Chapter 5

Macey

I don’t walk away from Finn like a lady, I run as fast and best as I can in these damn heels, cutting in front of the line of people waiting for a taxi and jump in, slamming the door behind me. The driver says something, but quickly shuts up when he looks over his shoulder and sees my face. I don’t want to know what’s going through his mind. He’s judging me, like all the others, because of the way I’m dressed and how my face looks right now, but I’m used to it.

He drives to the address that I give him as I do my best to fix my tear-streaked makeup while he weaves in and out of traffic. When he stops I don’t wait for him to open the door—not that he was making any attempt to do so—as I slide out and toss enough money onto his lap to cover the fare with no tip.

Behind the club I lean against the wall and try to center my emotions. The racing of my heart has my chest heaving and I’m unable to catch my breath. There is too much to process. I can’t believe I lost the money that was going to save Morgan and me from the clutches of welfare and the slums, all because I was being greedy and stupid.

Tapping my head against the concrete wall, I let the tears flow. I’m so tired of having to rub the shoulders of strange men in order to get their wallets open, or drinking with them in the VIP room while they look at me with a hunger that sets off every single warning bell. I live with fear that I’m going to get jumped in an alley, raped by a customer who didn’t like paying to see my tits or lose my daughter when the system finally catches up with me because of the mess we live in.

The concrete wall is rough as I slide down, not worrying about the fact that if anyone pulls up behind the club they’ll see up my dress. I pull my legs up and wrap my arms around my knees and cry. One stupid decision and I’ve ruined everything that I’ve built up this past week. The only way to make it back now is to let the clients fuck me. The offers have been there all week. Numbers subtly slipped between my G-string after I danced privately for them. Married and single men alike, asking to be fucked in the parking lot, mostly trying to fulfill the fantasy that they have about hooking up with a stripper.

Who the fuck fantasizes about that?

“Catalina, are you okay?”

I look up at the sound of my name being called. It’s Johanna, one of the nicest women I have met in a long time. Not that the other girls who work here aren’t nice, they are. My earlier assumption of the dancers was off the mark. As long as you keep to yourself and hide your personal story, the characters we all play, day in and day out, want to be friends. Everyone here knows me as Catalina, the woman who is trying to find her place in the world, and not Macey, the single mother who is desperately trying and failing to get her daughter out of the ghetto.

I nod, but the tears keep flowing. I wipe angrily at my cheeks, but they don’t stop. I’m telling myself it’s because I lost all that money and it’s all due to the fact that I had the biggest crush on Finn McCormick back in high school. We didn’t go to the same school, but I’d see him occasionally. We’d be at the same parties, or I’d see him sitting in the food court at the mall. I thought he was good-looking back then, but now he’s fucking hot and he knows it. I suppose having money does that to someone.

Instead of going into the club, she sits beside me. She’ll never know what this means to me, the comfort she’s bringing to me by being a friend. She’s not judging me for what I do for a living, but trying to make my job experience comfortable.

“Tonight is your last night, is that why you’re crying?”

Shaking my head, I take the tissue that she’s offering and wipe my face. “I lost all the money I’ve made this week.” I hiccup.

“Were you robbed?”

I wish I had been and maybe that’s the excuse I’ll use when I tell Steph that the money is gone and I can’t afford to make my rent payment or give her any money for taking care of Morgan this past week.

Averting my gaze, I stare down at my hot pink dress. I wore this out with the intent to let men know where they could see me later, giving them a peek in hopes they’d come and spend their money on me. I even fail at being able to sell myself when I’m fully clothed.

“Blackjack. I knew I should stay away. I knew the risks, but the thought of doubling my money was so appealing.”

Johanna places her arm around my shoulders and pulls me into her. The hug helps, but at the same time, it makes me feel even worse. I can’t believe I was so stupid. I should’ve taken only a couple of hundred and played with that, but no. I had something to prove to myself and now it’s gone.

“Let’s get you inside and cleaned up. You’ll make some money tonight and I know it won’t replace everything, but maybe it’s enough that you can extend your stay here by a week.”

