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“You know what? Nothing.” Her bottom lip juts out as she lifts her chin into the air. “Because there is nothing youcansay. God. You’re such a child, Jamie. Grow the fuck up. I don’t need this shit. I quit.”
She hesitates for a prolonged time. She wants me to fight her on this. To object. She knows it’s how I usually react. How I always handle things like this. And yet, this time, I keep my mouth closed. It’s not what Angela is expecting.
Her hands drop to her side. “Fuck you, Jamie.”
“No, thanks.”
Angela spews an angry grunt, spins on her heel and bolts out of my office. Again, slamming the door behind her. This time with such force, the entire room shakes.
I should be panicking, concerned about losing my bar manager, one of my longest-standing employees, but to my surprise, my mind is blank, my body light. A strange sense of liberation rushes through me.
I wait a couple of minutes before getting up to leave my office, just in case Angela’s lying in wait to ambush me outside. I crack open the door and see the area is clear, so I venture out into the hallway. I round the corner to the main lounge just in time to catch Angela storming out the front doors, taking her anger and toxicity with her.
Lara glances up from the bar. “Everything okay?”
The genuineness of her question is endearing. Endearing… because Lara is genuine. It’s a trait that’s hard to find in the women who walk through Eden’s doors. It’s a quality I didn’t realize was lacking from my employees until right now.
I smile at her. “Hear me out. I need a bookkeeper. I can pay you a small salary to start, $15 an hour. Wouldn’t be great, but it’d be more part time than anything. However, it just so happens I’ve also lost my bar manager too, and well, I already know you’re good at that. Pay would be tips. Cash. What do you think?”
I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth together in anticipation.
Lara’s expression is hard to read, the silence painful. “Twenty-five an hour for bookkeeping. And you’ll pay that in cash, too.”
I don’t have much of a choice. But I smile because I know she will be worth it.
“You got yourself a deal.”
Chapter 7
Lara
Iunscrewthecapof red lipstick, but pause as I lift it to my lips. An unsettling feeling grows inside me as I look at my reflection in the mirror.
Makeup is far from my thing. I was never good at it in high school, and the kids always made fun of me. Now I usually only wear a light concealer, sometimes mascara. Red is definitely not my color either, but then again, neither is this black corset, these tiny shorts that are stuffed up my ass–or working at a strip club, for that matter.
It’s been a week since I accepted Jamie’s promotion as bar manager and bookkeeper. I told him I didn’t want to wear the corset. It makes me look stupid, and it pinches the crap out of my boobs. Besides, I’m the manager now, not a server. And definitelynota dancer. He talked me into it, reminding me I’ll make much more in tips than my manager salary, and that the girls make much more when they show tit.
After what happened, working with Jamie is less than ideal, but this is the first time in my life I’ve been offered a position that could become something meaningful, not only with the prospect of good money, but the possibility of establishing an actual career.
Still, this is far from what I’m used to, and definitely not the boss I dreamed of.
Time moves differently here than any of my previous nine-to-five office jobs. There are no clocks on the walls, no windows to show the sunrise or the sunset. Most of the time, I don’t even know if it’s day or night. When the club isn’t busy, an hour passes like a year, and yet it seems like I blinked and my first week disappeared in an instant.
The way I look in this outfit hasn’t changed. My cleavage screams desperation, my ass looks flat, and I still twist my ankle half a dozen times a day in these heels.
But the strangest part is the lack of a boss judging my every move, peering over my shoulder to question my actions. The freedom and power Jamie has given me are confusing. It’s like I’m rewriting the story of my life on a blank sheet of paper, but don’t know grammar or how to spell. Let’s face it. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
I cap the lipstick, drop it in my purse and go into the stall. As I’m closing the stall door, I hear the main bathroom door swing open as Shelly’s high-pitched voice echoes over the tile.
“—bullshit. There’s no way Jamie will approve this.”
“I think he already did.” I don’t recognize this second voice, but I suspect it might be the new dancer who always glares at me from the stage; one of Shelly’s friends.
“You can’t be serious. She changed my dancing schedule without even asking. She moved me from the Saturday midnight spot to three in the afternoon. Like, what the fuck?”
The faucet turns on, and I sit on the toilet, lifting my feet off the floor like I’m back in high school eating lunch in the bathroom alone to avoid the laughter I always got in the cafeteria. I don’t want them to know I’m here, and their extended silence surprises me. I expect the other dancer to agree with Shelly, but she says nothing.
Shelly huffs. “What? You think I deserve to be moved?”
