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He shakes his head. “We can’t right now. The Head of State is there, lingering, waiting on someone. I have someone posted by the elevator bay, eyes on that plant, ready to retrieve the parcel as soon as he leaves.”
“Good. Where is the girl now?”
His finger goes to his ear. He presses the button on the hidden device, then waits, his lips pursing as he listens.
He looks at me. “Headed this way.”
“Let me know when you have the package.”
“Yes, sir.” He nods. “And the girl?”
“Take care of her.” Speak of the devil… A curvy little brunette comes dashing down the hall. Something about her makes me change my mind before he answers me. “Actually, I’ll take care of the girl.”
“Yes, sir.” He takes his leave.
The girl spots me behind the bar and rushes over.
“Is there a manager here? I really need to apply for a job.” Her heart-shaped face turns to me, hazel eyes filled with innocence begging me. Her short bubblegum-pink nails tap the bar as she shifts her weight on white sneakers. “Like, yesterday.”
She doesn’t look a day over twenty. And her clothing—jeans and a loose sweatshirt—tells me she doesn’t understand the first thing about this club or what we do here. My job applicants wear their sexiest, very best couture knockoffs to apply here, knowing if I accept them, they’ll soon be able to afford the real thing.
“You want a job?” I ask.
“Yes,” she nods.
I take in her fresh-faced innocence. “Here?” I ask.
She gives me a flash of a nervous look. “Yes, sir.”
I laugh, wiping down the bar. “I think you’d better head back to town. I think there’s a children’s clothing boutique that might be hiring.”
She slaps a palm on the bar top, pleading eyes grabbing mine. “I need a job. Here.” The desperation in her voice makes me stop.
I drop the rag, washing my hands in the bar sink. I dry them on a fresh towel. “Come. Sit. Tell me why you’re really here. Who told you about this place?” Perhaps the friend that sent her with the mystery package, that best not be poisoning my plant?
Her eyes dart right, then left as she sinks onto a stool. “I, um, don’t know. Just a friend, you know. They said the pay was good.”
“What’s their name?” I know every single employee by face and name. I do all the hiring, male and female dancers, bartenders, scene masters. I handpicked each person on my diverse staff. They all have three things in common. They’re hard working, they want to improve their station in life, and each has an almost inhuman ability to be discreet.
Discretion iseverythingin this business.
The housewife of a prominent mobster should be free to come to my club and be a pretty little kitty for the night, complete with a tail and velvet ears—with her husband’s permission of course—without fear that she’ll later bump into someone in town who will taunt her about her kink.
“Who sent you?” I ask again.
She shakes her head, looking away. “Oh, they said not to say.”
She’s a terrible liar. I get the feeling she’s not very practiced at it. I like that.
“Is that so?” I ask.
She nods. “Yes.”
“Can I tell you what I think?” I ask.
She looks like she’s trying to hold in a roll of her eyes. “I guess you’re going to.”
“Yes, I am.” I move in closer. I bring my face a beat away from hers. Now I have her attention. Her hazel eyes lock on mine, her rosebud lips parting.
