of shoulders in front of me.
Wait. I recognize those exact shoulders, that perfectly tailored suit.
Mr. Roth. Mr. Vincent Roth is in my place of work. And he hasn’t seen me yet.
I freeze in my spot, then start to back away. If he doesn’t look up from the menu he’s studying, then he won’t see me. I can get out of here, maybe pretend I’m sick, and go home before my boss even catches wind of it.
I can’t have him find out about this. Would he ever look at me the same way again if he knew this is what I do in my off-time? If he knew I let strangers fondle me, sometimes even take me away to back rooms with locked doors?
I’m almost to the entry to the VIP lounge when suddenly, Mr. Roth’s head shoots up. He turns in his chair, his nostrils flared—and just like that, his yellow eyes connect with mine from across the room.
Instantly, I stop moving, like a deer caught in headlights. I’m so fucked.
For the first time since I’ve met him, I think Mr. Roth genuinely looks surprised. I’ve never seen him caught off guard before, with his lips parted, his brows raised.
There’s nothing I can do now that he’s seen me, but I can’t react. This place is supposed to be anonymous, professional. I have to pretend that I don’t know him, that I’ve never seen him before in my life. I have to treat him like any other client.
Getting my wits back about me, I slide easily into customer service mode, approaching the table and then leaning forward over it to give him a good view of my cleavage inside the corset.
“Good evening, sir,” I say in a sultry voice, the way I would with anyone at the lounge. “I’m Velvet. Would you like a drink to start?”
