Chapter 1
Angie
“Got this is for you.” Owen hands me a piece of paper on his way to the bathroom.
“Hello to you too.” I glance at the pink paper, wondering what field trip this one is for and whether I want to chaperone for it.
“You have to sign it,” he says over his shoulder before shutting the door behind him.
As soon as I read the first line, my stomach drops.
Your child has been exposed to lice.
Dammit.
“As soon as you’re done, we’re going to get a haircut and shampoo.” I grab a pen off the counter and sign the stupid notice before I shove it into Owen’s backpack.
I just got my hair cut last weekend, but I’ll get a tea tree shampoo. There’s a shop in town that specializes in lice abatement and they’ve managed to keep us bug-free for the first few breakouts since Owen started living with me at the beginning of the school year. I hate to see his wavy locks get shaved off, but it’s better than the alternative.
And he’s definitely due for a trim anyway.
While he takes care of business, I go through his returned papers to see how he’s doing. His lowest score is a seven and his highest score is a nine. Out of ten points, I can live with those kind of numbers.
When I took Owen in while my sister deals with her addiction issues, he was barely reading at all and couldn’t count past fifty. For an eight-year-old, it was pretty sad. But Emma and I have both spent a lot of time getting him caught up to grade level school work and it’s starting to really pay off.
I only have three more days at Pearls before I’m officially off the payroll there and on the payroll at Hart Advisors. To say I’m only a little nervous would be a lie.
I’m fucking terrified.
Not because I don’t think I’ll be good at it. I’m damn good at sex. And it doesn’t really bother me to have sex with strangers. I consider it to be 100% physical release with zero emotional attachment.
Honestly, I think that’s what bothers me the most. The lack of concern I have over becoming a full-fledged prostitute is alarming in itself. I should be more worried. I should be disgusted…horrified even. But I’m not.
As a stripper at Pearls, I’ve had a few customers I offered extra services to. Just a few, but enough to know that it’s not a big deal. And if taking the leap to being an actual prostitute will provide a more stable life for me and Owen, then that’s what I’m going to do. Regardless of what other people might think of me.
Of course, I won’t be called a prostitute once I start working at Hart. Officially, I’ll be a relationship consultant. That’s the service I’ll offer my clients on the books, and that’s the service they’ll pay for. But if, at the end of their counseling session, we mutually decide to have an intimate interaction off the books, that is completely up to us as consenting adults.
So why don’t I have any remorse over what I’m about to do?
How is it okay for me to have sex with married men while their wives are probably home taking care of their children? Am I sociopath? Do I care so little about the family unit that I don’t mind being a vehicle for destroying one?
I’d like to think that’s not true, but maybe it is.
I didn’t witness many healthy relationships growing up, so maybe I just don’t know any better. Mom raised us by herself and you can see how well that turned out just by looking at Owen. My sister Tanya has been using her body as currency to get booze and pills since she got her first period.
So what does that mean for me?
Am I destined to bounce from bed to bed with no chance of finding a real connection…and not much interest in caring?
***
Emma is sitting on my couch when Owen and I get home. “Please tell me you brought home food because I’m starving.”
I hold up a bag of chicken chow mein and egg rolls. “You know I wouldn’t expect you to babysit on an empty stomach.”
“And that’s why I love you.” She hops off the couch and grabs the bag, taking it to the kitchen table to serve. “That’s the only part I miss about working at Meals2Me. I can’t just grab food all day long while I’m working. Although, half the time, I was too poor to buy the food I was delivering so I guess I’m not missing much.”
“What?” I put three plates on the table and start opening up containers. “Sebastian isn’t feeding you in that big house of his?”
Emma groans. “He’s healthy. It’s super annoying. He’s been making these green smoothies that look like…well, really bad. I’m drinking them to be nice, but I’m hungry all the time.”
I raise an eyebrow then glance down at her belly. “Are you sure that’s the only reason you’re always hungry? Maybe you’re eating for two…”
Emma gasps and looks appalled at the suggestion. “How dare you! I just moved in with Seb. I need at least a year or two of just being with him before I even think about babies.”
I smile to myself. Yeah right.
“You’re having a baby?” Owen sits at the table with a Captain Underpants book in his hand. He’s been reading it for a few weeks now. I know it’s a struggle, but he smiles a lot when he is reading so I’ve been encouraging him to keep it with him all the time.
Except the dinner table.
“Owen, honey. Put the book down.” I pat the table beside his plate before I fill it with noodles. “And no, Aunt Emma isn’t having a baby…yet.”
I wink at Emma and she scratches her cheek with her middle finger. Yeah, we’ll see how long she lasts before she’s knocked up by her billionaire boyfriend.
