Chapter 13
Elene
I feel horrible.
This is not how I imagined this first night to go, and it's definitely not how it was supposed to play out.
I wasn't supposed to fall for one of the clients like a dumb little schoolgirl. I wasn't supposed to direct all my focus on him all night, even though I marched away from him long before the midnight performance started.
I tried to do my job by taking one of Sandi's clients off her hands after she was done with him. I saw her take him up the stairs, and when they came back down just a few minutes later, it was pretty obvious that neither of them wanted to spend another moment together. But his balls had been emptied in one way or another, so he was a perfect candidate for entertainment by an angel.
He smiled graciously when I joined him on the loveseat, just as Sandi did when she walked by me, her eyes begging me to take him off her hands. I don't know what happened between the two of them, but I'm sure she'll tell me later tonight on our way home. We watched the performance, and as much as I tried to avoid it, I couldn't stop myself from searching for Damon again and again.
I saw him sitting there, with a naughty devil on his lap, his hand massaging her thigh while he shot me angry looks. As if I were the one hurting him, when it was clearly the other way around. I wonder if he only did it to make me jealous? I kept a close watch on the stairs, just to make sure I wouldn't see him walking up there with her. My heart aches at the thought of it, but I know I can't—I shouldn't—prevent it, if I saw it happening. All I could do is watch and suffer in silence, all the while being a good girl, doing my job, entertaining guests.
I asked for this. I asked to become an angel at the club, because the pay was unbelievable for a job that seemed so easy. How the hell could I expect this to happen? I've never fancied any of my clients, and I didn't expect it to be any different here.
Yet here I am, searching for the dark, handsome stranger who messed with my head.
I haven't seen him since the performance ended and I accompanied my client to the bar, where he wanted to have one final drink with me.
Now the night is slowly coming to an end, and my guy was one of the first guests to leave. I escorted him to the door, politely smiling as I waved goodbye.
Just as I walk back inside the main guest room, I see him walking across the room, the same devil still hanging onto his arm. I've never seen her outside the quick briefing sessions we've had over the past few weeks, so I don't know who she is, but I hate her. I know she's not knowingly hurting me, but I hate her nonetheless.
I hate how she's making eyes at him, how she can be all over him, while I'm restricted by rules that I forced on myself. I can't act like she does, because it would hurt our concept. If the clients saw an angel acting out of her role on the very first night, how are they supposed to trust in anything else that they've been told? Miss Barry was very adamant about this when she gave us instructions. The rules are there for a reason, and they need to be followed—by us just as much as by the clients.
My throat closes up when I see them approaching the stairs at the other end of the room. No. No! Don't go up there!
I feel sick to my stomach, ridden with foul jealousy, as I watch them walk away from me.
This is so wrong. I shouldn't feel this way. I've never had this feeling, have never suffered the torment of losing someone to another girl.
But here's the problem. I'm not losing anybody. You can only lose a person if he belonged to you in the first place, and he never belonged to me in any way. He's just another customer. A young, incredibly good-looking client who decided to spend some time with me at the bar, telling me some charming lies before he exchanges me for a devil.
A single tear finds its way down my cheek.
Fuck!
I can't let anyone see me like this. I hurry to wipe the tear away, taking a deep breath to collect myself, reminding the stupid little girl inside of me that there's nothing to cry about.
And as it turns out, I'm right. There is nothing to cry about, because he doesn't go up the stairs with that devil girl. I can tell that she's been trying to entice him, but it didn't play out the way she'd hoped. Instead, he's aiming for the coatroom now, petting her in a placating manner while she continues shamelessly flaunting her flirtatious efforts.
I escape his field of vision and make my way to the area behind the stage. Miss Barry told me that I was free to go home once my client had left, so there's nothing keeping me here any longer.
I hurry to our changing room, stumbling on my heels as my walk turns into a little jog. The heels are the first thing to go when I finally get inside the room. I sigh with relief when I slip out of them and hurry to shove them away in my locker, quickly exchanging them for my leather boots. I don't bother to get dressed, but just wrap myself up in my long winter coat before scooting out of the room again and running down the dark hallway that leads to the back entrance of the club. Luckily, no one crosses my path as I make my way to the heavy door that serves as an entrance and exit for staff.
I have to throw my entire body against the solid door to be able to open it, and once I do, I'm met with brutal cold. The winters are dark and long up here, but I'm not fazed by the icy winds at all, especially not now. I ignore the cold crawling up my legs as I hurry through the alley, heading toward the main entrance around the corner.
Just before I get there, my pace slows down until I come to a halt at the corner. I close the zipper of my coat, my hand clinging onto the collar to keep myself as warm as possible while keeping my eyes glued to the door on my left. I remain hidden in the dark, hoping that he hasn't left yet.
At first, there's just the doorman, a guy named Bruce who looks and acts just like you'd expect a night club bouncer to look and act. He's almost as broad as he is tall, dressed in a custom-tailored black suit that stretches across his gigantic muscles and with little to no hair on his head. He looks grumpy standing there, with his arms crossed, waiting for his shift to end. I feel sorry for the guy. He must be freezing, even though he doesn't give that impression by the way he's standing. He just looks utterly bored.
That changes when a black limousine pulls up in front of him. He uncrosses his arms and steps closer to the car, waiting for the passenger side window to roll down. I can't hear what the driver is telling him, but Bruce nods and takes a step back, about to open the door to the club when someone beats him to it.
The door flies open, causing Bruce to jump aside just in time before getting hit. My heart skips a beat when I see him walk out.
Mr. Graves—no Damon—raises his hand in an apologetic manner, exchanging a few words with Bruce while I just stand there like an idiot, watching from afar.
What was my plan? Did I not want to walk up to him? Did I not want to talk to him?
I think I did, but now that I see him, a beautiful gray scarf wrapped snuggly around his neck and his frame draped in a long dark coat, his breath steaming the air around him as he talks to Bruce, I lose all my courage. I bet the color of the scarf matches his mysterious eyes, but I don't dare get any closer to him to see if it really does. I remain hidden in the dark, frozen in place, and question my motives.
What did I think would happen? Did I seriously consider running after him? Here? Outside of the club, like a stupid fan girl running up to her idol? And then? Did I plan to ask him out on a date? Really? Why would he ever say yes to that? Whatever happened between us, his charming words, the sizzling intimacy, the burn of his touch—it's very likely that I imagined all of that.
He would dismiss me. No, even worse, he would laugh at me! As he should.
I'm stiff with the fear of being rejected as I watch him get into the limousine, my heart stinging with a sudden ache when the car door closes with a loud bang. A moment later, the driver takes off, chasing me back into the shadows when I fear being seen by him as they drive away.
This is pathetic.
I'm pathetic.
I've never acted like this, not even when I was still in high school and such behavior would have been considered normal.
But I've also never wanted someone like this, and I've never been afraid of rejection. This is new, and I have no way of knowing how to handle it.
It's been too long, too long since I’ve had a normal date or liked someone for me to approach a man. To date and flirt like a normal person, to seduce one by relying on my charm and looks, and not because I've been bought for a few hours or a night.
I never expected this to happen, but here I am, a twenty-two-year-old girl who doesn't know how to get a man's attention if she doesn't offer herself with a purchase agreement.
I guess, then, I know what I'll have to do.