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“True.”
She gave me a playful look. “So much for glamour. What about the excitement department?”
“We’ve got that in spades, if you know where to look.”
“Ah. And you know where to look for that, do you?”
“I am where to look for that, Fiona.”
We stayed like that for a few seconds, staring into each other’s eyes – until she looked away, slightly embarrassed.
I decided to make it easy on her, so I asked, “So what’s the plan?”
She furrowed her brow the slightest. “…the plan?”
“Not to disparage your current employment, but smart as you are, I can’t imagine you moved 200 miles just to become a waitress at a greasy spoon joint.”
She hesitated for a second, then said, “I tried to get a job at the Seven Veils.”
My interest immediately plummeted.
Besides being hot, she’d been so smart – so interesting. And here she was just another dumbass like all the rest.
“Well,” I said, giving her a look from her waist to her tits, “I can’t see why they turned you down. You look more than qualified.”
“I don’t strip,” she said coldly, all friendliness gone. “I was looking for a waitressing job.”
I raised my eyes back up to hers. I was officially semi-interested again. “Really? Why?”
“Why don’t I strip?”
“Sure, let’s start there.”
“Because when I take my clothes off for a man, it’s because I want to. Not because I’m on the clock.”
I chuckled. I was back to being fully interested again.
“Then why waitressing?”
“If I’m going to have to deal with assholes, I might as well get paid more.”
Now I laughed out loud. “Can’t fault that. But it’s only 15 an hour, plus tips.”
“Which is at least 50% more than I’m making at the diner. And I’ll bet the tips are better.”
“Probably.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You seem to know a lot about waitresses’ pay at strip clubs.”
“I know the owner of the Seven Veils.”
Her eyebrows raised. “Really.”
“Yep.”
“You’re friends?”
“You could say that.”
