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His stoic face remained expressionless as he eyed me, before he shifted his gaze to Sniffer Guy and gave him a slight nod. “Hi, Larkin.”
“Hey, Seb. Boss ready for the stripper?”
Chapter Four
The Intoxicating Aroma of Ennui
It took me a few seconds to work out that he was talking about me.
“Um, what? I’m not a stripper.” Not that I had anything against strippers, but I highly, highly doubted anyone would ever pay to see my pasty white ass cheeks clench around a dollar bill.
“Sorry, exotic dancer.” Larkin waved his hand.
“I’m not—”
“Bring him in.” Seb opened the door and stepped aside. I heard him sniff as Larkin dragged me through. What was with the sniffing? Did I smell really bad?
It was kind of a relief to know that this ‘Holt’ was the boss, and that I’d simply been confused for whatever exotic dancer he’d hired for the night. I mean, he had interesting tastes, if he’d specifically requested one dressed as a “sad office worker forced to attend a colleague’s birthday party,” but I wasn’t one to judge. I’d be able to calmly explain that there’d been a mix-up, and I was sure they’d just send me back upstairs with an apology.
That was what I kept telling myself as Larkin led me over to a tasteful seating area in what looked like a small lobby or waiting room. There was a desk outside another door in the far wall, and Larkin dropped his clipboard on it before knocking and vanishing inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.
The walls were painted dark with white wood panelling. The seating was an electric blue velvet Chesterfield sofa with two matching armchairs, and a wooden coffee table in the middle of them had a fancy geometric glass decanter on a tray, filled with deep amber liquid.
Against the wall between the two doors was a huge neon sign, filling the room with a hot pink and lime green haze. I stared at it with a confused frown.
Goliaths
of
Wrestling
Wrestling? I glanced fearfully at the door Larkin had gone through. Would this boss man expect me to wrestle with him? I’d just have to explain the moment I got in there that I was not, in fact, his weirdly specific stripper request for the night. I really was just a sad office worker.
This is all just a hilarious misunderstanding! Haha! Please don’t kill me if you are a mob boss or a billionaire with a penchant for hunting humans!
I jumped when an unfamiliar, husky voice drifted through the slightly open door.
“God, I can smell the ennui from here. Fucking perfect.”
Ennui? Smell? What? I cautiously lifted my arm to sniff my pit. I mean, there was a faint hint of sweat from the long day, but otherwise I mainly smelled like the faded remnants of my cologne. Maybe that was yet another sad choice in my life.
“He’s really dedicated to the character,” I heard Larkin say with a hint of approval in his voice.
“Excellent. Bring him in.”
The pink and lime green fluorescent lights slid over Larkin’s hair as he reappeared in the doorway and gestured me over.
Oh god, this was going to be awkward, but hopefully this Holt guy would be able to laugh about it with me. Maybe he’d be the one who got embarrassed for having his unusual kink exposed to a total stranger, and we’d have an awkward chuckle over the whole mishap before he’d ask Larkin to escort me back upstairs, apologising profusely.
I’d already given up on trying to get Larkin to believe me. If Holt was the boss of this place, of whatever Goliaths of Wrestling was, I assumed he’d be a little more level-headed. Plus, if he was a frequent customer of exotic dancing services, he’d take one look at me and realise I definitely was not a sexy stripper.
Larkin held the door open as I hesitantly stepped into the room. It had the same décor as the lobby area—dark walls and white panelling—with a smaller version of the neon sign on the wall behind a big desk.
And sitting behind that big desk was, I presumed, the boss, Holt.
And he was wearing a costume.
Well, not so much a costume, more like… face paint. He was in a charcoal three-piece suit with a white shirt, a hot pink tie and a matching pocket square. But his face was grey.
