Page 12 of Miss Typed

Why did she ask if she was interrupting every single day? “If you were, I wouldn’t tell you to come in.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

It was like kicking a cocker spaniel. “Not your fault. I apologize. I have a headache.”

She perked up, setting down my lunch. “Hold on.” In a flash, she left the room.

She was back in less than a minute with a huge purse in tow. On my desk, she started taking out various pill containers. “I have Motrin, Tylenol, Advil, or ibuprofen. I believe some of those are one and the same, but I have it all. I prefer Tylenol for headaches.”

She took out the bottle, clearly not waiting for an answer as to whether I wanted it. “Says here it’s made to combat the toughest of headaches, even those brought about by exes.”

I smiled. Despite not desiring a personal relationship with her, it was nice to have someone care. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like. “Thank you.”

She shook out two. “Sure thing.”

As she left, one thought entered my mind. What was a nice girl like her doing here in Dubai working two jobs?

Chapter Five

Chloe

My hands rubbed oil over my breasts and butt, concentrating mostly on my abs and legs. Men went crazy for women who were greasy. I didn’t get it, but I supposed my oiled skin showed well under the lights. After inspecting my pasties, I adjusted my G-string and sighed.

Another Friday night, another thousand dollars. Teagan, my partner in crime, gave me a nod which said, “we’ve got this.” We often used techniques to prepare ourselves mentally so we could get through our stripping nights.

She’d not only introduced me to this place, but she’d also taught me most of my moves. I hadn’t a clue what turned a man on. Lucky for me, I’d had a decade of dance classes and had picked it up quickly. But somehow, I didn’t think Ms. Lutz would be proud of her best ballet student swinging around a pole in a country where it was illegal to do so.

The women who worked here in the club were from all over the world. We represented a myriad of skin colors, different accents, and diverse backgrounds. I still couldn’t get over how incredibly beautiful and talented they were. Then again, with the amount of money dropped in the club, it was no wonder they had to be.

“Remember cheeseburgers, large fry, and chocolate shake after this.”

I grinned at Teagan, thankful the city had a McDonald’s. Funny how certain items gave you a much-needed touch of home. I’d been surprised about a number of things in Dubai that reminded me of home. Ikea, TGI Fridays, Starbucks. Then there were the extraordinary things that weren’t like home at all, such as indoor skiing at the mall. Or the Gold Souk, where you’d never seen more gold jewelry in all your life. Or the incredible Palm Islands, where they’d made islands into the shape of a palm tree. There was such wealth in this city, that it was no wonder it drew people in the hopes of providing themselves a better life.

“Cheeseburgers for the win. Let’s do this.” We both put on our eye masks since we couldn’t be too careful when it came to hiding our identities. Sometimes I donned a wig, too. I thought of the accessories as one more layer of armor, allowing me to become my alter ego, known by the club name of Jem.

When I was up on stage, I developed what I called “dead eyes.” No emotion. No eye contact. All I did was move with the music. I was a good dancer, with my years of lessons, but the club owners weren’t interested in technique. They only wanted me to move sexily around the stage and seduce men with my body, persuading them to spend more money. The patrons especially loved long, blond hair, which is why I chose a blond wig which hung down past my butt.

During lap dances, it was harder to remain numb. Men paid for you to gyrate on them, not stare beyond them with dead eyes. But this was where a practiced smile came into play. Luckily, the music was loud enough I didn’t have to hear the men talk. Most weren’t doing themselves any favors with the “hey, baby, what will you do for money?”

Wasn’t the answer clear? I’d endure their company for it.

On the floor, we had a strict no-touching policy. However, some of the dancers chose to take their customers to private rooms in the back where the rules could be bent. Teagan did it from time to time, as the tips were bigger, but I tried to avoid it. Some of the girls had transitioned into escort services, where the real money was, but we’d drawn the line at prostituting ourselves.

At three in the morning, we walked out to the attached parking garage, grateful for the club’s bodyguard who saw us to our leased Jeep. You could never be too careful.

I popped two ibuprofen, knowing my exhausted muscles would thank me for it later. “Mickey D’s?” I asked on a yawn, getting behind the wheel. It was my turn to drive.

She returned the yawn. “Yes, ma’am. My vision of a Big Mac was the only thing getting me through those two big, sweaty, hairy guys.”

I shivered. “They were gross.” Some nights were better than others. For example, last week we’d had a handsome group of Australians who were fun, respectful, and nice-looking, not to mention great tippers.

After grabbing breakfast, we went back to our apartment, showered, and then passed out. We had one day to recover before returning to the grind of the office on Sunday.

* * *

“Did you have a nice weekend?” Aiden queried when I came in Sunday morning for our start-of-the-week catch-up.

The man who hadn’t wanted chitchat had actually initiated it this morning. Maybe he was still feeling bad about the faux pas with the plumber last week.