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Chapter Seven
Dressed in the tightest pair of jeans she owned and the skimpiest halter top that showed the hard points of her frozen nipples, Devin lurked at the edge of the crowd of females. They all looked far fresher than she did. Taller, with bigger chests and tighter backsides. There was a laundry list of comparisons where Devin just didn’t measure up.
In a resentful, bitter mood, she wagered they didn’t have to contort themselves to apply heavy layers of makeup to most of their body, hiding marks that had no business being there. To their faces was up for debate. Most of them appeared hidden under cakey layers with garish hues smeared over their eyes and lips. Devin needed every color of the rainbow to hide the red rimmed bruises from slaps and gripping fingers, rug burn on her chin, and the dark circles under her eyes. Arms folded over her middle, she leaned against a wall of the open space leading to a long hall of doors and watched the others chatter and giggle in swirling multihued drifts like a flock of birds. Devin supposed she should be grateful this wasn’t all happening on the third floor. The second floor was an unknown, a fresh slate that didn’t hold any horrible memories just yet.
“Haynes?”
“Yeah,” Devin called, shoving off the wall and doing her best to emulate the sexy stride she’d seen the women before her use as she came forward.
It was all for nothing as the woman turned away and led her down the hallway to a closed off room. She didn’t even glance at Devin, so it appeared she had no hand in the hiring process. Lights flooded the space, a dark square of carpet slapped down over old floorboards set center stage, as it were. Two club chairs sat angled around a table on the other side, but any details beyond that were hard to make out through the glare. Pulling her shoulders back and taking a deep breath, Devin pasted on a smile and walked into the bright room.
“Thanks, Chrissy.”
Devin stumbled as that voice tripped down her spine and sent ice ripping through her veins.
“Haynes, eh? Devin Haynes sounds like a boy’s name,” Bo said as he settled back into one of the club chairs, a tumbler of amber liquor in his hand. His smile showed the sharp edge of teeth as his gaze raked over her, taking it all in with a lazy sweep of his eyes.
He’d changed clothes, garbed in a sleek suit tailored to his bulky frame. Jacket dark as his soul, the bright blue of his crisp shirt made his eyes that much clearer, brilliant in the golden hues of his face.
“There’s nothing wrong with my name.” It came out in a weak jumble, tongue thick as fear stretched and prickled the back of her neck.
“Just give us a few moments. My partner will be back in a second.”
Stunned, Devin could only stare. Partner? Was he warning her not to make a scene in front of his lover or a colleague? Devin’s mind raced with all the many implications and impossible situations, crashing hard against the memory of the slip of paper hanging by gummy tape from her door. The somehow loathsome script of her landlord hammered against the inside of her skull, promising a rent-free life if she just made herself available to his scummy needs.
Devin’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding as she stared back at the Alpha, who only smiled.
“This the next one?”
A man in more casual slacks and polo ambled in from another door, a folder in his hand as he flipped through glossy sheaves of paper. Her headshots. Dark hair, rich ochre skin, tall and huge. Another damned Alpha.
“I’m Daniel Rey,” the dark-haired man said as he took the other chair, folding his mass into the comfortable leather. “This is the co-owner of Wicked, Elijah Beaumont.”
“Elijah?” The squeak of her tone was shrill, a mouse finding itself caught between the crushing steel bar and wood plank. The Gods hated her. He not only worked there, but he was the fucking owner! The very man she’d hoped to impress the night before. Perhaps she had, considering the wad of cash he’d deposited between her legs. The bills were no longer crisp, and she’d have to figure some way to get the reek of slick and come from the paper, but it amounted to enough to feed her for a month if she were careful with it. Packs of ramen were cheap, and she didn’t need much.
“Please, call me Beau. We’re not big on ceremony here. Just one big happy family.”
“The playlist is just going to shuffle,” Rey said as he picked up a small silver remote and pointed it at Devin. “Some of the changes might be a little jarring, but don’t worry too much about it. Just need to see you dance.”
The music started, a house mix with a heavy beat she would have been happy about under other circumstances, but Devin couldn’t make a single cell move. She stared in a mixture of horror and disbelief at one Elijah Beaumont.
A sudden rattle of drums from the stereo startled her from the shock. The pink slip on her door loomed. This was her last shot.
Devin started to dance.
Hips swaying, arms lifting above her head, she moved to the rough beat. She flowed into the next song, something with a fast tempo. The next slow, meant to be played while grinding against a partner. Losing herself in the ever-changing rhythm, she forgot about the Alpha who watched her with a devious knowledge he didn’t even try to hide. Pink slips, lost jobs, run-down apartments… it all fell away.
The music cut off, plunging the room into abrupt silence.
Devin stopped and turned back to face the two men. Brows high in question, she tried not to bite her lips or wring her hands as she awaited their verdict. She failed at both.
“Real fucking cute, Beau,” Rey said on a growl, flinging the folder containing Devin’s paperwork onto the table with a careless flick of his wrist. The overpriced pictures slid in a glaring disarray, drifting to the floor.
“What?”
“That’s your handwriting on her damn form. Where’s the original?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking—”
