He smiled. “The club is modeled after an old speakeasy. Very 1920s.”
I leaned back in my chair. “I get to wear a costume?”
“Excited?”
“I am.”
“You sound like you almost want to work in my club,” he teased.
Rolling my eyes at him, I smiled. “I wouldn’t go that far. So, you’ll show me around the club and—”
“Actually, my manager, Lacey, will show you around the club.”
I frowned. “Why can’t you do it?”
“Because no one, aside from Lacey, can know of our history or why you’re working for me. If people see us conversing and acting friendly, they won’t trust you.”
“Ah, I get it. So in public we have to pretend not to know each other.”
“Correct. We’ll meet once a week for updates, but it will be discreet and off the premises.”
“I feel like I’m in a spy movie.”
“This is serious, Barrett.”
“I know,” I said, sobering.
“A lot is at stake,” he said, his voice hardening. “Don’t let me down.”
Chapter 4
The history department chair—and my boss—had been surprisingly understanding of my vague reasons for leaving. He told me to take all the time I needed and that my research job would be waiting for me whenever I decided to come back. It took me all of five seconds to realize that Flynn had made a call on my behalf. The man had some serious power.
It was difficult to remember he was no hero—he had agreed to take me in form of monetary payment. But when he did things like cover me with a blanket, let me sleep on his couch, assured the job I loved would be waiting for me, it made me want to see the softer side of him more often.
The chemistry between us was insane and unlike anything I’d ever experienced. By unspoken agreement, we hadn’t discussed it. I couldn’t sleep with him. It would confuse the hell out of me, and I had enough to focus on. I needed to find out who was bringing drugs into Flynn’s club and then I could get back to my life.
On the night I was shadowing a cocktail waitress, I entered the burlesque club through the street entrance. All the lights were on and I walked through the room, past the long wood bar and stools, toward the back where I was told the dressing room would be. Old-style gas lanterns lined the walls and were casting a bright glow. The tables by the stage were bare, devoid of tablecloths and candles. The club clearly wasn’t set up for the night yet.
The dressing room was a large rectangle with full-length mirrors on one wall, opposite the hanging racks of costumes. There were six vanity mirrors, all well-lit with bright, big bulbs and taped names on the glass designating them to the dancers.
“Hello?” I called out.
A twiggy brunette somewhere in her mid to late thirties popped out from behind the clothes. She was already dressed for the evening in a black flapper style gown complete with fringe and headband, her makeup dramatic and flawless.
“Hi,” she greeted, holding out her hand. “Barrett? I’m Lacey.”
“Nice to meet you.”
She studied me for a brief moment before she began riffling through the costumes until she found what she was looking for.
“Here,” she said, pulling out a costume. It was all one piece. The top was strapless and red with a sweetheart neckline, a short flouncy black skirt, and the entire ensemble was sequined and sparkly. Matching black elbow length gloves and a small black hat completed the outfit.
“This is gorgeous,” I said, taking the hanger from her.
“It is,” Lacey said. “Try it on. If it doesn’t fit, we’ll get it altered. What size shoe do you wear?”
“Seven.”
