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She had to have a soft voice, big eyes, no pimples, no facial hair, small feet, and smell good all day, every day. In other words, while she need not have won any beauty pageants in the past, the candidate should be able to meet the criteria to participate in such competitions. Long red hair was not a negotiable prerequisite.
She was also forbidden from using the words "juxtaposition" or "onion" in her future boss’s company. Ever.
Okay then.
That wasn’t weird at all.
Yes, that had been written as the job prerequisite verbatim.
Dakota had told her new friend that if she wanted to work as a high-class hooker, she would be her own boss and not have to share the majority of her earnings with a pimp.
Besides, she didn't think she checked off enough boxes—her boobs were only a C-cup and nothing more, and no beauty pageant would have her on account of her two left feet, but at least they were small, so she had that going for her. But more importantly, she wasn't a redhead.
Raven smacked her over the head with a pillow and called her attripicious. According to her, Dakota met all the specs, and her boobs would be a D-cup if she stopped stuffing them into C-cups.
Well, bras were ridiculously expensive, and she couldn't afford new ones after her breasts suddenly plumped up out of nowhere last year.
She also looked up the word "attripicious" and found, according to the Urban Dictionary, that it was just a harder way to say "modest."
As for her chocolate-colored tresses, Raven had asked her if she'd ever heard about hair dye and then offered to color her hair for her.
Raven had also assured her it was nothing like that. She wasn't going to have to sell her body. Her sister and another friend had worked for Albert Moses Jones and could confirm he paid them on time, and while they kept their clothes on, sometimes lines were a bit blurred on the legal side of things.
Yes, apparently Albert Moses Jones wasn’t the most incorruptible individual around, meaning he was totally 100% shady, but if the girls minded their own business and adhered to his rules, they were easily twenty to thirty thousand dollars richer after the duration of their three-month contract. The reassuring thing was that no one was ever killed in the process. He wasn’t that kind of immoral.
Unless they snitched, that is.
All Jones wanted was a group of beautiful redheads he could show off at his casino while he kept his money through shady means.
For all Dakota's wisecracks about the job, desperation, carrying a slogan that read "beggars can't be choosers," came knocking loud and clear.
That, and a henchman named Python.
He showed up at her door in the middle of the night with a message about what was going to happen to her lovely neck if she didn't pay up.
He thrashed her apartment as well, just so she would remember what would happen next, all for a sum of twenty thousand dollars.
She could mind her own business for three months, couldn’t she? If it meant getting Python off her back, she’d become totally blind if need be.
And then a fresh start. She had to keep envisioning her life once she paid off her father’s last debt and could forever be free of the goons haunting her.
Her interview took place in Jones’ rather dank downtown office. The jingle of the numerous layers of jewelry he wore punctuated every question he asked.
She may have had to squint a little to lessen the glare of his sparkly orange silk shirt, but at the end of the day, she cried on the inside when he offered her the job.
Who cared that she had to sign a very suspicious NDA, which was basically a death threat if she said anything to anyone?
Compared to having her neck broken, the NDA seemed like a walk in the park. She could totally look the other way while he robbed people blind. At the very least, no one was being killed—except possibly her if she opened her mouth to the wrong people.
Three months. Ten thousand dollars a month. Nights only.
She planned to continue scouring the whole of New York for something a lot more proper in terms of employment during the day.
After two months of working at Dominoes Casino, she could confirm that Jones wasn’t that bad a guy. If she didn’t count the ways he cheated his patrons, ensuring the house won more often than not but not so much as to make it suspicious. He was a con artist. A very good one at that since he hadn’t been caught yet.
His unsavory practices had kept her awake at night, but she’d known upfront that he wasn’t a saint. It helped that she remembered Python was still out to get her and expected to be handed the remaining ten thousand dollars, which would close the debt for good in exactly one day.
Fresh start.Fresh start… Fresh start.
