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I open the door and inhale a deep breath, preparing myself for the long night ahead. Angela’s voice sounds immediately from around the corner. Either she assumed I wouldn’t come out of my office, or she just doesn’t give a shit. Probably both.
“… bullshit.”
“But he’s letting you off?” Shelly asks, in her distinctly annoying shrill voice.
“Yeah, because I threw a fit.”
“It’s probably because he wants the new girl all to himself tonight. You should have seen how he was looking at her.”
Angela snorts. “She can have him. If he wasn’t such an asshole, I’d fuck him for his money alone, but the way he’s being? Be my fucking guest.”
Shelly laughs. “Oh my god, totally. Can you even imagine? Gross. Besides, he’d probably just freak out and have to fire you. Trust me, if you leave this hellhole, I’m right behind you.”
Their laughter fades as they continue down the hallway and into the lounge, leaving me contemplating the meaning of their words. As if I’d fuck either of them. I’d sooner go without sex. For life. I am sick and tired of people only looking at my wallet or my face and not really looking atme. I know I’m not always easy to handle, but if they tried living a week in my shoes. Hell, sometimes, even a single night or a single hour would be enough to put anyone in a bad mood. So, what if I’m a grumpy asshole? Am I less worthy? It doesn’t matter, anyway. What matters is that some good came of this. Now I know exactly which dancer I am putting on the lounge tonight… Shelly won't get one second on the pole if she wants to bad mouth me behind my back. Fuck. I’ll take Angela’s in-your-face confrontation before the back stabbing.
I’ll put Shelly on the lounge, and I’ll train the new girl behind the bar.
I turn from the side hallway into the main hall and head toward the front-of-house, searching for Lara. And speaking of Lara, what the hell was Shelly talking about? I hadn’t given her any look. Other than maybe athank-fuck-you’re-here-to-save-my-asslook. Because at this moment, that’s all I’m thinking about. Lara is a lifesaver that landed on my doorstep at exactly the right time. Nobody else has even applied for the job we put up more than a week ago.
Now, where is she?
As if summoned, Lara emerges from the bathroom dressed in the server’s uniform—a lacy black corset, silk boy-shorts, and three-inch black pumps. I stumble to a stop, completely forgetting my practiced ability to not outwardly gawk at my employees.
Her breasts are larger than I expected, full perky C’s that sit high on her chest. The heels accentuate her supple, firm ass, and the corset reveals a taut, flat stomach.
Yeah… definitelynotgoing to fuck her.
She tugs at her corset. “Hi.”
Maintain eye contact. Don’t look at her boobs. Maintain eye contact.“Hi. Change of plans. Think you can handle the bar with me tonight?”
Chapter 3
Lara
Ididn’tknowwhatbeing a server at a strip club would be like, but this is not what I expected. Not that I ever expected to be a bartender. Not at all. The place has gotten much busier than when I first walked in. There’s more than a hundred alcohol-drenched guests, all competing to hear each other over the sound system blaring from the stage. The louder the music plays, the louder they shout to each other. And the louder they shout, the louder it gets. It’s a madhouse.
“Gin and soda—hello, did you hear me?” The man leans against the bar, his eyes plastered on my cleavage, drool practically spilling out of the corner of his mouth. I self-consciously tug at my corset, so different from the way I usually dress, and yet I’m still more covered than most of the women in here.
Two grand. For two grand, I can do this. I can put up with… Fuck. I hope I can do this. Maybe if I can’t make the entire weekend, I can just get the five hundred tonight, just enough to cover my rent.
I finish pouring five tequila shots and slide them across the bar to the college guys whose backs are to me. They’re distracted by the dancer on the stage as she splays her legs open and slaps an open palm against the black lacy thong that separates her large, jiggling butt cheeks. Her fake breasts bounce with her movement.
“Let me suck on your titty!” one of the college kid screams. His friends standing next to him roar with laughter. Men are all pigs.
Shelly, the dancer who gave me my first tour of the club, shoves her way through the crowd of college kids, a look of utter disgust on her face.
“Move!” she growls. “Lara—where is the Dark and Stormy I ordered for table forty-seven?”
I blink. I have no idea what a Dark and Stormy is, and I’m about to say this when Jamie steps up beside me and hands a brown drink across the bar to Shelly. “Dark and Stormy for forty-seven.”
Shelly shoots him a hard glare, her puckered lips pressed in a firm line. She almost yanks the glass from his hand and disappears back through the crowd.
“Yo—Red, did you not hear me? I’ve been waiting for a gin and soda for half an hour.” I glance atmister drooly-stare-at-my-cleavagejust in time to see him snap his fingers.
I know instinctively that the servers would never tolerate this guy’s behavior, but my brain is so full of drink orders, I don’t have the energy to say anything… let’s be honest—I wouldn’t say anything even if Ididhave the energy. I avoid confrontation like a cat avoids water, and if there’s one thing I’m discovering at Eden’s, it’s that conflict and confrontation lurk around every corner. It’s apparent that Jamie is much more skilled at this than I’ll ever be.
Jamie jams a finger in the air at the drunk man. “Snap at my bartender again and you’re fucking out of here. Now wait your turn.”
