“A night.” She smirks.
Shit.
One thousand a night? What the hell kind of job was this?
But Kate wouldn’t send me somewhere shady—not after she spent months trying to get me out of that hellhole salon.
Screw it. What do I have to lose? It’s not like they’ll hire me, anyway.
Right?
So here I am.
Standing outside Euphoria.
I got here early—Kate said punctuality was important, and I didn’t want to screw this up before I even stepped through the doors.
The building looms before me, sleek, black and gold, its lights casting an intoxicating glow across the sidewalk. It’s classy, expensive. The kind of place that promises indulgence behind velvet ropes. I, however, do not look expensive. Gone are the sharp suits I usually wear to get rejected by prospective employers. Instead, I’m wrapped in Kate’s version of interview attire—a slinky black dress that clings in places I’ve spent years trying to ignore.
If this goes the same way as every other interview, at least there’s a bar inside to drown my sorrows.
Taking a slow breath, I walk up the stairs. The two doormen size me up before exchanging a subtle nod. Approval. Well, what do you know—Kate was right. The outfit got me through the door.
Inside, the black and gold carpet muffles the sound of my heels. The rest of the flooring is polished dark wood, gleaming under the dim golden glow of overhead chandeliers. The whole place drips with opulence, like I’ve stepped into a high-end hotel rather than a club.
The woman at the front desk greets me with a professional smile, her grey silk suit pristine, her expression unreadable.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m here for an interview.”
She scans me quickly—eyes trailing over my dress, my posture. Whatever she’s looking for, she seems to find it, because she nods once before gesturing to a side door.
I’m ushered into a plush lounge where other women are seated on blush-coloured futons edged in—you guessed it—gold. Their dresses are tight, their heels high, their lips painted in sultry shades of red. Kate really should have given me more details, because I still have no idea what kind of job I’m interviewing for.
“Okay, ladies.”
A tall man in a black and white pinstripe suit claps his hands together, the sharp sound making me jump. His eyes sweep the room before landing on mine.
“You.”
I blink. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Name?”
“Brooklyn Lane.”
His chestnut-coloured eyes glint with recognition. “Ah, yes.” He taps his chin, like he’s heard my name before. “You’re up first, darling.”
I sit frozen.
“Well, come on. Can’t keep the boss waiting.”
I move on autopilot as he links his arm through mine, guiding me through yet another side door. This place is a maze, an endless series of dimly lit hallways that swallow us whole. My palms are sweating, heat creeping up my chest as my pulse thrums in my ears.
We stop in front of a massive black door edged in gold, mirroring the ones at the club’s entrance.
“You don’t have to look so scared,” he murmurs, his lips twitching. “He won’t bite. Unless you ask him to.”