She helps me stand and keeps her arm around me as we enter the club. A few of the girls already working offer a sympathetic smile. I don’t want to know what they’re thinking because if the roles were reversed I would automatically assume an assault took place. According to the snobby rich women who can’t keep their men out of the clubs, we deserve whatever happens to us.

Johanna takes me to the bathroom and helps me wash my face. My eyes are bloodshot and puffy, the surefire combination to get me kicked off the floor and relegated to the stage if I can’t get my emotions under control.

“You don’t owe someone money, do you?”

“No, only myself,” I tell her, hoping to ease her worry. I’ve heard the horror stories of women having to work, having to sell their bodies to pay off pimps and the mob. Regardless of what people say, the mob is still here in Vegas.

“Well, let’s get you back out there and earning something. Not all is lost.”

Her optimism warms me, but in the back of my mind I know that tonight has to be my last night. Morgan is depending on me and this is the longest we’ve ever been apart. I miss her and want to go home. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’ll figure it out. I always do.

By the time I calm down and rid myself of some of the puffiness, the club is hopping. Another convention arrived in town last night and the word around the bar is that it’s a nerd convention, which translates into a bunch of men who stare at computers all day and the only action they see is from their hands. It also means money and they’re willing to pay to get aroused by a lap dance.

As I work the room, dancing for twenty dollars a song, I spot Finn walking in with a monster-size man flanking him. Every thought I have tells me to run, but he knows I know he’s here because he’s watching me. One of the other girls waits on him, and even though I’m dancing on some other guy, my eyes keep tabs on Finn. He seems to enjoy watching everything I do while he slowly sips his amber liquid.

When my dance is over, Finn is beckoning me with his finger. I have no choice but to go over to him because the last thing I want to do is cause another scene or have him complain to the boss. Losing this job, even though I’m supposed to leave tonight, is not high on my priority list. I need the money that I can make tonight.

I approach the table slowly, watching his calculated moves. Finn seems to fit the mold of a man who is used to getting everything he wants. He’s used to women and even men kissing the ground he walks on. I hate that he’s here and I hate him. Running from him earlier was the best thing I have ever done in my life. Thinking back, I should’ve kicked him in the nuts and spit on him, but that would’ve been a waste of energy and I’d likely have a bruise on my shin from doing it.

“Hello, Catalina.” My stage name is smooth as it rolls off Finn’s tongue. I do my best to keep my emotions in check, even though I want to stab him with my heel.

“How about a lap dance for your friend over there?” I nod to the man who could break me in half with a flick of his wrist. He doesn’t seem interested, though, and is watching with rapt attention, aware of everything that’s going on around him. I’d rather dance for him than Finn any day of the week.

“How much?” he asks, setting his drink down and pulling out his wallet. My mouth waters at the sight of the green I spot between the folds. The thought sickens me, but Finn did say he has a proposition for me. I didn’t stay around to ask him what it is because more than likely it has to do with sex and that’s not the game I’m into.

“Twenty for one song.” I hedge, hoping he tells me to go away even though I need the money. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to make Finn pay for a good time.

“What if I want you to dance for me as well?”

“Same, or we can go into a VIP room for five hundred.” Right now, Finn is a business transaction to me and not a guy that I once spoke to at a party. After this, he’ll go away and I can go about my miserable existence.

“Done,” he says, standing and motioning for me to move. His friend doesn’t follow as I lead Finn to one of the VIP rooms. He enters first and I close the door, leaning my forehead against it briefly, reminding myself that this is business. Collect the money, do my thing and get back out there to make more money.

The leather from the couch creaks as he sits down. Moving quickly, I turn the dial on the sound system, bringing in the music that the DJ is currently playing. Every song he spins is meant to evoke sex.

“Five hundred,” I tell Finn and he studies me, his head tilting from side to side. I want to cover my chest, but know that action could piss him off. I hate that he’s looking at me like a piece of meat. He pulls his wallet out and sets the money on the table. I grab it quickly and put it in my clutch.

“Do you have something to cover yourself?”

“Wh-what?” I croak out, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. What kind of freaky shit is he into?

“I want to talk.”

It’s not uncommon for men to pay for a VIP room so they can talk. Sometimes they need someone to talk to and don’t have anyone who will listen or they’re lonely and this is how they find someone to talk to them. Bottom line, they come in here because they won’t be judged and they’re paying us to listen.

