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As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realize I’m standing in front of a huge collection of round wooden bar tables, most of them surrounded by four chairs. Other than a single lone gentleman sitting at a high top next to the stage, all the tables are empty. He’s leaning over the edge of the stage waving something in his hand in the direction of the corseted woman. He’s a pudgy bald guy, probably over two hundred fifty pounds, and easily in his early fifties.
“God dammit,” a booming voice from behind me grabs my attention, momentarily drowning out the music. “Shelly—I need you to cover the lounge tonight. Amber just quit and we’re already understaffed.”
The woman on the pole stops twirling, walks toward the bald man, and snatches whatever it was in his hand, and storms off the stage in my direction, weaving through the scattered collection of empty tables toward me. “No fucking way. I’m dancing tonight.” She brushes past me. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I-I’m here for the server job.”
“Look at that.” The woman throws up her arms. “One bitch leaves, and another appears.” She disappears into a hallway at the back of the room as I spot the source of the voice behind me.
“You of age?” the man asks, approaching me from what looks like a bar area.
A knot forms in my throat as I force an affirmative nod.
“Great.” He struts toward me, an affable grin spreading beneath his chiseled cheekbones. “If you can start tonight, you’re hired.”
I barely hear his words.
I’m numb, frozen. As I stare into a pair of familiar dark eyes, the only words my brain can summon are,No fucking way.
Chapter 2
Jameson Scott Albrecht, II
Abeatofsilencepasses and the girl doesn’t move. Her mouth is agape, but she’s barely breathing. Her eyes sparkle in the flickering lights bouncing off the stage as she gawks at me.
“You okay?” I ask.
Like boiling water poured over ice, my question triggers something, and her frozen stare cracks. She blinks, her breath escaping between a tiny crack between her lips.
She drops her shoulders.
“Huh… What… Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” She shakes her head and blinks her eyes again in rapid succession. Her voice is quiet, wispy. And tentative.
Without breaking eye contact, I assess her features. After a few years of owning the club, I’m practiced in the art of checking out women without making it obvious. They get enough ogling from the clients. They don’t need me doing it too.
“What’s your name?”
“Uh… Really?” she says.
“Yes. I heard you say you’re here for the server job. What’s your name?”
“Uh… Yeah… Sorry. I’m Lara.”
The girl’s auburn hair curves around her tanned neck and drapes over her shoulders, landing on top of her large breasts that she fails to hide beneath the frumpy pink sweater. She’s dressed like a forty-year-old librarian. Both the sweater and her jeans are a size too big for her petite frame… still, I can tell she has a tight body that will fill out the server’s uniform just right.
“Lara…”
“… Dieckling. Lara Dieckling.” She says it as if she’s reminding herself what her name is, and I try not to laugh.
She glances around the club, her blue eyes wide like a deer standing in the middle of the road. Has this girl even been inside a gentleman’s club before? If she has, it was probably during spring break from bible college, where she and her virgin friends downed one too many vodka cranberries and dared each other to get lap dances before sprinting to the bathroom to purge their dinners.
“Nice to meet you, Laura,” I reach my hand out. “I’m Jamie. Have you been a server before?”
She hesitates before reaching out to take my hand. “I haven’t.”
Great. Maybe offering her a job on the spot was a bad idea. Dammit, I’m desperate for help, though. Right now, anybody would be better than nothing, and she’s sexy as hell. The guests will give her a chance.
“But I have a lot of customer service experience,” she continues.
