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I want to say, Excuse you? Who do you think you are? You don’t get praise and adulation for doing the right thing. You should have done this from the beginning. It’s basic decency. When I have my own club, staff protection will be priority one, two, and three.

But that’s unnecessary. I’m letting too much emotion break through. It’s work. But something about Mr. Volkov gets to me. I don’t know how. Even over text.

Iris: Yes, sir. You’re right. I’m sure we’ll all be very grateful. I’ll let you know when I have any relevant information.

X: You got it, ice queen.

The handsome jerk sends an ice emoji.

I didn’t just think handsome. Hell.

I put the phone away before I text something else.

Sasha mimes zipping her lips shut and throwing away the key. She thinks this is about some guy. But it’s not. It’s business. Later, when I’m at work, I need to remember I’m there as Serena, not Iris. It’s a lot easier to be myself as Iris. I’m not sure what that says about me.

The club’s quiet when I get in. I help behind the bar for a while, then head to VIP section when Celeste texts me. Everyone is looking up at Nikolai’s office. I look up with them, expecting to see our reflections. But he’s standing there, one hand in his pocket, the other raised in a cocky wave. The patrons are loving it. Nikolai Volkov has always been part of the appeal of this place. Like a Gatsby in Florida, the man with a giant club and rumored connections to crime.

Now, it seems he’s playing up to it. I spot several people taking selfies with Nikolai in the background. A moment later, the glass goes back to normal. Everybody laughs and cheers, clapping. I look around the tables to find a mix of older and younger people, men and women. That’s good. The nights are always easier like that… except, what sort of secrets can I mine from these people? I might have to start thinking of my job differently.

I get to work. Around an hour later, Nikolai emerges. He gets another round of applause, and people clap him on the back. He looks sharper than I’ve seen him. I’m pretty sure he’s sober. His tattoos stand out in contrast to his crisp suit now. His smile is easy and convincing.

I feel oddly close to him after the texting. But that’s silly.

When he approaches, I offer him champagne, as I always do.

“Not tonight,” he says. “I’m trying to be a good boy. Did you see my PR stunt?”

“It was absolutely amazing,” I say.

He tilts his head at me. “Come on, Serena. We both know it was the most narcissistic and self-involved thing I could’ve done. Let’s be honest here.”

I almost laugh.

“No, I think it’s great. A great way to attract more customers.”

He steps closer. I tighten up a little, my skin buzzing. My clothes cling to me. My bra presses against my chest. My nipples even ache slightly. He’s big and firm, but there’s something almost desperate in his eyes. Like he needs to see the real me. But why? Why does he care so much?

“Are you scared of me, Serena? Is that it?”

“Should I be, Mr. Volkov?”

He smirks, then shakes his head, stepping back. “I’m overstepping. You’re doing a great job, Serena. Thank you.”

As he swaggers away, w I spit out, “I didn’t say that.”

He pauses, but doesn’t turn back. “What?”

“That you were overstepping.”

My heart is hammering in my chest. What are these insane words coming out of my mouth?

“Good to know,” he says gruffly, then walks away.

I sneak a look at his suit clinging tightly to his backside, his broad shoulders, confidence oozing from every pore. I quickly turn away when I notice Celeste watching me. She gives me a look that says, Get to work.

I start to circulate again, smile on my face, ears wide open, ready to make some cash and build a new life. And not – crucially – not thirst after Nikolai Volkov like some woman who can’t control herself. I can, thank you very much. And I’m going to. No matter how much smirking or staring he does.

CHAPTER 4