“Honest to god, he had the biggest cock I’ve ever seen in my life.”
I glanced away from the tittering of the other girls and picked my lipstick out of my makeup bag. My current coat had smudged in the corner, and unfortunately, it looked like I’d have to take it off before putting a new one on.
“Did you get his number?”
“No, of course not. That’s against the rules.”
“But you’re meeting him soon, right?”
Giggles. “Of course. I’m not letting ten inches pass me up!”
I will not roll my eyes. I will not roll my eyes. I will not roll my eyes.
I didn’t understand it. Maybe I was a cynic—no, in fact, I knew I was a cynic. The others would be too if they’d been left at seventeen to raise a baby by themselves. I knew they didn’t understand me, but I didn’t understand them, either.
We might all be strippers, but our priorities were at different ends of the scales.
I threw the makeup wipe in the trash below the dresser I was sitting at and touched up the foundation around my mouth before once again taking hold of the lipstick. This time, I uncapped it and slicked the deep pink across my lips. Then I reached for a tissue out of the box so I could blot it out.
The other girls were still laughing and talking. Usually, I would have joined in and faked it, but I didn’t feel like it tonight. In fact, I didn’t even want to be here anymore. I didn’t want to dance and grind and pretend to be attracted to desperate, half-drunk guys who wanted nothing more than to grab my tits, my ass, and...my other parts.
I didn’t want it usually, but tonight, I wanted it even less.
Finding out your father potentially had only months to live would throw anyone off their game.
I ran my fingers through my dark-blond hair to fluff it up and looked at my reflection in the mirror. The makeup hid the circles that had formed under my eyes from last night’s sleepless hours, but they couldn’t hide the sadness that lingered in my eyes or the almost-permanent downturn of my lips.
That was the problem with being mom. When I was around my six-year-old daughter, Ciara, I had to be happy. I had to hide the pain to explain everything to her, but now, without her here, the pain wanted to escape.
Penelope, our manager, pushed the dressing room door open and cast her gaze over all of us. “You’ve got two minutes. Then you’re up, so get on out there.”
The other girls all stood and disappeared, but I hovered back a moment and took a deep breath. I had to beat the emotion down and pull the mask over myself before I went out there and fucked it up.
I couldn’t fuck it up. I needed the money.
“Cassie? Are you all right?”
I nodded and tried not to well up at the gentle concern in Penelope’s voice. “I’m fine. I just had some bad news I’m trying to come to terms with. Thank you for asking.” I stood up and brushed hair from my face.
She looked at me with soft, brown eyes. “Sweetie, if you need some time, head home and be with your sweet girl.”
I shook my head. “I can’t, Pen. I need the money. You know that.”
She took my hands and squeezed, sympathy flitting across her features. “I know. If you want to go, tell me, and I’ll clock you out. Okay?”
“Okay.” I forced a smile as the music changed and the dressing room door opened. “I have to go out there.”
She released my hands and stepped to the side, waving with her arm for me to proceed. With a deep breath, I walked past her and out the door.
The loud music boomed off the walls of The Landing Strip, the premier Vegas strip club I worked at. It was still a little dark as I filed in line with the other girls for the main stage, but it was also busier than it had been when I’d gone out there earlier.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was a Friday night—it was bound to be packed. Probably with bachelor parties and sly grooms-to-be looking to get their rocks off one final time before being tied down to monogamy.
There it was again—the cynicism. I couldn’t help it. It was a default state of mind whenever I looked at these poor, sad bastards waiting to get a hard-on from us pulling our clothes off.
I hated it. Hated the derogatory way they looked at me, like I was nothing more than meat. Hated how I could see the lust shining in their eyes every time they got to touch me to shove their money in my thong. Hated how I knew that every single one of them wanted me for nothing more than a good time.
But I still sucked in a deep breath and walked onto the stage.
I still smiled and flicked my hair, still grasped the pole like it was a lifeline, still danced around like my life depended on it. Because it was a lifeline and my life did depend on it.
