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The day goes from weird to weirder the longer it goes on, and if I didn’t need the money so fucking badly, I would be calling in sick for the club tonight. A random middle-aged man knocked on my door as I was getting ready for my shift, and handed me my keys, muttering something about it being a death trap and destined for the wrecker.
I’d be offended if he wasn’t right. The car is a shit box, and there isn’t a day I don’t miss the car my dad bought me as a graduation present. He was so excited to give me a new car, telling me that because I got a full ride for college, all the money he put away over the years could go toward something more fun.
The memory hurts as I think back to the day Dad noticed I was driving another car, and my excuse was so obviously a lie I can’t believe he didn’t call me out on it. I told him I was letting a friend borrow it to visit their mother in Florida, and then it never came back. I don’t know if he didn’t notice, or if he just assumed I would tell him the truth when I’m ready.
Everything I’ve done since Rayne left has been done on autopilot. I made dinner, ate, got dressed, and put on a full face of makeup without even realizing I had done it. I’ve never been so affected by someone as I am him, and it scares the shit out of me. Even hours after he left, his scent lingers in my apartment, reminding me of how out of place he looked here.
I glance at the time and realize I’ve spent entirely too much time daydreaming about a certain tall, dark, and ridiculously handsome man.
The drive to the club is much the same as the rest of the night, a blur I don’t remember. I park in the staff lot and quickly check my lip gloss before getting out of the car and entering through the back. Out of all my jobs, this is the hardest. The shifts are late and long, and the number of times I almost break men’s hands for groping me is obscene. But it’s also the best paying. The tips are what makes all the difference at the end of the week, which is why if push came to shove, it wouldn’t be the first job I gave up.
I smile at a few of the other waitresses as I pass them on the way into the break room to drop my bag off. I catch sight of myself in the full-length mirror the girls use to make sure their tits are out to capitalize on tips and cringe internally. The black dress clinging to my body is so short, one wrong move would have my ass out for the world to see, and the front isn’t much better. My tits spill out the top of it, and I silently admonish myself. When did I become this? When did I allow myself to use my body to make money? I have no issues with women using what they were given to make it in this world, but I never thought I would be capable of it.
To be honest, I’ve always been shy, quiet even. But this job doesn’t allow for it. I have to be on all the time. I have to have a smile on my face, I can’t snap when some perv touches me, and I have to do it night after night.
I fix my hair quickly and then I’m on my way to the bar to start serving drinks. I slip behind the bar and smile at Summer when she waves at me. The only good part of this job is the people I work with. For the most part we have a good time together, and we are always on the lookout if someone gets a little too handsy.
Summer quickly became a friend on my first night here when I had no fucking idea how to serve drinks. She laughed at me as I fumbled my way through the night, all the while picking up after me and covering for me when our manager asked who broke five glasses and dropped an entire bottle of top-shelf vodka.
“Hey, babe.” She grins, her long blonde hair sitting straight against her back. “You’re tired.” It’s not a question. Summer is one of the only people on Earth that knows about my money troubles, and she has covered for me more than once when I’ve had to go home due to exhaustion. Once every couple of weeks, the tiredness overwhelms me and makes me physically ill.
I nod. “What’s new?”
“Babe, I know you need the money, but you also need some sleep. I’m worried about you.” She stops what she’s doing to hold my shoulder for a moment.
I close my eyes, fighting the tears that surface at her kindness. “I have Thursday night off.”
“I bet you’re working a long shift at the diner that night though.” Again, not a question. She knows me so well. Knows the habits I’ve formed over the last few months.
“And I’m not working on the weekend.”
“Because you have that gala that you’ll probably lose even more sleep than usual over.”
I sigh because she’s right. Summer knows me, and we’ve had this argument so many times over the last few months that I’ve officially run out of excuses. “I need the money.”
Summer’s eyes warm. “I know, I just worry.”
Before I can reply, Kyle, the manager from hell, appears and we quickly busy ourselves with serving customers. I’ve just pushed three tequila shots across the bar when he grabs my wrist. “Emerson, the boss wants you in VIP tonight.”
I turn to him, only briefly taking in his greasy hair and almost too slender frame before my response falls from my lips. “Why?”
Kyle rolls his eyes like it’s the most stupid question he’s been asked all night, but it’s a valid question. I’ve worked here for almost six months, and even working five nights a week, I’ve never stepped foot in the VIP area. On top of that, I’ve never met Angelo Russo, never even seen him, so why he would be asking for me, in particular, seems odd.
“I don’t know, maybe he has a thing for redheads.” He sneers at me. “Now, go. And for god’s sake, don’t break anything. Mr. Russo is in and anything you do wrong is going to reflect badly on me.”
My face pales. Even though I’ve been doing this for six months, I wouldn’t say I’m exactly good at it, and I still break glasses every now and then, especially when I get nervous.
“Are you going to stand there staring at me all night?” Kyle sighs. I don’t know why he works here, because he fucking hates it. He acts like the job he does is the biggest injustice in the world and everything that goes wrong only goes wrong to inconvenience him.
Summer catches my attention behind Kyle, and her face is full of pity. She works VIP some nights, but she hates it, and I don’t think I’m going to love it either. Before I realize what I’m doing, my feet are moving toward the staircase behind the bar that leads to the VIP area. The second floor is open plan, looking down on the dance floor below. Booths line the walls, giving the illusion of privacy from the rest of the club. I’ve only been up here once, and it was in the middle of the day during my tour when I was first hired.
It looks totally different under the dim lights, and nerves bubble low in my belly morphing into full-blown nausea. This day just keeps getting better.
“You must be Emerson.” A blonde girl grins from where she’s perched against the bar. I’ve seen her around a few times, but I’ve never actually spoken to her. “I’m Robyn.” She holds her hand out.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I smile, shakily taking her hand.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, honey.” She looks over at the guy behind the bar, a tall, slim man who would normally catch my attention, but my mind is still full of Rayne. I can’t even bring myself to find this guy attractive. Nonetheless, he pushes a glass across the bar to Robyn who hands it to me. “Have some water. It will calm your nerves. We’ve all been there. Haven’t we, Darren?”
