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“God, that party was sooo depressing. I just wanted to go home and eat a TV dinner over the sink the whole time,” he purred in a sultry voice, running a hand down his oiled chest.
The moment he spotted me, he stopped dead. Immediately, the sexy pout fled his face. “What the fuck? No one told me this would be a duo. That costs extra. I don’t just share my stage.”
Holt cleared his throat awkwardly. “Sorry, something’s come up. You’ll be paid in full, obviously. Larkin, pay the man.”
“Uh, okay.” Larkin eyed the two of us again before trying to usher the stripper out of the room.
He refused to be moved, staring at Holt in disbelief. “You don’t want me to dance?”
I was wondering the same thing. Hadn’t he specifically requested this?
“I’m sure it would’ve been very… invigorating.” Holt held up his tumbler. “But I’m afraid I’m quite drunk now.”
The dancer snorted. “I don’t care if you’re drunk. You think the majority of my customers aren’t at least a little drunk?”
“Yes, well, I’m…” Holt’s eyes flicked to me for a brief moment. “I’m in the middle of something now. Sorry. Maybe another time.”
“Do you know how long it took me to figure out how to form these on my legs?” He jabbed a finger down at the sock garters. “I practised all day!”
“I’m very sorry.” Holt’s voice sounded a little tight now, like he was holding back laughter. “They look very… seductive.”
The dancer huffed and finally turned, muttering, “Everyone told me this would be such an easy gig.”
Once Larkin had shut the door behind them, Holt exhaled heavily and scrubbed his face. “Jesus Christ. Suddenly I’m reassessing all my life choices.”
I held back my snort, watching as he downed his drink, then curiously asked, “What other kinds of… specific dancer requests have you made? Besides this one, I mean.”
“Hmm, let’s see.” He swirled the fresh rum in his glass. “Last week it was ‘frat bro who won the lottery and took all his buddies to Cancún for spring break.’ The one before that was ‘houseplant enthusiast with an unlimited budget in a garden centre.’”
“Oh. Well, those sound nice.”
“They were alright.” He shrugged, then eyed me over the rim of his glass. “Honestly, after having a poor imitation right next to the real thing, they suddenly feel a little lacking. I think you’ve ruined it for me, Taylor.”
“What, because of my ennui?”
He just shrugged again, looking down at his glass as he set it on the table and spun it slowly between his hands. “Anyway, more secrets. And more rum. It’s your turn.”
“Oh. Okay. Um…” I took a sip of rum as I thought about it—about all the things I’d never told anyone. All the things you just weren’t supposed to admit to, ever. “I don’t even really know what HutSec does, and I’ve worked there for twelve years.”
His brow quirked. “Didn’t you say you work in the PR department?”
“Yeah, but the press releases are just… corporate jargon. Seriously, I have no idea what we actually do. Or sell. Software or something? Maybe? Or, like, B2B… solutions…”
Holt stared at me, his elbow now resting on his desk and his chin in his palm. “You should probably get a new job.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrugged awkwardly. “When my personal life turned to shit, I just kind of stayed there.”
“That little bitch Marcus,” Holt said with a surprising amount of vehemence. “Let me guess. He’s the reason you haven’t eaten ice cream in years?”
“Well, kind of,” I said doubtfully. “He encouraged me to cut out dairy, but I don’t really know why I’ve stuck to that since he left.”
“Let’s get some ice cream right fucking now.” Holt slammed a fist on his desk, then reached over to the phone and fumbled with the buttons. “Lark? Can you come here?”
A few seconds later, the door opened. Larkin’s pink head of hair appeared in the gap, a wary expression on his face. “Yeah?”
“Can you go out and get us some ice cream?” Holt looked at me. His eyes were definitely unfocused now. “What’s your favourite?”
“Um…” I felt a little awkward demanding stuff of Larkin, but I timidly offered, “R-rocky road?”
