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“For the night?” I quirk an eyebrow. “The whole night? But that’s—”
“He knows. He paid it no problem. I already took my cut. Keep doing what you’re doing. You’re my highest earning gal and it’s not even close.”
Randall spanks my ass for real on his way out. I grimace, though I let it go this time.
I’m too confused by the bomb he just dropped. Somebody bought me for the whole night.
All services.
Even with Randall’s cut, that’s enough to pay my debt for a couple monthsand thensome.
He’s not a regular. Which means he must’ve seen my earlier performance and been impressed. Which means he’s a very high-roller. Possibly a bachelor. Possibly sugar daddy material.
I spend the next half hour fixing myself up. I switch wigs—something more practical, a wavy auburn wig that pops with my skin—and I change into a tight dress that shows off my body and barely covers my ass.
If he’s bought me for the night, he wants some fantasy. For me to pretend I’m spending my time with him voluntarily and not being paid to do so.
A lot of older, richer men tend to want that. The illusion a woman like me finds them so irresistible I’m choosing to be with them.
It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll play into whatever fantasy they want if the price is right.
Falynn FaceTimes me. I answer with her on speaker. I’m leaning close to the mirror, drawing my eyeliner in fresh.
“You look sexy. Special customer?”
I smirk at the camera on my phone. “Can you tell? He’s paid for the night.”
“It’s not that deputy mayor guy, is it?”
“Girl, please. Do you really think I’d bother? Randall knows he’s not to even try it. This is somebody else.”
“Maybe it’s a celebrity… or a pro athlete.”
“Like I care. Dollar signs are all I see.” We break into short laughs for a couple seconds. I screw the cap on my eyeliner and dig around my makeup bag for my lipstick. “What’s up, Fal? How’s everything over there?”
She shrugs, a neutral look about her face. “Trying to keep myself busy. Gio’s been gone on business.”
“You should fly out to Vegas. Let’s do a girls weekend, like old times.”
“I can’t. I just started those fertility treatments. No drinking. No high-stress situations. Basically, no fun.”
“You’re a married woman now,” I tease. “Comes with the territory.”
We hang up with me promising to call her tomorrow morning after my night entertaining my customer. A small part of me feels bad for hanging up; Falynn has been lonely lately. It’s been rough since she and Gio suffered back to back miscarriages.
I head out onto the floor of the club. Cami, our bottle girl, tells me my client is waiting for me in the first VIP room. I strut through the dark club, lit only by pale blue lights, and I make heads turn. Men glance in my direction, their attention stolen from the girl on the stage.
They go ignored.
Youstillcan’t afford me.
I open the door to the VIP room expecting a businessman in a neat suit. A fuckboy pro athlete waiting on me. Even a rapper with some stacks to make it rain.
But instead, my confident vixen mask slips. I almost stumble. I blink several times and then glance over my shoulder.
This is a mistake.
It has to be. There’s no way.
