Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“Tommy keeps the club’s financial records in his office. I can’t get in there without him noticing, but I bet you can.”
I go very still, not sure what to say. That’s not what I was expecting at all. I half thought he was going to make some kind of sexual advance on me, or maybe he needed me to do some menial task for him, but to break into Tommy’s office to grab some documents—that’s an entirely new level.
“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t. Don’t you own this place?”
“He’ll lie to me,” he says, waving a dismissive hand. “I need you, Claudia. You hate him, don’t you? What if I said this would hurt him?”
I hold up my palms. “I can’t. I just can’t.”
“I can help you. I can pay you.”
“It’s not just about money. If I lose this job—” I stop there, unwilling to admit to him that I’m here for Serena above everything else. I don’t want to give this man, this total stranger, that kind of power over me. Tommy has it and he doesn’t even realize, but if I tell Angelo what this job really means then he might use that information against me.
He could blackmail me. He could force me to do things—
I don’t want to think about it.
“Think about it,” he says and his voice is a low purr. “I’ll give you ten grand if you pull this off. Ten thousand dollars in cash, and all you have to do is get me some financial documents for a club I already own. It wouldn’t even be hard, and I swear, you won’t get in trouble.”
Oh, god. Ten thousand dollars. Not much for some people, life-changing for me. I picture myself moving into a safer neighborhood and a nicer apartment and never having to deal with Uncle Rodney again.
And I know it’ll never happen.
“I’m sorry,” I say, turning to the door.
But his voice makes me stop.
“Are you dancing again tonight?”
I freeze, my hand on the knob. I don’t turn to look at him. I can’t turn to look at him right now. My head’s mushy and my knees are shaking. “Not unless Tommy makes me,” I say as shame rushes through me. Why the hell do I care what this guy thinks of me? Angelo’s a bastard and he can go screw himself.
“Well, I look forward to the next time you get up there.”
His words strike me up and down my body like fingernails gently caressing my skin. I rip the door open and run away before I say something sarcastic and stupid and get myself fired for good.
But for the rest of the night I keep thinking: Angelo wants to watch me dance.
Chapter 7
Angelo
I’m in a shit mood as I explore the third floor.
I came onto Claudia too hard. I never should’ve propositioned her that quickly and should’ve gotten to know her better first. Maybe I’m wrong and she doesn’t actually hate Tommy the way I think she does, or maybe there are a dozen other reasons why she doesn’t want to go against him—and she might even turn around and tell him what I wanted her to do.
It was impulsive, but I have a feeling about her that I can’t shake.
And it’s not just because I find her attractive.
Insanely, absurdly attractive. Like a bright light in a field of dull lamps. She glimmers, she shines, and I want to run my hands through her hair as I slide myself deep between her legs. I want to see her back arch and I want to make her fucking melt.
Instead, I scared her off.
Like an asshole.
Now I’m lurking in the lobby at the top of Cage. This floor feels more like a high-end hotel with a large entryway atrium filled with tables and booths and a bar on the far left. There’s a jazz trio playing quiet standards. The crowd’s much calmer and more subdued, but the vibe here is unabashedly sexual. Several of the waitresses are topless and there’s a couple in the corner going through some serious heavy petting. Nobody bats an eye when the woman starts to stroke this older guy’s dick right there in the booth.
Most of the women here are wearing red wristbands. Some have on masks, the lacy sort that just barely covers their eyes. I notice a lot of the men also have the red wristbands, and I’m not sure if that means the client is looking for a specific kink or if they work for the club.
This is something I should know, and it pisses me off that I don’t.
I make my way to the bar and order a beer. Nobody bothers me, though I spot more than a few men and women glancing down at my wrist. One guy seems particularly disappointed, which is a bit flattering.