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This king is apparently a wolf shifter, called very imaginatively Wolf—okay, so it’s his nickname, he has amnesia, and I’m here for it—and his kingdom is overrun by ice wolves and?—
The door of the dressing room opens without warning and my boss walks in. I start at his sudden appearance. He’s never come inside this room before, giving me a semblance of safety, since he could just as well have walked in on me undressing.
“Mr. Munro.” I get up from my seat. I’m still in my red dress, though I’m barefoot. I haven’t managed to change.
“You and your books,” he scoffs. “Always with your nose buried in one.”
I snap it shut with a guilty start. “Well, I’m off. Finished with my shift.”
“And where are you going to go? Home to bed?” He’s giving me a look I don’t like. “Stay and party. You’re single, not attached to a pack yet. You can have fun and money.”
I feel my eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”
“We have an important person here, a patron of the club. I want you to do a lap dance for him. A private one.”
I frown. “I don’t do private shows. Customers can get handsy and pushy and I hate it, so?—”
“This isn’t a request, girl. Get to it.” He snaps his fingers, as if I’m a dog. “Go on.”
And that’s the other thing I hate about my job: my boss. I like dancing, I like the other dancers, but my boss? He’s running this ship like a king, deciding what you will do and when. He has total control, as we don’t have proper contracts. You don’t like it? You can leave and never come back. But all of us working here need the money, and he knows it.
You said you’d do whatever is necessary to cover the bills, I remind myself. You didn’t expect it to happen so soon, but whatever. Looks like you’re gonna get your wish tonight.
It’s just a lap dance, I tell myself as he closes the door, relieved I don’t have to look at his ugly mug any longer. What an asshole.
A proper lap dance, not the brief gyrating on the air I do with customers salivating to stuff dollars down my cleavage. But I know how to do it properly, even if I’ve rarely done it. It’s going to be fine.
I sit back down, shove the borrowed book into my bag and reach for my red shoes. I need to fix my hair and brush up my makeup.
I got this.
It’s a chance, I tell myself. I said I need to make more money, and then this chance falls into my lap. A lap dance. See? It was written. I’ll make enough to pay the medical bills, and maybe… maybe then everything will turn out just fine.
Believe it, Brin. You have to.
20
SAWYER
Full disclosure: I can’t get what I witnessed last night out of my mind. So I spend the night jerking off to the scene on replay of the McGraw Pack in that stuffy office, getting their rocks off together—though Brinlee also comes to my dreams, later, as she often does lately.
And then this morning I went through the motions in a daze. Did I really do that? Watch them without their permission, without them knowing? What sort of an asshole am I?
Is this the part where you discover nasty things about yourself and you buy the first ticket to anywhere to start a new life with a new identity, become a paranormal guide in New Orleans, or a dog surfing instructor, although you can’t even fucking surf?
I mean… what the fuck, Sawyer.
It’s late afternoon now, and I’ve been in this weird daze all day. I know customers have come and gone, I know Bee was here, taking orders. I brewed and served coffees and teas, placed cupcakes into plates and gave receipts.
And in all this whirlwind of work and strange longing, I miss Brinlee. Which is fucking stupid. You can’t miss someone you barely know.
Well, I did say it’s stupid. But it’s still true. And it’s giving me a headache.
I massage my temples, frowning at the long slab of the bar. I’ve passed the rag so many times it should be spotless, but I see stains.
Hell.
Grabbing the rag, wetting it under the faucet, I spray the bar with antiseptic and get back to cleaning. I can’t get it clean enough, no matter how I try. I count the swipes inside my head: three to the right, three to the left, three clockwise, three anti-clockwise, can’t break the ritual before it’s done, if I do bad things will happen?—
