He glances down at his clothes, as though trying to find something wrong with them. When he looks back at me, I see that my words have sparked something in him. Professor Scott reaches up to grip the top of the open hood. “And you are?” He treats me to the same look I gave him, eying my black tank top, white skinny jeans, and peep-toe pumps with contempt.
Smirking I say, “I don’t mind getting a little dirt under my nails. Unfortunately, I just put a new coat of lacquer on them this week and I don’t have time to redo them. What I can do, though, is drop you off if there’s someplace you need to be.”
I have to say, I am enjoying this. Turning the tables on someone who is always in control has got to sting. Payback for the sting I experienced when he so callously booted me from his hotel room.
I watch him closely, waiting patiently for his answer, but the clock is ticking. I can’t afford to be late for work.
Professor Scott doesn’t look very happy with his options, but thankfully, he doesn’t take long to think them over. With a rough sigh, he slams the hood shut and retrieves his keys from the ignition. With very purposeful strides, he heads toward the passenger side of my car. “I’m meeting someone at the River Front Plaza. Do you know it?”
I should, considering it hosts the most upscale restaurant in the city, is a block away from the club, and he fucks me every other week at the hotel next door. Pointing this out to him, though, seems trivial. Of course, he already knows this.
Playing off the note of relief that it was on my way, the slice of disappointment that whoever he’s meeting isn’t me, and the excitement that I get to spend a little extra time with him, I climb behind the wheel and start the engine. “I’m familiar with the area,” I say shortly.
Clipping his seatbelt, I notice that Professor Scott doesn’t seem overly enthusiastic about the way his day is going. I, on the other hand, see a golden opportunity that has just fallen into my lap. As I ease up to the parking lot exit, I see the evening rush beginning to take hold, and at the first opportunity that presents itself, I shoot out into traffic.
“So business or pleasure?” I ask him as I speed up to beat a red light. We float through the busy intersection, just beating out the flash of the red light cameras that were installed last year. Beside me, the professor has a death grip on the door handle, and I chuckle to myself.
“What?” he says, his voice strained. I almost have to laugh, because this is the only time I have ever seen him outside of his comfort zone. Usually, he has all the control, and I am the one at his mercy. The feeling of power is heady.
Frankly, my driving is terrifying. I know this because Annie has told me many times, which is why whenever we go anywhere together, she drives. The problem isn’t that I’m reckless, though. I’m aggressive. Not a lot of people can give up enough need for control to handle my driving, which is why it impresses me that he has been able to keep his comments to himself this long. But the sickly pallor suggests he might be on his way to an early heart attack, so I ease up on the pedal.
“Business or pleasure?” I repeat.
As the color returns to his face, Professor Scott pries his eyes from the road long enough to glance at me. “What do you mean?”
“Are you meeting a friend? Business associate? Your wife?”
“Pleasure, I guess.”
I nod, pretending as if the information didn’t just suck all the oxygen from my lungs. “So wife?”
He gives me an odd look, and I wonder if he’s picked up on the strain in my voice. “You’re my student, Josephine,” he reprimands. “I’m not going to tell you that.”
“That’s fine,” I say quickly, hardly fazed by his cool tone. “I already know you’re not married. I’m going to guess girlfriend.”
“And how do you know I’m not married?” he asks, turning to face me with one eyebrow arched.
Reaching over, I tap the third finger on his left hand. “No ring.” It was the first thing I checked the night he’d handed me his business card and asked me to meet him outside the club. I may be many things, but I am not a home wrecker.
He looks away, out the window, and to my disappointment, the conversation ends before it begins. Pulling up to the restaurant, I take a moment to soak it in. I’ve never been inside, but the sheer size and grandeur of this building always takes my breath away.
I release a low, long whistle of appreciation as I lean over the steering wheel and peer up at the steel skyscraper. “Swanky.”
Professor Scott chuckles softly and shakes his head. “That it is,” he says, reaching for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride, Miss Hart. I owe you one. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
He’s gone in seconds, and I pull away wondering just how he intends to pay me back. But as I enter through Mirage’s back door, less than five minutes later, to the thick blanket of darkness and the pungent smell of perfumes, alcohol, and faint mildew that envelope me, the reality, that he was meeting with someone else, strikes me. Our time together has come to an end.
It shouldn’t feel like someone has died, but I feel the familiar ache that followed my parents’ passing like a knot forming in the center of my chest. Acid burns in my stomach and I have to remind myself that I knew this day was coming. I just didn’t think it would be this hard to walk away.
“You’re late, J.” Kota, the owner of the club, enters the dressing room without knocking and leans his shoulder against the wall as he watches me change into my outfit.
His unwavering stare was creepy when I first signed on as one of his dancers, but as with most things in life, I got used to it. It helped to realize that Kota doesn’t give two shits about how much skin is on display. He’s been working the business long enough that one set of tits is the same as the next. He’s more concerned with the bottom line.
“I had to help out a friend,” I say vaguely, because less is more around here. The only thing Kota or anyone else needs to know about me is what made it into my paperwork. “I’ll work extra tables to make up for it before I go on.”
“No tables,” Kota says, his bald head shining as he shakes it. “I need you on the floor tonight.”
I shrug and nod apathetically. All the girls have to trade off throughout the week, so since I’ll be working the floor tonight it means someone will have to work the floor for me somewhere down the line. I guess this means I’ll be changing my outfit tonight. “Who called off?”
“Christine. She’s got the flu or some shit.”
“Hope she isn’t prego,” I say with a laugh, but then I catch the scowl on Kota’s face letting me know the joke wasn’t appreciated, and it evaporates. Getting pregnant is the kiss of death. It’s a guaranteed boot in the ass. Another incentive for me to keep it in my pants, so to speak.
Straightening his posture, Kota throws open the door, allowing the pounding music to flow inside. “Light a fire under it, Pussycat. It’s going to be a busy night.”
FIVE
Kota wasn’t kidding when he said it was going to be busy. I’ve been racing around all night, and my body aches everywhere. After dropping drinks off at my last table, I tuck my tray behind the bar and wave my hand overhead to gain Kota’s attention.
“I’m taking my break!” I shout, and when he nods and turns back to filling drinks, I head for the bathroom. The first thing I do is rip off my heels and stretch my toes. It feels so damn good, I moan. This job is definitely for the young, because I can’t fathom still being here in ten years. After this year is done, I’ll be moving on to bigger and better things.
I take my time freshening up, patting myself down with damp paper towels to cool my heated skin, and running my fingers through my hair. As I’m finishing up, the door to the women’s restroom screams open, and I look up to see Bernice poke her head in.