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“A biker.” She actually hated saying his name. She swore every time she did, it conjured him up. Like an evil hex.
“His actual name is Saint?”
“It’s his road name, I guess. I have no idea what name he was born with, nor do I care.”
“Sounds like a nice guy.”
“Let’s just say he certainly is not a saint.”
“And he was hired by this… motorcycle club?”
“Not hired. He’s one of them. So is Cookie, my so-called assistant manager. They also put prospects to work in the club, just like good ol’ Ringo there. But at least the prospects show up. Maybe not on time but…” She sighed.
“Damn, they took over, didn’t they? I’m assuming none of them worked here before this MC took over.”
“No. I never would’ve hired them. Neither would’ve Laura. And even if I hired them because they had experience and were reliable, I certainly wouldn’t let them wear those vests—or cuts, or whatever the hell they call them—while working. That’s not going to attract an upscale clientele.”
Danny turned his head and focused on Ringo, still standing at the velvet rope with his back to them.
“His patch only says prospect. What club is it?”
Why was this man so damn interested in the details about The Peach Pit? “Are you well-versed in motorcycle clubs?”
Something ghosted behind his hazel eyes and she wasn’t sure what it was.
“Not at all, I was just curious.”
“The Deadly Demons.” She fought an eye roll at their club name, though she was sure it fit those assholes perfectly.
“Never heard of them.”
“You’re lucky, then. I hadn’t either until they jammed Laura between a rock and a hard place.”
“Meaning?”
She glanced over her shoulder at Ringo. The music was loud enough that he couldn’t hear their conversation but that still didn’t mean she wanted to discuss what went down with Laura when any of them were around. “They just pressured her to sell, that’s all.”
She barely caught it when his eyes narrowed. If she had blinked, she would have missed it.
“What you’re saying is, whether you go to dinner with me is dependent on this woman who’s tied to the Deadly Demons.”
She sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. If she doesn’t show up, I’m forced to work a double.” Unless she could get someone she trusted to fill in, like Sapphire. But she didn’t like to drop that kind of responsibility on anyone else’s shoulders.
Unlike most of her dancers, Mel was single and didn’t have children, so it was simply easier for her to stay.
“How about on your next night off?”
She tried not to laugh because she didn’t want him thinking she was laughing at him. But sometimes she had to laugh about the whole situation with the club, otherwise she just might cry. “Monday nights are my only night off. And your troupe will be here performing this coming Monday.”
“You only have one night off a week.” It wasn’t a question, it was a growl.
She did the math quickly in her head. “Actually, by the time my next Monday off rolls around, I’ll have worked twenty days straight.”
“What the fuck.”
She agreed with that muttered statement. “We used to be closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, but Taint demanded we be open seven days a week. I negotiated down to six after I convinced him we don’t have enough staff for that and they aren’t willing to put more on the payroll. He’s only willing to fill spots with their prospects, of course. My guess is because they’re either not paid or paid poorly. Anyway, because of being understaffed, I convinced them to keep Monday nights closed.” She shook her head. She was waiting for that fight to circle back around. She was sure Saint the Taint would eventually put his scuffed boot down and have the club open every night, including holidays.
“Wait. Who’s Taint?”
She slapped a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t burst out laughing. “I didn’t mean that to slip out. It’s Saint. I kind of call him Taint, instead.”
His warm chuckle surrounded her like a hug. “Do you call him that to his face?”
“Only in my head.”
“Nice.” He tilted his head. “It seems like you don’t get much personal time at all.”
“Not lately.”
“That has to be exhausting.”
“It is. Add dealing with the public on top of those long hours and…”
He nodded. “Understood. I deal with the public in my day job.”
“Which is?”
“A subject for another time. Like at dinner. So… Can I give you my number and you can call or text me if she does show up tomorrow night?”
Good lord, was she actually going to go on a real date with him? Would it even be considered a date? She didn’t even know anymore, it had been so long since she’d dated anyone.
Maybe he wasn’t interested in her personally but more professionally. It could be he only wanted to pick her brain about stripping. Even if that was the case, it was better than eating dinner alone. Like she did night after night. And, bonus, he seemed open, warm, and well-spoken.