“So, what’s new with you, kiddo?” Emma places a glass of milk next to Owen then sits down too. “It’s been a few days since I’ve seen you.”
He shrugs. “Nothing.”
“Did you have art today?” She takes a bite, waiting for him to chew the mound of food he’s already shoveled into his mouth.
“Yeah.” He knows better than to talk with his mouthful so he blurts out very quick answers between very big bites.
“What kind of art? Did you bring it home?”
Owen shakes his head and chews faster. “Clay. Not yet.”
And this is how the rest of the meal goes, with Emma and I trying to pry information out of him while he’s focused on getting as many calories into his belly as possible. No matter how many times I tell him to slow down because there is plenty of food for him, he can’t quite let go of the fear of being hungry that was instilled into him after so many years of neglect by my sister.
I only wish I had known how bad it was sooner.
***
“Let’s pray for our sins to the Angel of Mercy!”
When I hear my stage name called, I adjust the wings on my back and eliminate any emotions on my face before I head out front. The slow beats measure each step I take, and by the time I’m standing in the center of the black stage, I feel ready to start my routine.
I work the pole into my dance in the middle and towards the end for my finale, but most of my dance is floor work. Like, literally on the floor with my legs spread while my fingers trail up and down my body as I display myself to these strangers in the audience.
Once my thong and bra are gone, I’m left only wearing thigh-high stockings and my angel wings. I got over the embarrassment of being nude in front of strangers a long time ago. Now it’s actually empowering. I have some small amount of control over these men when they’re focused on my body. If I want something from them, I can get it just by giving them a closer peek.
Besides, with the bright lights and the loud music, I don’t ever focus on any one face in the crowd. I just let myself move to the rhythm that’s pounding up from my feet and through my entire body. Every muscle is being scrutinized and judged, but that’s okay. I’ll take their judgment just as quickly as I take their cash. Bills are slipped beneath the hem of my stockings and the straps of my wings as I saunter across the floor for a final lap.
When the song comes to an end, I do a final sweep of the stage, collecting the bills that have been thrown at me or fallen out of my stockings. On the far left of the stage, just as I’m about to exit, I see a small stack of hundred dollar bills, fanned out into a point toward Garrett Madison.
I haven’t seen Garrett here in a while, but I’m pretty sure this is his way of asking for a private session. I’ve only been in a few sessions with him and I wasn’t alone during either of them. He likes Vickie but she’s not here tonight. I wink and shoot him a smile while collecting the stack and disappearing from the stage.
After getting dressed and slipping a sheer white baby doll over my bra and panties, I go out to the front of the house, looking for Garrett. He’s sitting exactly where I left him, and his eyes instantly lock on me as soon as I emerge from the back. He’s got a bottle of champagne chilling at his table, but I stop at the bar for a bottle of ice water before I head to Garrett’s table. I’ll have a glass of champagne if he offers one, but I desperately need some water first.
“My angel,” he says, standing up to give me a kiss on the cheek before gesturing to the chair beside him. “Join me.”
“It’s nice to see you, Garrett.” I slide onto the open chair. “How are you?”
“Excellent. And I’m happy you’re here tonight.”
“Is that so?” I give him a coy smile. “Because I’m happy you’re here too.”
He takes a sip of his drink. “Mark mentioned you’re going to be leaving him soon and moving over to his newest venture.”
“I am. The hours are better, you know.” I finish the bottle of water and put it on the corner of the table to be picked up by a server.
“What about weekends?”
I cock my head, not sure what he means. “What about weekends?”
“Will you be working on the weekends?” He sets his glass down and leans forward so his face is just inches from mine. He’s an attractive man but a little older than I usually go for. But for a man pushing forty, he’s got a great body.
“No, and that’s the beauty of it. I need evenings and weekends free.” I don’t bother explaining that I have a little boy at home to think about. I don’t want anyone from the club to know anything about my personal life. Mark was adamant that we never share personal details with clients, just in case. And I’ve taken that advice to heart. “That’s why I’m taking a new job.”
Garrett leans back in the chair with his arms crossed as if he’s contemplating a response that shouldn’t require much contemplation. “I came here with a proposal for you, Angel.”
“And what’s that?” If it requires weekend work, I’m probably not interested. But I’ll at least hear him out.
“I’m hosting a party on my yacht this Saturday, and I’d like for you to be part of the entertainment. I’ll pay $10,000 from Saturday noon until Sunday noon.”
My jaw drops as I process the offer he’s making. $10,000 for one weekend. That would be life changing for me. If I had that kind of money, I could move immediately and start saving for a house. “What do I have to do?”
“Just dance, Angel.” He reaches across the table and slides his thumb down my jaw. “All you have to do is dance for me and my friends.”