"Didi," one of the other dancers said as he breezed into the dressing room, "the boss wants to see you in his office before you leave."
I groaned as my head dropped forward. I so didn't want to meet with the boss. Nothing good ever came of going to Brasov's office. The man was a first-rate prick. The only reason I stuck around this place and put up with his shit was that it was too hard to find a job somewhere else.
Despite what I had told Andrew, I actually made pretty good money as a stripper. Between tips, private dances, and the occasional bachelorette party, I made enough to pay for my two-bedroom apartment, and in New York City, that was astounding.
I finished changing into my street clothes and then packed my bag to go home, making sure I had all my dancing clothes and makeup. As much as I wished I could skip out on the whole scene with Brasov, I knew I couldn't. He'd fire me on the spot.
I eyed the backdoor for a moment before my shoulders slumped. I started to put my cell phone in my bag as I usually did but then thought better of it. If Andrew texted, I didn't want to miss his call. I slid my phone into my pocket instead and then zipped up my bag.
My heart was heavy as I headed out of the dressing room and down the hallway to Brasov's office. I knocked when I got there. The door swung open almost immediately. My stomach took a nosedive when Kirk, Brasov's right-hand man, gestured for me to come in.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Brasov?"
"How many times have I told you to call me Anatoli, Didi?"
I smiled, refusing to answer. I preferred calling him Mr. Brasov. I wanted to keep that distance between us. I didn't want the familiarity that came with the use of first names.
Brasov waved his hand to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Have a seat."
I barely kept my groan locked behind my lips as I walked over and sat down.
"How long have you been with me, Didi?"
I wasn't "with" him.
"I've worked at the club for three years now," I replied.
"Longer than almost anyone."
That part was true. There was a huge turnover rate in the dance industry. People came and went from the club all the time. Very few stayed for any amount of time. Most here at the club probably left after Brasov started his crap.
I was pretty sure it was the same crap he was about to start with me.
"Am I being let go, Mr. Brasov?"
"No, of course not, Didi. You're one of my best dancers. My customers love you."
I wondered if that was a good thing.
"Would you like a drink, Didi?"
"No, thank you." A lot of the dancers drank while at work. I always felt like that was a bad idea. Not only were your inhibitions lowered when you were drinking but it wasn't ethical to drink at work, even if you were a stripper.
Brasov waved a dismissive hand as if my words meant nothing. A moment later, Kirk held a champagne flute out to me. I reluctantly took it and held it.
"Drink up, boy."
I grimaced as I raised the flute and took a small sip. That was another reason I didn't drink a lot. Alcohol, even champagne, tasted bitter to me, although this one tasted worse than most. It was probably cheap. Just like Brasov.
Brasov raised his glass. "A toast."
A sparkle of unease came to life in my gut. "A toast?"
To what? How much of an asshole he was?
"Yes."
When Brasov held out his glass, I knew I had no choice. I raised my glass and tapped it against his before taking another small sip.