I didn’t feel the usual rush as my shirt came over my head and I threw it to the floor, exposing my breasts and thin, lacy bra. I didn’t feel the tinge of excitement wriggling through my self-loathing as I danced and ran my hands over my body, deliberately hardening my own nipples so they poked through the fabric that covered them. I felt absolutely nothing as I slid my shorts down my legs, kicked them to the sides, and walked to the edge of the stage.
Except dirty. And not the good dirty. The I-need-to-shower-now dirty.
Hands reached for me and fingertips slid across my skin as dollars were tucked into the string of my hot-pink thong. I blew kisses and winked and smiled dazzling smiles, dancing my way through it.
Cheap. I felt cheap, even as I got richer.
The Frozen bike. Soon, there’ll be enough left for it, I reminded myself as I ran my fingers through the hair of one relatively good-looking guy. He smiled up at me and slipped ten dollars into the front of my underwear, his hand trailing down my thigh as it fell away.
I winked at him with all the strength I could muster, which wasn’t very much. Whatever I had left courtesy of the week’s emotional toll on my mind, I thrust into finishing the show. The moment the music ended changed and our show ended, I bent over, grabbed the dollars I’d been putting in a pile during it and my clothes, and tried not to run off the stage.
The moment I reached the dressing room, I tucked my money into my purse and started to unbuckle my shoes. The other girls all did the same, all of us tired, all of us done. Unfortunately, the night wasn’t over—for me, at least. This was a respite, and a welcome one, at that.
“Everyone decent?”
We all paused at the two knocks that followed. The voice belonged to Beckett Cruz, our boss. Ex-stripper and now multimillionaire from his business ventures with West Rykman, the primary owner of Rock Solid, the men’s club next door. Beckett never came into the dressing room.
One of us was in trouble.
And I was no psychic, but I knew it was me.
“Yeah,” one of the other girls, Melissa, called back. “We’re decent.”
A.k.a. we’re not midway through changing into a new set of underwear yet.
Beckett opened the door and stepped into the dressing room. He was wearing a black shirt tonight, and you’d have had to be blind to ignore the way it hugged his muscular torso. The matte material stretched across his arms, and he fiddled with one of his rolled-up sleeves as he closed the door and surveyed us with indigo-blue eyes so dark that they looked black unless the light glinted on them and hinted at a brighter blue, like it was doing right now.
Those deep eyes landed on me, and the dark eyelashes that framed them brushed against his skin. His pink lips were plump, but they thinned slightly as he spoke.
“Cassie. Get dressed. We need to talk.”
“Sure.” My voice sounded steady. Thankfully. I felt like I was in the process of shitting my stomach out. “In the office?”
He nodded once, sharply. “I’ll be waiting.” With that, he turned and walked out of the door.
Everyone’s eyes were on him until the door slammed behind him. Then they all swung to me.
“What’s that about?” Melissa asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe someone complained.”
“About you?” Another girl, Roxy, frowned my way as I pulled my own underwear and clothes out of my bag. “Nah. They’d be crazy to complain about you, doll. He’s probably got a stick up his ass about something else.”
“It’s a damn nice ass though,” Penelope admitted, grabbing a bottle of water. “I’d stick anything he wanted up there.”
That cracked a smile from me as I changed. We’d all seen each other naked a hundred times—not to mention each other’s boobs on a regular basis. There was no shame left in using the chair as a shield for your ass and your vagina.
“Wish me luck,” I muttered, grabbing my bag and my purse before walking to the door. I left to the chorus of exactly that, but they felt like hollow wishes as my stomach rolled uncomfortably.
I was off my game. I knew that, but was I that bad that he needed to talk to me? Despite the dollars currently crunching at the bottom of my purse, I had to be. There was no other reason I could think of for this meeting. Sure, we’d briefly discussed in the past my dropping some stripping nights to go behind the bar, if only for my own dignity and a guaranteed livable wage, but he didn’t look like a man who wanted to talk about putting me behind a bar.
