That wasn’t exactly how it worked, and he knew it. He just didn’t care.
“What time?”
“Eleven.”
Well, at least it gave me a break to get something to eat before I had to get on stage again.
“Alright.”
“Alright?” Frank asked. “You could sound more enthused, you know. A thousand other girls would kill for this opportunity.”
Why not offer it to them, then?
I knew why.
Whether I liked it or not, I was Frank’s pet.
I wasn’t sure if it was because he genuinely appreciated my talent, or if it was simply because I was the only woman he’d employed who didn’t give in to hischarms.
To be fair, Frank wasn’t bad-looking. Yes, his eyes were a little beady, a bit close-set, but overall he was pretty average with his brown hair, slim, tall build, and oval face. If you factored in his wealth, I could see why some women might be willing to sleep with him.
But, well, Frank gave me the creeps on the day I interviewed. And that was way before I heard all the rumors about inappropriate behavior—if not outright groping or assault. Bad deeds covered up by greased palms and settlements.
Thankfully for me, I had a good gut instinct when it came to creeps. It was just something that you learned when you grew up in a world where your beauty was treated like a commodity.
And because I was trained from the cradle to always be poised, I’d long since learned how to handle men like Frank—ones with a lot of power and bad intentions.
It was done carefully.
Charm mixed with careful boundaries.
If I was too firm with him, I knew he would blackball me. So I wasn’t. I was simply always very ‘busy.’ Someone was always ‘waiting for me.’ I made it seem like my time was extremely limited. It let him see my rebuffs as coy and elusive, not as an outright rejection.
After a year of this careful dance, though, I was just about done.
I had a feeling this private set was only going to push me closer to that edge.
But the extra money might be worth the anxiety about it.
Because while tips were rare during my normal sets, for private events, they were much more common.
They came quietly—slid across tables, tucked into hands, never announced. But they more than made up for my sore throat for the next day or two.
“Maybe they would,” I agreed, casting Frank a sideways glance that, if you ignored the glint in my eye (and he would), could be seen as flirtatious, “but you want me,” I said, letting a slight pause hang in the air, “to do it.”
He sucked in a deep breath, his gaze moving over me once again. “Yes, yes, I do. Eleven then.”
“Eleven,” I agreed.
“Want me to have some tea or cough drops ready for you?”
Dosed with God-knows-what? No thanks.
“I have my own. But thanks.” The smile I shot him was plastic. Luckily, Frank didn’t know the difference. “I’m on in ten,” I said, with a pointed look at the clock, then at my garment bag.
“Right. Right. Gotta give you time to get gorgeous. Not that you need it.”
I wanted to get up, to yank the door open for him. But if I got up, it gave him a chance to reach for me.
