I nod along, taking in the new space. This room is larger but has a darker vibe, with lower lighting and a couple of well-lit stages in the center, a fully stocked bar that runs down one side, and a heap of booths all down the other. A couple of girls are dancing on the stage in sexy-as-hell lace lingerie. I can’t help but grin when I see them and watch in amazement. Nearby, a few men in expensive, tailored suits sit watching, their Rolex watches gleaming under the low lights. I’m sure they have keys to luxury cars jingling in their pockets as well. I know the type; my husband would rub his greedy fists together when he saw them coming.
“They’re so confident,” I mutter, a little starstruck. I want so badly to be one of them.
Myriah laughs. “That they are. Not everyone can dothatjob. I could never, that’s why I manage the bar.”
I glance back at her. The enchanting atmosphere has her transfixed as well. There is something about this place, a certain magic, that my husband’s club just didn’t have.
She motions for me to keep walking. “Love your dress, by the way,” she compliments me, in a way I know is genuine.
“Thanks.” I smile back, feeling a little less stressed because she’s being so damn nice to me.
“Where are you from? Sorry, it's just your accent is familiar but different.”
“Italy.”
“Love it.” She takes me right by the stages and to one of the more secluded booths. They’re not like the ones in the front bar; these are more closed in, like little rooms, blocked off on three sides from the rest of the VIP room, which I can only imagine is for dark deeds in semi-private. “Take a seat. Asher, one of our managers, will be with you shortly.”
My heart skips a beat. Did she say Asher? “Sloane’s not doing the interviews?” I query, my voice shakier than I want it to be.
She takes my hand in hers and pats the back of it. “She’s out this morning, but don’t fret, girl, you’re going to love Asher. He’s super nice and easy to get along with.” She gives my hand a squeeze. “You’ve got this, just be confident,” she encourages me like she’s known me my whole life, not all of five minutes. But that’s the problem. I don’t have a confident bone in my body.
I smile more tensely and swallow down the lump in my throat. “Okay, thanks.”
She leaves me alone with just the damn nervous butterflies that are stomping around in my stomach. This is not ideal. But maybe this Asher guy can help me secure a job and then I can find Sloane. Same result, I guess. Or do I just run after Myriah and tell her my story and ask her if she can call Sloane? She was so kind, I’m sure she would help me.
My mouth nearly hits the floor when a guy approaches me. He’s drop-dead gorgeous, like catalogue model gorgeous, with a more rugged edge. His dark gray tailored suit pants fit him like a glove and leave little to the imagination. His dark button-up is the same; I can see every bulge and ripple of his muscles. Damn. His eyes light up, with a wide, dimpled smile as he slides into the booth across from me, holding out a hand for me to shake. “Asher Stryker,” he introduces himself, and even his voice is sexy as all hell.
Oh, damn is right. My heart races like crazy, and I melt into a puddle all over the carpeted floor in front of him. He’s Sloane’s brother! I place my hand in his, warmth spreading through me that lights up my soul. The scent of his expensive cologne mingled with the rich aroma of bourbon invades my senses. “Daisy.” My name comes out all breathy. I offer a small smile, not sure what else to do. I think my chance to run after Myriah is gone, and I’m not even sorry about it.
“Just Daisy?” His grin widens playfully, making him look even more delicious.
“Yeah, like Madonna, no need for a surname.” I force a grin onto my lips, trying my best to come across playful and carefree, even though my stomach is doing somersaults.
“Mysterious, I like it.” He chuckles, and it’s the best sound ever, making me feel comfortable with him in no time at all. “What position are we interviewing for today? I didn’t have you on my list.”
“Dancer,” I squeak, hoping that’s one of the positions he has to fill, because it’s the only thing I can do.
He nods, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. He is like an adorable Labrador, overflowing with bubbly energy. “Any experience?”
“I have danced my whole life,” I mutter, trying to skate around the fact I haven’t actually been on a stage in five years, and I have never taken my clothes off for cash. My kind of dancing was classical ballet, but he doesn’t need to know that detail. I spent enough time in my husband’s club to know what the job entails.
His eyes narrow a little, assessing me as his gaze runs down my body, taking in my cardigan, floral dress, and high-top sneakers. It’s now I wish there was a table between us, something to hide me. I’m not really dressed for an interview. “You look fit.”
“Thanks.” I fake a smile, not sure what else to do. He crosses an arm over the other and leans back in the booth seat, and I can see he’s not convinced I should be here.
“Any references from past employers? It’s not essential, most girls don’t have them, but right now, you’re not giving me a lot to go on.”
I nibble my bottom lip while I try to think on the spot. “How about I show you?” As I say it, my stomach sinks because the truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t watched girls grinding up on men’s laps a million times before in my husband’s club, but I have never actually done it myself, and if he agrees, I’m going to be a fumbling mess.
Tilting his head, he studies me, and his chocolate-brown hair, longer on one side, falls over one eye as his gaze sweeps over me with a searching intensity. “Very mysterious indeed. Tell me, Daisy, you’re not on the run or some shit, are you?”
“No.” I laugh it off, trying my best to look innocent and playful rather than guilty. I’m now not only on the run from my family and missing husband but a couple of thugs named Jagger and Cruz. Literally couldn’t be any more on the run if I tried.
He runs a hand through his clean-shaven jaw, and it’s then I see the ink peeking through his collar on his neck. The man is gorgeous. A little bad but cleaned up and pretty as well. Just my type, and I know this is going to be even harder. But if I want this job, this life, my freedom, I need to suck it up and perform. It’s the only way. “Alright then. You have me intrigued.” He motions with his hands for me to stand up and turn around.
I swallow my fear and get to my feet, my legs shakier than I want them to be. Leaving my duffel bag on the seat beside me, I find a little space. “You want me to turn around?” I ask, feeling color heat my cheeks with his full attention on me.
He grins like he knows the flustered effect he’s having on me. “Don’t look so uncomfortable. If you’re dancing up there, you will have a room full of people watching your every move. If you can’t handle my eyes on you, maybe this job isn’t what you’re searching for.”