Along the wall, the club keeps a robe. Very rarely do we use them, but if the client asks, we do. I cover up, tying the belt in a knot. I don’t know where Finn wants me so I stand there, in front of him, waiting for him to give me instructions.

“How have you been?”

The room is dark so he can’t see my expression. I smile and tell him, “Great.”

“And Vegas is treating you well?”

“Sure. I mean as well as Vegas can treat someone like me.”

Finn sighs and cocks his head to the side. “Come sit down.”

I do as he says, taking the seat next to him. His cologne is the first thing that catches my attention. He smells like fresh spring soap, sand and all man. It’s the type of smell that makes a woman cross and uncross her legs repeatedly, the kind that makes her weak in the knees and the kind that makes her steal his shirt when she sneaks out in the morning so she can smell it later.

“Do you do that often?”

“What? Offer men lap dances? About six to twelve hours a day.” I laugh, but I’m not joking. My days have been long and up until today, worth it.

“Don’t put yourself down.”

I don’t know how to answer him, so I don’t. He senses this and looks away. “You ran away before I could tell you my offer.”

Shaking my head, I pull the robe tighter. I don’t know why considering he’s already seen my boobs, but sitting next to him and knowing that he owns a hotel makes me feel shameful.

“My Porsche was idling in the tow-away zone. I didn’t want a ticket.”

He smiles and chuckles softly. “I don’t remember you being funny.”

“Do you even remember me?”

“Of course I do.” He looks at me and while his gaze is penetrating, I shut my mind off. I’ve seen this look before, not only from him but also from others, and I know what it means.

Again, I find myself without something to say. If I were dancing for him, I’d be more comfortable and not so awkward.

“You lost a lot of money today.”

“I don’t need a reminder.” I’ve spent the past few hours trying to forget, plotting ways to try and make that amount back before my flight at midnight. I know it’s impossible, but thinking that I’m trying is helping me deal with it.

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Right, the proposition.”

“Exactly.” He slides closer and pulls my legs toward him so I’m forced to look at him. “I’m a busy man with a social calendar that I hate. I need someone to accompany me to a couple of fundraisers and a gala this week and I’m willing to pay.”

I shake my head, knowing I can’t stay.

“I’ll double what you lost, in exchange for you being mine for one week.”

My throat swells as I try to swallow. Double what I lost. He’s willing to pay double, but for what?

“What’s the catch?”

“Like I said, I’m a busy man and I want you to be mine for the week, in every aspect. You’ll stay in my penthouse and have access to whatever you want, and in exchange you’re at my beck and call.”

I have to look away and force back the threatening tears. I have never sold myself for sex before. I’ve never stooped that low, but the thought of walking away with twenty thousand dollars is almost too much to pass up. Hell, if he offered me five thousand to sleep with him, I would. I should be grossed out and my fist should be pounding his face, but this is Finn and the crush I had on him years ago is waving her white flag and telling me to jump on this offer before he changes his mind.

There is no doubt in my mind that Finn probably has a barrage of women at his disposal, but he’s here, approaching me without knowing how much I hate him and everything that he stands for. He has the life that people like me can only dream about. Even with the money he’s offering I’ll never be on his level.

“You’ll want sex?” I ask, knowing the answer, but I want to hear it.

“Of course. I’m attracted to you and you’ll be paid very well.”

“I find it hard to believe you have to pay for sex.”

He laughs and adjusts the way he’s sitting. “You’re right, but I know that at the end of the week you’ll leave. It’s like a paid guarantee that you won’t call me next week, asking to hook up.”

The compliment is backhanded, but he’s right. I won’t call him. After this week he’ll regret offering me the money.

“I really don’t like you,” I tell him so he knows what he’s getting himself into.

“That’s fine, I don’t much like you or your profession. But you’re pretty and have a rocking body. I can use that to my advantage when I’m meeting with potential investors. And like I said, no strings. So we can hate on each other, fuck like rabbits and we’ll both benefit on the financial end.”

“Thirty thousand.”

“Done.” He sticks his hand out and I shake it as my stomach rolls. I sold my body and pride for thirty K. I guess everyone does have a price.