Brooklyn
The private salon room is suffocating in pink, the scent of artificial roses curling through the air like a desperate attempt to mask what always lingers—sweat, stale cologne, and the quiet hum of expectation.
“Are you ready?” Hayley peeks her head through the door, her smile wide, bright against her creamy, heart-shaped face.
I force a matching smile. “Of course.”
I really appreciate having this job. It’s not much, but it pays the bills or half of them, at least. I can’t expect Kate to cover me, no matter how easily she could, but every morning, stepping through these doors, I wish I could walk right back out.
I smooth a fresh towel over the massage table, my stomach twisting. How did I get here? Years of college, then university, armed with degrees and dreams, only to end up rubbing oil into the backs of wrinkled old men who assume a stack of cash buys them more than a massage.
Every session ends the same. A lecherous grin. A hand that lingers too long. A greasy voice whispered, You looking for something extra, darling? Like they’re reading from the same perverted script. I refuse to entertain it. It’s bad enough touching them; I won’t let them taint me any further.
One by one, they cycle through, leaving their stink in the air, their eyes burning into my ass as I turn away. Keep dreaming, old man. I haven’t let a man touch me in three years, and I’m not about to start with someone’s perverted grandfather.
At the end of my shift, Hayley’s waiting. The moment she opens her mouth, I know.
“Same time tomorrow?” I sigh.
“If you can find something better, Brooklyn, then by all means.”
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I can’t. And she knows it.
Her expression shifts, something uneasy flickering across it. “Actually—we’ve had complaints.”
I stiffen. “About me?”
She hesitates, and I already know the answer.
“The clients feel… dissatisfied with your service. These are high-class?—”
“High-class?” A bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it. “Right. Because nothing says high-class like a married man propositioning his massage therapist.”
Her lips press together. “The customer deserves a smile. You need to appear as if you want to be here.”
“I should be grateful, right?” My voice is sharp now, my control slipping. “Grateful that a bunch of sleazy sugar daddies wave cash in my face, expecting me to?—”
“Brooklyn.” Her tone hardens.
“No, tell me, Hayley. Am I being fired because I don’t smile enough, or because I won’t fuck them for tips?”
A muscle twitches in her jaw. For a second, I think she might actually slap me, but instead, she smooths a hand over her perfectly pressed blouse, her expression cooling into something eerily polite.
“I wish you luck, Miss Lane. I hope you find employment up to your standards.”
“That’s it?”
“You’ll receive your last payment at the end of the month.” She turns and walks away without so much as a glance back.
Perfect.
Now I was jobless. Again.
Kate will be thrilled. She’s been telling me to leave for months, but it’s easy for her. She doesn’t have to work to survive; her daddy makes sure of that. She doesn’t understand what it’s like to wake up every day knowing one wrong move means losing everything.
I step out onto the street, inhaling the icy November air like it might somehow ground me. It doesn’t.
Three years ago, I had it all. Or so I thought.
