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Truth was, most of the men who worked at the Private Affairs night club were killers. If she was a normal and innocent female, that would bother her. She was neither normal nor innocent.
She had secrets of her own, just like the rest of the workers at Private Affairs. The males she worked with were no different from her dad and the men she’d grown up around. Well, there was one difference.
Society liked to call Constantine and his gang, businessman. Yet, they called her dad and his gang, thugs. In her eyes, they were two sides of the same coin. She’d grown up around men like him.
Hell, she’d grown up around women who was just as ruthless as he was. Her mother, God rest her soul, was one of those women. Criss was used to being in the company of criminals.
Which was why she fit in well with the crew at the club. It wasn’t the fact that Constantine was a killer that kept the two of them apart. It was her. She wasn’t his type. All she had to do was look around the room for proof of that.
According to Angelina, all of the female staff was hired by the club’s Manager. Constantine was the club’s Manager. None of the female staff looked like her. Which was sad. Because she was fucking awesome.
She was curvy as hell. She was a plus size chick who would never diet just to fit society’s rules regarding what was and what wasn’t beautiful and attractive. She was happy in the skin she was in.
She loved her thick thighs and not quite flat tummy. Yet, all the dancers in this establishment were slender. Slender and some form of white, be it Italian, Russian, American, Serbian, German or Polish.
She was the only sistah at Private Affairs. Normally, she wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. Not because of the white women. She wasn’t racist. Plus, she’d become friends with a few of them.
It was the atmosphere of the club that she didn’t like. The place reeked of over-priced perfume and cologne. There were naked women, rich men, and money being thrown around like it was nothing.
At least back home, her father and his goons kept their thots away from her and her sister. Here, they were proudly on display for everyone to see. No, this was definitely not her type of party.
She’d much rather be at home with her granny and her niece, watching a reality T.V show. It was amazing how much drama housewives encountered on a daily basis. She wasn’t even married and she had just as much drama in her own life.
Lately, she been down on her luck. So down, that when she had her first car wreck ever, she’d run into the back of Constantine Novinkoff’s ride. At the time, she’d had no idea who he was.
Now that she did, she knew it was bad luck that caused her to run into his car. Out of all the cars on the road in Chicago Illinois, it was his she crashed into. If that wasn’t bad luck, she didn’t know what was.
His expensive ass car shouldn’t have been in her way. Cristal sighed. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t blame Con’s car or its devilishly handsome owner for the accident. The wreck wasn’t their fault.
Had her eyes been on the road, instead of on her phone’s GPS, she wouldn’t have run into a car with headlights that cost more than her entire piece of shit car. In her defense, she was new to the state of Illinois.
Her small hometown down in Mississippi didn’t have as much traffic as the Windy City did. Because of her inability to look at her GPS and drive, she’d rammed into Con’s car. Well, ram was too strong of a word.
It was more of a tap. The damage wasn’t even that bad. Just a busted tail light and a few scratches. If she would’ve had her duct tape and black permanent marker with her, she could’ve fixed him right up and sent him on his way.
Instead, he’d gotten out of the car and started throwing around fighting words like police and insurance. She didn’t have insurance and she hadn’t wanted to get the police involved, so she’d suggested paying him in installments for the damage.
At first, he laughed at her suggestion. Then, as his gaze swept over her, his laughter faded and he agreed to her offer. Probably because he realized a woman wearing a gas station name tag on her T-shirt couldn’t afford to pay him upfront for the damages.
For the first three months after the accident, she paid him a little here and a little there. Whenever she had money to spare, which was hardly ever, she gave him a few dollars. Fifty. Twenty. Twenty-five. Just a little something to keep him from complaining.
From July to September, he’d been okay with that. Well, not okay, but he’d accepted it. Then October rolled around. When she came by the club to pay him, he told her that her paltry payments were starting to piss him off.
He’d actually said the word paltry. Who the hell even uses that word? She hadn’t really been prepared for that. Because of that, she hadn’t had time to mask her anger with a smile. Her attitude seeped out in her words before she had a chance to think them over.
She’d told him that coming to his skanky ass club every week to pay him was starting to piss her off. And she had better things to do with her time than converse with a group of criminals.
That was definitely the wrong thing to say to a criminal. If looks could kill, she would be pushing up daisies right now. To her surprise, he hadn’t yelled at her right away. No, he’d told everyone to leave the room first.
When she’d tried to leave with the others, he’d yelled for her to stay. And that was the night she started working at his club. He’d told her if she couldn’t pay him more with the cashier job she was already working, then she needed to work at his club.
She’d thought he’d meant as a stripper. She’d turned him down really quick. There was no way she was going to get her big ass on anybody’s stage and shake it. Her ass was not for everyone to see.
And she’d made it a point to tell him that. Then his rude ass told her that he would never allow her to strip at his club. The look on his face let her know the mere thought of her doing so disgusted him
He said he wanted her to entertain his patrons in a different way. He told her that he was thinking of hiring a band. He wanted her to sing with the club’s band on Friday and Saturday nights.
He’d heard her singing in the parking lot and thought the club could use a little live music. Luckily for him, she loved to sing. And when he told her she didn’t have to dress naked like most of the women in the club, she’d snatched up the offer to sing with a band.
