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“Yes,” Vanessa says quietly. “I don’t know if he had… women there. I don’t think so. He took things very seriously.”
I pick out a blouse and a plaid, pleated skirt. “You’d be surprised what men do when not with their families. I think half our clientele are married or have girlfriends.”
She shakes her head, obviously not liking that at all, and I laugh.
What kind of lifestyle does she really think she’s in? This isn’t the place for monogamy and love stories. The closest she’s getting to a happily ever after is the 2.5 kids and maybe a picket fence.
I go over to her and hold the skirt up against her waist. It only comes halfway down her thigh. “Perfect. Put this on.”
“It looks like it’s going to be too small,” she says doubtfully, but she sets her clothing aside on a chair and pulls the skirt on. She blushes. “Can I at least wear my underwear under this?”
I grin cheekily at her. “Why bother? You won’t get to keep them on for very long. And I know my business contact loves those naughty schoolgirl types. He’ll make you bend over a chair so he can inspect you…”
Vanessa looks properly scandalized by that, just like I knew she would. It only makes it even more fun for me, as she fights back her tears and tries so hard not to let me know I’m getting to her.
I ignore Traci, Cat, and Stef as they head out onto the dance floor, my attention solely focused on Vanessa. I hand her the blouse, which has no buttons and needs to be tied via the long tails in the front. It leaves a large swath of skin exposed. If her breasts were any larger than they are, they wouldn’t be contained by the fabric. I can see her nipples through the blouse, and I caress one of them, enjoying the way she shivers under my touch.
“I need shoes,” she mumbles, her cheeks bright red as she fumbles with the ties in the front of the shirt to try to get the fabric to cover more of her chest.
“I guess you do.” I go over to the shoe rack, already doubting we’ll have anything that will fit her. “What size are you?”
“A ten,” she says. I can feel her watching me with increasingly keen interest, and I glance up at her, arching a brow.
“What?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing.”
As expected, most of the cute shoes are too small for her. I end up with a pair of sandals that open in the back. Not the right size, but her feet won’t be squished, at least. I hand them over to her and wait for her to bend down and put them on.
She does, which displays a good portion of her ass. I reach out and squeeze one of her ass cheeks, making her jump, but she doesn’t protest. She stands back up then glances at me, as though expecting something else.
I chuckle. “Let’s go,” I tell her. “We don’t want to keep my client waiting. Well. Your client.”
She flinches at that, and I’m tempted to needle her a bit more. I wrap an arm around her shoulder as I lead her toward the back exit of the club.
“I’ll be honest, I don’t like this guy that much. He was one of my old man’s friends, y’know? He’s all abouttraditionanddoing things the old way. I did make out with one of his daughters once, though. She’d be a bit older than you, I think.”
The dread just keeps building up in her expression every time I glance at her face, and sure enough, she’s started crying.
It’s strange that she isn’t protesting and begging me not to do this, and the realization makes me pause for a moment. “Why aren’t you fighting me on this?” I ask curiously.
She glances up at me, wiping at her tears. “What’s the point?”
“You could tell me the truth about what happened,” I point out. “Then I wouldn’t have to make an example of you.”
Vanessa closes her mouth, lips set into a thin line. I don’t know why she’s protecting Traci and Cat, who had to be the instigators in all of this, and it only makes me more curious. After a moment, she says quietly, “I did tell the truth.”
I snort and usher her into the backseat of my car. Slayer had made fun of the vehicle when he’d first seen it, but I don’t need a large SUV or an expensive convertible. I’m fine with my discreet luxury sedan. Expensive without being flashy.
“Wait. You’re driving?” Vanessa asks, startled, when I slide into the driver’s seat.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I make sure the back doors and windows are locked so she can’t try anything stupid.
“I don’t know. You just don’t seem like the type who drives himself places. Your dad always had a driver and a bodyguard,” she says. “Shouldn’t you have a bodyguard, especially right about now?”
“Now you sound like Damien. You worried about me?” I kick the car into gear and start driving. “Hey, spread your legs a bit so I get a nice view when I check the mirror,” I tell her.
“No, I’m not worried about you, and no, I’m not going to spread my legs,” she says, closing her legs more.