I walked down the hall to where his office was. The thick, heavy door that led inside was ajar, and I lifted my hand to knock.
“Come in, Cassie.”
Of course. Cameras. Cameras everywhere.
It squeaked when I pushed it open, and he didn’t glance up from his laptop.
“Shut the door.”
I swallowed and did as he’d said. Silently, I sent up a desperate plea to whatever powers that be that were listening to me. Please don’t fire me. I don’t know what I’ll do if he fires me. “You wanted to talk to me about something?”
He nodded and closed his laptop, and then he pushed it to the side. He ran one hand through his short, dark-brown hair, and fixed his intense gaze on me. He didn’t even try to hide his scrutiny as his eyes flicked this way and that over my face.
Uncomfortably, I scratched behind my ear, deliberately untucking my hair from it. It formed a light curtain between the two of us, and I looked away. My heart was beating inappropriately at the sound of his chair scraping back against the wood.
I glanced up in time to see him perch on the edge of the desk next to me and spin the chair I was sitting in. Then, unexpectedly, he reached forward and tucked my hair back from my face. My skin sparked where he’d touched me, and I awkwardly smoothed my hair.
“What’s up with you tonight?” he asked, his deep voice unusually quiet. “I watched you out there. You aren’t yourself.”
“Sorry,” I replied quietly, looking down at the rips in my jeans across my knees. “I’ll do better when I’m back on.”
“Cassie...I’m not sure you should go back on.” His eyes were still hot on me. “You’re known for being one of the better dancers, but the new girl on her second night showed you up just now. Go home, and if anyone asks, you’re sick.”
I snapped my head up to look at him. “I can’t. I’m not scheduled to work tomorrow and I need the money from tonight.”
I wasn’t ashamed of that. I’d told him straight off when he’d hired me eight months ago that I was only stripping because I couldn’t get a job anywhere else. I was lucky that my parents would take CiCi for me.
“Then tell me what the hell is wrong with you tonight.”
“I got some bad news yesterday. I haven’t processed it yet,” I said honestly, my heart clenching at just the thought of it. “I’m sorry. I just need ten minutes and a glass of water, and then I’ll get changed and go back out.”
He slowly shook his head then stood. My eyes followed him as he walked over to the minibar at the opposite end of his office and pulled two shot glasses out of a cupboard.
“I might be your boss, but I remember all well what it’s like to do what you’re doing right now. Ain’t easy being a piece of meat when you barely feel like a person. My job isn’t just making sure you’re going out there and giving our clients a good time. It’s making sure you feel good while you do it—as good as you can.” He grabbed a bottle of tequila and poured two shots. Then he grabbed the glasses.
“I’m okay,” I protested. I wasn’t going to do a shot with my boss. That was ridiculous. “Seriously, I just need some fresh air and a slap across the face and then I’m good.”
Beckett’s lips quirked to one side, his eyes sparking. “Across the face? Sorry, beautiful. The only time I’ll slap a woman is when she’s on her knees, in front of me, with her ass in the air.”
I swallowed, feeling my cheeks heat. That sounds hotter than it should coming from my boss.
“Drink this.” He thrust the shot glass at me.
I stared at it. Nope. Still not a good idea.
“I really shouldn’t.”
“Cassie. Drink it. You’ll feel better.”
Nothing good ever came of drinking tequila—except my daughter, but she was the exception rather than the rule.
So I’m not quite sure why I took the short glass, clinked it against his, and downed it.
My throat burned as the alcohol went down, but I felt its warmth spread instantly through my tummy as it settled there. Didn’t stop me from wincing and shuddering with its fierceness though.
“Now.” Beckett’s fingers brushed mine as he took the glass and turned back to the bar. “Come sit up here where you won’t feel like you’re being interrogated.”
“Are you going to interrogate me up there?”
