The next Monday, I sit on a barstool at my favorite bar drinking mimosas with my friends. A couple of them are from my old club, and a couple from some other strip clubs around town.

They’re all laughing and having a good time, but I just can’t get into it. I’ve been depressed for the last two days, not sure if I’ll ever see Derek again.

At first, I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to let myself get so caught up in something with someone who I don’t even really know. That maybe I should just take this as a lesson and learn from it—no sex with clients.

But my heart just can’t get behind that. I know we have a connection that went deeper than sex. That night with him was intense. Crazy. Profound. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life. And I want that. I really do.

I can’t give up the hope that I’ll see him again.

I sigh again, sipping my mimosa.

“You okay, Ella?” Misti leans and gives me a squeeze on the knee. “You look like you just lost your best friend, then got fired, right after somebody kicked your dog.”

I stare at her over my champagne flute.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, her face turning red. “You did just get fired.”

I did. But that’s not why I’m feeling like this. “Yeah, but I can deal with that. I can get another job. What I can’t do is—”

“You’re looking for a job?” my friend Stacie pipes up, leaning forward to rest her arms on the bar and look around Misti.

I shrug. I guess I am, though I can’t really put my heart into it. Not when all my thoughts are consumed with figuring out how I’m supposed to find Derek.

Stacie’s eyes light up. “We need a new stripper at my club. You would totally have the job in the bag with your experience.”

Misti snorts. “Even if her resume now includes fucking the clients?”

I give her some side-eye. The little bitch—and I say that with all the affection in the world—has no filter. Like, zero. And she’s a bit of a ditz, to be honest. Hence the dumbass comments she keeps making.

“Thanks,” I say dryly.

“Oh, I have to hear this one,” Stacie says, rubbing her hands together like she can’t wait to get the latest dirt.

Misti glances at me as if she wants permission to tell the story. So now she decides to think before she speaks. I shrug again. It’s not like hearing it again is going to make it hurt any worse.

“So, Ella here nabbed the hottest client on Friday night,” Misti begins. “And when I say hot, I mean make-you-cum-with-one-look hot. He had his choice of any of us, and he chose her. Then get this, he tells her he wants the most obscenely expensive private dance in, like, the history of private dances.”

I hold my empty glass up to the bartender, pleading with him with my eyes for a speedy refill as Misti continues entertaining everyone with the night that changed my life forever. Stacie is hanging on her every word, just like the rest of my friends.

“Oh, wait. It gets better. Turns out this guy—this fuck-me-sideways piece of sex on legs—who insists he have Ella is none other than Derek, Crown Prince of St. Albans.”

Gasps all around. Seriously? Am I the only person who didn’t know who he was?

“Holy shit, Ella. You fucked the Prince of St. Albans?” Stacie’s eyes are so wide I think they might pop out if she’s not careful.

I nod reluctantly, not wanting to label it as just a fuck. Because it felt like so much more than that. Earth-shatteringly, life-changing more.

“That is so crazy,” she gushes. “But I can’t say I blame you. If I had the chance, I’d totally do him, too. You are so lucky.” She makes a face. “Well, except for the getting fired part. But I can totally hook you up with a new job at my club.”

“You haven’t heard the best part,” Misti cries, clapping her hands.

I frown. What else is there to say? That was the gist of it.

“He came bursting in the club two days ago looking like he was about to go crazy. Like, really. His hair was all sticking up everywhere and his eyes were kind of wild.”

My mouth drops open and I want to interrupt her, ask her what the hell she’s talking about, but she keeps right on talking, oblivious to the way I’m gaping at her.

“He says he has to find her. That he’s been calling and calling and that her number is saying it’s disconnected—obviously, because it was, but that he needs to see her again. Of course, I told him what happened.”

I’m almost speechless, trying to process everything she’s saying. Derek was looking for me? He was desperate to find me? At least, according to Misti.

I grip her arm. “Then what?” I want to shake her when she just looks at me blankly. “Misti, what happened next? Did you tell him how to find me?”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t know what to tell him. What if he was actually some psycho who had an obsession or something? I didn’t want him stalking you.”

“I get that, I guess, but you’re just now thinking to tell me?” Unbelievable.

“I guess it slipped my mind until just now.” She shrugs and gives me a little smile.

I want to scream. “You have to tell me what else happened. Did he leave a number? Say where I could find him?”

She purses her lips and squints her eyes like she’s thinking, then shakes her head slowly.

My shoulders sink with disappointment, but then perk up just as fast when she snaps her fingers like she just remembered something.

“He was mumbling something as he left.”

I look at her expectantly, and gesture get on with it with my hand.

“Something about going back to St. Albans or something like that. At least, I think that’s what he said.” Misti shrugs helplessly.

“Oh my God, Ella, you have to go there,” Stacie jumps in, her eyes full of excitement.

“I do?” My eyebrows crease as I try to process all of this. It’s all happening so fast I can barely keep up.

“Absolutely,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s clearly crazy about you, going out of his mind to find you.” She sighs. “God, it’s so romantic. You have to go to St. Albans and find him. He could be your soul mate!”

Normally I’d scoff at the idea, but when it comes to Derek, I’m not so sure. He’s affected me in a way no other man ever has. Am I willing to give up that chance?

I don’t think I am.

And I have plenty of money stashed away that I can do this. A grin starts to work its way across my face, and I feel lighter than I have in days.

I slam my glass down on the bar, the decision made. “Ladies, I’m going to do it. I’m going to St. Fucking Albans.”