AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I should never have told you that shit,” I said.
“You should certainly tell me that shit,” he countered. “You should tell me everything. That’s how this works.”
I leaned forward, put my elbows on my knees, and pressed my hands to my eyes.
“How do you feel right now?” Dr. Weldman asked me. “Describe it.”
I closed my eyes and looked for the words. I had to—he’d bug me until I did it. “I feel choked up,” I said. “My chest hurts. My leg hurts. I feel fucking embarrassed, and mad at myself that I’m embarrassed. I can still smell her body lotion. I want to know what she thinks. I want to sit in my apartment and make the whole world go away. And I hate everyone.”
“Everyone?”
“Absolutely fucking everyone.”
“You used to only hate yourself,” Dr. Weldman said. “I’m going to call that progress.”
Chapter 7
Gwen
The offices of Candy Cane, Incorporated were just off the elevator in an old office building that smelled vaguely of baked beans. Half the other tenants were moved out or out of business. Candy Cane was just a receptionist’s desk and a single office behind it, containing the desk and telephone of Candy Cane’s owner and president, Trent Wallace. Trent was a smarmy thirty-five-year-old with dyed black hair and a face you immediately wanted to punch. I figured he’d started a stripper business just to get close to the girls, but I’d never asked him, since that would mean actually talking to him when I didn’t have to.
I had to talk to him today, unfortunately, because today was business. I brushed past the receptionist, who barely glanced up, since I was obviously one of the girls. Trent always gave instructions that “his girls” could come into his office, anytime.
He was sitting at his desk, typing away at his expensive computer—or pretending to type, who knew? I had no idea what Trent did all day, besides book us and take money. Maybe he spent the rest of his time on internet chat boards. It wouldn’t surprise me.
“Gwen,” he said, giving me a grin and sitting back.
I dropped into the office’s only chair and crossed my legs. I was wearing jeans and a Wonder Woman t-shirt, just a little too tight. I was in the mood for guys to have to see Wonder Woman when they stared at my tits. That should have been his first warning.
“I want to talk to you,” I said.
He kept grinning, obviously not getting my danger signals. “Sure. Anytime.”
“I just got my paycheck. It’s short—again.”
“Is that so?” He didn’t even try to look surprised, and I felt a spark of anger in my gut.
“The last three were short, too,” I said. “And when I called, the receptionist said it was a mistake that would be made up on the next check. And yet every check gets shorter and shorter.”
“How do you know it’s short?” he asked. “Since you didn’t even show up to that birthday gig this week, maybe you were docked for it.”
I glared at him. Shit. “I was given the wrong apartment number,” I said. “You can look it up. The system had the number wrong.”
“And when you learned it was wrong, what did you do?” Trent asked. “Did you call in and ask what the right number was? No, you didn’t. As far as I can tell, you just turned around and went home. You don’t dance, you don’t get paid. Those are the rules, Gwen.”
I hadn’t gone home, of course. I’d fucked the wrong man instead, something I’d never done before. And even though it had been wild, dirty, practically anonymous sex, the thought of Trent, with his smarmy punchable face, finding out about it made me ill. “That doesn’t explain the other checks,” I said, deflecting him and staying on topic. “You’re shorting me, Trent. Admit it.”
He sighed. “I’ve instituted a practice of payment deferral. It’s for the girls’ own good.”
I stared at him. “Payment deferral?”
“Yes. Part of every girl’s paycheck is kept back. It’s done on a sliding scale, so the girls who are in the most demand, and make the most, have the most held back.” He smiled at me. “Think of it as a savings plan. Completely free.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I said. “You’re keeping back the money I earned? You can’t do that. It’s illegal.”
He shook his head. “It’s in the employment contract you signed.”
“Like hell it is.” This was getting worse and worse. What the hell was going on?