He set the glasses on the bar with a clink and peered at me sideways. “Are you going to tell me what’s got you lookin’ more lost than a hooker outside a nunnery?”
“I doubt it.”
“Then yeah, babe, I’m gonna interrogate ya. Come on.” He knocked his knuckles against the bar and flashed me a grin.
Not just any grin.
The kind of grin that would have popped my cherry if I had been a virgin. I was pretty sure it’d just dusted the cobwebs off my clit at the very least.
I sighed. I didn’t know him well, but I did know that he was used to getting what he wanted. Why wouldn’t he be? He was rich, successful, and devastatingly handsome—three facts I was sure he used to his advantage on a regular basis.
After all, he was using his looks right now to get what he wanted out of me: an explanation why I wasn’t myself.
I hated myself a little bit for falling into his trap, because that’s what I was doing by getting up and joining him at the minibar.
I plopped my ass down onto one of the stools and leaned forward, propping my chin up on my hand. “It’s really not a big deal. News I was waiting for went in the opposite direction. That’s all. I haven’t gotten over the shock yet.”
“You wanna talk about it?” Beckett tilted his head to the side, pouring two more shots. He slid one across to me with his finger. “You sure as shit ain’t going back out there to dance.”
My throat tightened. “Why not?”
He grinned. Smugly. “You just consumed alcohol. Rules says no alcohol when you work.”
Shit.
And, if my head hadn’t been halfway up the beanstalk to the giant’s house in the clouds, I’d have remembered that.
“Well played, Mr. Cruz,” I conceded, meeting his eyes. I felt like defiance, so I threw the second shot back and shuddered again as it went down. Damn.
“Beckett. Mr. Cruz is my father.” He did the same with his shot then leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar, the glasses discarded between us. His arms bulged against the black shirt, and it took all of my willpower not to stare at the obvious curves of muscle. “How much would you have earned the rest of the night?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “Dunno. Maybe a hundred? One fifty?” I toyed with the shot glass between my finger and my thumb. “Depends how many bachelor parties come close to the stage and how loose their wallets are. And how likely they think they are to get laid by one of us.”
Beckett chuckled. “That tends to go in your favor. Well, since it’s my fault you can’t go back out there, I’ll subsidize your loss in your wages. Sound fair?”
Yes. No. Maybe. “It’s okay. I’ll just be extra attentive next time. Maybe throw a free lap dance toward a horny groom or something.” They tended to pay up when you did that.
“Nope. It’s my fault, and I say I’m doing it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know. But I’m going to.” He shot me that grin again, and this time, the cobwebs on my entire vagina disintegrated.
I clenched my legs together. This had to be the influence of the tequila making my heart pump a light dose of lust around my body. It was impossible to be turned on by a smile... Wasn’t it? Or had it really been that long since I’d been attracted to a man?
Nope. Yep. It was the tequila whispering.
I could not be attracted to my boss. Not that he wasn’t attractive. If he had been anyone but my boss and I had been anyone else other than me, I’d have been slicing my own notch into his bedpost.
“Seriously,” I said after a moment. “You don’t have to. It won’t be hard to make up the money.”
“Cassie, listen to me, babe.” He leaned even farther forward. Light glanced off his strong features, and for a heartbeat, his eyes seemed brighter than their usual indigo. Like the Caribbean ocean instead of the very depths of the Atlantic. He raised one eyebrow, his lips twitching too. “Either I can put it in your wages at the end of the month or I can go over there and sit on that sofa,” he said huskily, pausing, eyes fixed on mine, “and then you can come writhe your hot, little body on me and I’ll pay you cash right now.”
My body exploded in sensation. From the way my heart thundered so loudly that my pulse echoed in my ears to the way my clit throbbed at the idea of doing exactly what he’d said. Hell, even my skin tingled at the prospect of having his hands wrap around my waist and guide me against him...
I ran my tongue over my parted lips, but my mouth was so dry that it didn’t make a huge difference.
Damn it. Now, I couldn’t stop thinking about grinding my boss.