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I don’t even try to hide my surprise. “You’ve read it?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “It was a while back,though.”
“In college, I presume?”
I’m sure a man like him has a college degree, most likely obtained at a prestigious school that I can only dream of. He must have read it in one of his classes. No one readsThe Catcher in the Ryefor fun.
“No, it wasn’tthatlong ago,” he clarifies. “I didn’t read much in college—was busy doing other things.”
He winks at me, before reaching for his drink. I mimic his gesture, following Miss Barry’s instruction to never let the guest drink by himself.
“Where did you go to school?”he wants to know next.
The question feels like a dagger to my heart, but I respond truthfully.
“Nowhere,” I tell him. “I never went to college... yet.”
“Yet, huh?” He digs deeper. “So, that’s what you’re doing here? Saving up for school?”
“Maybe,” I murmur, awkwardly shifting in my seat as I avert my eyes again.
I don’t want to talk about this, not with him, not now, not here. We’re told to leave our daytime persona outside of these walls, and I’m beginning to understand why. This is uncomfortable, to say the least.
It’s funny how I’m not bothered by sitting in front of him in a revealing set of lingerie, but his questions make me feel as if I’m being stripped down naked before his eyes while he stares right into the abyss of my soul.
Nevertheless, I can’t help but feel oddly flattered. His interest in me seems to be genuine. I’m paid to entertain him, so he’s in command of where this conversation is going—and he chooses to talk about me? About my interests?
No one has ever shown this kind of interest in me.
No one.
Chapter 4
Logan
I knew it. This girl doesn’t belong here. No matter how much she tried to hold on to her fake nightclub persona, it still didn’t take long for me to uncover the person underneath.
A person who reads J.D. Salinger before she dresses up in lingerie to parade around in front of wealthy sleazebags, so she can save up for a goal that others take for granted.
I respect that.
“So, you’re reading Salinger for a college prep class or something?” I ask.
No one readsThe Catcher in the Ryefor fun. No matter how great that book may be, its self-conscious prose is not easily accessible and definitely not to everybody’s taste.
My question appears to make her uneasy. She doesn’t look at me but keeps her eyes glued to the drink in her hands when she answers.
“Um, no, I’m not taking any classes.”
Her voice is so low that I can barely hear her, and it looks like she’s embarrassed.
Or is it because she’s lying to me?
“But enough about me,” she’s quick to add. “Is this your first time at The Velvet Rooms?”
I shake my head. “Don’t try to change the subject, young girl.”
“Young girl?”she retorts, snickering. “Oh, sir, it’s been a while since anyone has called me that.”
