I worked my jaw. “Another hour and I’ll be cured of men entirely.”
She laughed, but her gaze darted behind me, continuously checking all was in hand. “No, Bonnie. Not tonight. Not around these types.”
I breathed through my nose. “Jessie’s upset. One of them said something.”
Genie sighed and located her sister, still at the bar, her head down so her hair hid her face. “I knew I shouldn’t have let her come. She said she could handle it, but she’s as meek as a little lamb.”
“She shouldn’t have to take shit from people like this.”
“Uh, yes, she should if she wants their money. That applies to all of us. Want to make a tenner an hour at Starstruck in town? Go for it. Or, accept the very nice, very tall stack of notes you’ll get here for exactly the same work. Plus a side of the kind of chat you’d get in any club in town on an average evening.”
We’d already had this fight. She called it easy money. I had other opinions.
“That doesn’t change the fact that she’s distressed.”
“I’ll talk to her.” Genie went to move on but paused. Her gaze flicked up and down me. “Please don’t be yourself. Not tonight. You could do well in this job, at least for a few more years. Remember, I need smiles and ass, not bitching and sass.”
She clipped away. Her attempt at a pep talk contained a dig at the fact I’d recently turned thirty. In her view, I had to shake it while I still could.
Smiles and ass.Fine. I could do this.
An hour on, and the energy in the room shifted, the alcohol flowing and the men a whole lot drunker.
Night had fallen on the mansion, a modern architectural behemoth bolted onto the hills at the pinnacle of Deadwater’s wealthiest district.
Out of the glass doors, Genie wheeled a shimmering gong down the central corridor of the patio, making a show of her excitement for the approaching moment. Men pinched or groped as she passed, and she fluttered her eyelashes, playing her role like a pro.
Next to the table with the host and his buddies, she stopped.
“Sir, would you please do the honours? Us poor girls are just so,” she paused for dramatic effect and fanned her chest, “hot.”
The men guffawed. The nearest took the mallet.
My cue to present myself to a table. On the edge of my nerves, I fixed my face and did what the contract demanded, backing up to a group I didn’t care to look too closely at.
The gong resounded.
Fingers fumbled at my spine, multiple men reaching for me. Strings loosened. Bikini tops slipped off. Giggles bounced around the patio mixed with whoops of admiration.
Tits out, I fought the urge to cringe.
Around the garden, gilded trays flashed and boobs wobbled where the women collected their bras then twirled them in the air.
Ignoring mine on the ground, I sought out Jessie, as I had done a hundred times. Further down the lawn, she was topless like the rest of us and not exactly smiling but not crying either. A different kind of tension gripped my stomach. Her sister was right, Jessie didn’t belong here. She was too trusting and sweet. But at least no one was trying to maul her right now.
Closer by, a man waved me over. I delivered a drink, dodged a pinch aimed at my nipple, and moved on.
Midnight passed. The temperature cooled, but the men got louder and more confident, lewd comments mixing in the air with cigar smoke. I’d lost count of how many times I’d batted away an offer or a wandering hand with a dead-eyed smile.
Ice queen was my aim. The polar opposite to my usual fiery and outspoken self, but I had to get a better grip on my emotions if ever I was going to succeed as a boss.
But boy, did they test me.
One guest, with slicked-back hair and whisky breath, attempted to slip a note down the front of my bottoms. He madea joke about earning it the hard way. Another made a comment about my mouth and how he’d like it better full. Of his cock.
I swallowed every smart retort and reminded myself again what that deposit would mean. A real chance. A future stitched in silk. Something that belonged to me.
Just two hours to go.
