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They give Casper the same offer. My eyes flick to him briefly and I have to bite back a smug grin. He’s sprawled on his back, immobile save for his heaving chest. “No, no,” he pants. “I think this is enough fun for me today. Thank you.”

I wipe down my pole, exchanging goodbyes with some of the women as they head out.

“Here,” I say, handing him my water bottle since he looks like he could use a drink.

He sits up and gulps down a few mouthfuls.

“Hey, what are you doing next Saturday?” he asks.

My stare jumps to his. “I’m not sure.”

“I’ve got a wedding to go to. Wanna be my plus-one? I’m supposed to bring somebody because I’m basically the best man⁠—”

A sardonic smile emerges on my lips. “Basically?”

“I’m the best. I’m a man. Best man.”

What if he assumes it’s a date? We’re barely more than acquaintances.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.

“Okay.” He shrugs it off and takes the rejection well. It’s so casual, I wonder if I’ve overreacted by turning him down. “Mind if I walk you to your car?”

“Uh, sure.”

He holds out the water bottle and I take it from him, tucking it into my bag. Next he reaches for me. “You’re going to have to help me up.”

He groans like an old man when I pull him to his feet.

In the lobby, I shrug on my raincoat and he holds the door open for me, then follows to where I’m parked. I unlock the door, tossing my stuff into the passenger side.

“Same time next week?” he asks as I settle in behind the wheel.

I roll my eyes. “Good night, Casper.”

“Good night, Duchess.”

I don’t know what it is about Anna but she hasn’t left my thoughts since seeing her crawl on her knees. I mean, she’s hot, sure, but this isn’t about attraction. There’s just . . . something. I’ve done all the research I can behind a screen, and now this fixation has me sitting outside her house Friday night waiting for her to leave for her weekly trip to the grocery store.

I’ve parked across the street and have narrowed down which corner of the building is her apartment, based on . . . well, because I can fucking see her through the window. At long last she picks up her purse and turns off the light in her apartment. I recline my seat and play solitaire on my phone for a few minutes until she gets in her car and leaves.

My foot taps on the floor of my car until I can’t stand it anymore. It’s late enough in the evening where the streets are dark and unoccupied. I wait for a passing car before I hop out and sprint across the road, then slip into the shadows to stay hidden as I case the old building. A few decaying bricks show it needs some upkeep.

A rotted egress window frame catches my eye near the base of the foundation. It seems to be painted over, classic landlord camouflage. Paint is cheaper than repairs. I can’t see through the glass, but it’s clearly going into the basement since it’s at ground level. Out of curiosity, I bend over and grab the edge of the frame, it takes almost no force to violently rip it off the jamb.

Huh. That’s not good. A Good Samaritan would do a safety check. I’m a Good Samaritan. Thank God I’m here!

Behind is a board that’s swollen and warped from water damage. I find it’s equally rotten when I delicately smash my foot through the plywood with a hard kick. It practically falls over on its own. Extracting my boot from the hole, I drop to my knees with a grunt. That pole dance shit is no joke, I’ve never been so sore. It’s too dark to see anything, so I use the flashlight on my phone. Looks like nobody has used this basement in a long time. There are a couple boxes and some spare replacement flooring. A broken porch swing sits on the floor, probably broke a decade ago and still hasn’t been fixed.

I snap a picture of the busted window so I can make a lookalike replacement later.

The lure of adrenaline is too much to ignore. I squeeze into the egress and drop to the hard concrete floor below.

Welp, since I’m already here, I might as well have a look around to ensure that the landlord hasn’t neglected any other safety measures.

I locate the stairs to the main floor and slowly ascend, identifying the supports under the treads to ensure that my steps are as quiet as possible. As I approach the top, I start scouring the ceiling for cameras. There are a few in the breezeway vestibule, but all are aimed toward the exterior—a serious error on their part.

On the main level, I do another sweep for cameras and see none. This woman needs better security; it was way too easy for me to get in here. Imagine if I had nefarious motives. Lucky for her, I’m only here for a safety assessment to check for break-in vulnerabilities—like an ethical hacker. There may be a little curiosity involved, but it’s not my main priority.