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“That’s a shame.” I tapped the table with my knuckles.
Pulling a stack of notes out of my pocket, I placed five hundred pounds in fifties before her.
“Go home. Your shift is over.” I pointed to the door.
Before I take you home with me.
She blinked at me for a few seconds.
“Muchisimas gracias, Señor!”
She gathered up the money and scampered away. I pressed a hand over my erection as I watched her long legs disappear through the door.
“Must be losing your touch, old man,” Loch muttered, walking back over.
That fucker was a year older than me at forty.
“Feck off.” I shoved him as I got out of the booth. “Gowon, I need to speak to Kia about the employee files again.”
The inescapable need to learn more about the lying hummingbird thrashed inside me. It was almost as strong as the compulsion to follow her home.
4
The familiar smell of the dental school calmed my nerves this morning. Despite getting off work early last night, I couldn’t sleep fretting about that gorgeous stranger who, by the look of his gun, was not some CEO schmuck as I’d tried to kid myself.
Did it mean I was going to be fired? Would he have given me a huge tip if he did? Was he a mafia boss? I didn’t want to believe he was.
Five years ago, the club I worked at got bought by the Italian mafia, and I got the hell out of there as fast as I could. Back then, I had the luxury of moving locations because most of my college work was remote. That was no longer the case; this club was close to uni without being too close. Damn it. I only needed ten more months. I couldn’t rush off like I might have in the past. I’d have to monitor the situation and discretely look around at other clubs.
I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder and wound my way to the labs. Hopefully, it wouldn’t matter because strip clubs like Mystique didn’t get frequent visits from big bosses. Turning a corner, I bumped into someone and had to stutter my apologies for not looking.
To clear my mind last night, I read about advanced periodontal techniques. Subsequently, I felt like shit today with a spaced-out feeling like the rest of the world was moving faster than me. It was not good in my first week of restorative dentistry clinics. Harrison, our supervisor, already laid down the law about how complex this set of clinics would be.
Finally reaching my destination, I locked my things into my cubby and scratched at my wig. Some days, the inside drove me nuts. I tied back the dark blonde curls and pulled on my lab coat. At my station, I greeted Kirsty, one of the dental nurses, and reviewed my patient list today. There was a gap after the first one; if it didn’t fill, I could grab a hit of caffeine.
Stifling a yawn, I turned, finding Harrison standing close beside me. I yelped and stepped sideways.
“So jumpy.” Harrison smiled, and despite his blond-haired good looks, his expression came off as creepy and overfamiliar. “Have you thought about my offer, Amy?”
“I’m still not sure what I’m doing after graduation. I’m just focusing on passing.” I shuffled away from him subtly.
“True. But not every student can say they’ve been offered a job before qualifying.” He stroked a finger along the edge of the equipment tray, and I suppressed a shiver.
I knew plenty of the “old boys’ club” had jobs lined up for them long before graduation. I also learned that Harrison had a nasty temper to go with his sleazy persona. I’d rather remain stripping for the foreseeable future than join his practice when I graduate next year, which was happening despite my coy words to him. No one would stop me from finally realising my promise to my mamá.
“The Breakwater Practice has an excellent aesthetics service. I know you were keen on that module.”
I hated that he had picked up on that.
Luckily, one of the other students came to speak to him, saving me from answering him. I moved away surreptitiously and busied myself getting equipment ready, unnecessarily counting things that Kirsty would have carefully laid out already. Thankfully, he left without a backward glance, and I sighed with relief, turning my attention to my appointments.
My first patient was recovering from radiotherapy for a tonsillar tumour, and I was required to plan for restoring his dental health and present it to Harrison. By the time I finished with the patient, Harrison was in a foul mood.
He disputed every point I made and criticised my history and plan. I remained professional because my patient had been through enough of an ordeal without his dentists arguing over his open mouth.
By the end, I was shaking with rage and humiliation. It had been a while since I felt Harrison’s wrath. I had no problem getting feedback and learning from my mistakes, but some of his words were belittling.
“You want a coffee?” Kirsty laid a hand on my arm, and I gave her a thin smile.
