Page 53 of When Hearts Ignite

“I have an appointment with Sofia Kent.”

Awareness dawns in her eyes and she asks me to take a seat in one of the tufted armchairs in the room.

The lobby is beautiful. Classy. Ivory marble floors with intricately designed medallions of black and gold coloring. The walls are white panels with delicately carved gold vines traveling up to the ceiling before swirling into a geometric design, which is the backdrop for a massive crystal chandelier.

The place is dripping in luxury. I’m sure even the lamps in this place cost more than one month’s rent. I guess later today, I can tell Taylor I’ve finally made it inside The Orchid.

I remember passing by the modern building on 5th Avenue with Taylor when we were teenagers. We’d gape at the lofty exteriors, a structure seemingly constructed entirely of glass, which, aside from the front doors, was coated with a substance preventing bystanders from seeing the inside. Doormen dressed in the finest livery stood in front of the doors, their bearing tall, shoulders back, like they were proud to work there.

Rumors abound as to what’s inside the building, the haven for the super-rich and superelite from all over the globe. Supposedly, if you want injections and cosmetic services from the best plastic surgeons in the world, all you need to do is make an appointment with their on-site spa clinic and you’d walk out looking ten years younger with the public being none the wiser.

I’d heard about the scrumptious cuisine found within the Michelin-starred restaurants inside. In fact, it’s the only place in the world where a single building houses five Michelin-starred restaurants, all serving different international flavors in the heart of Manhattan.

Taylor and I would try to peek in from the outside, only to be dragged away by the doormen and given a terse warning. We wanted to see if the rumors were true. If we could spot celebrities lingering in the lobby. If people were pampered and their worries disappeared once they stepped through those doors.

I’d tell her as we walked amongst the throngs of tourists headed toward Central Park, someday I’d make it and I’d be able to enter this exclusive establishment and would tell her all about it. We’d sample fancy cocktails from their various wine and spirit bars and do whatever rich people do when they had free time. And I’d be able to do it because I’d have gotten there by myself, without depending on anyone.

I let out a heavy sigh as I see a tall, graceful woman with brown hair wearing a tailored gray sheath dress striding toward me with a sharpness in her green eyes.

“Hello Grace, I’m Sofia. Nice to meet you. Come, follow me.”

After a brief, confident handshake, I follow her as she walks back in the direction where she came from.

A few corridors and turns later, we settle in her office, where she clasps her hands and looks at me expectantly.

“So, tell me why you’re here.”

I fiddle with my hands on my lap. “I need a job and my friend, Annabelle Law-McKenzie, mentioned you have an opening on the Rose floors. I’d like to be considered.”

She quirks a brow. “I know we didn’t go into details on the phone, but this job is a dancer at Trésor, which is our burlesque club.”

I swallow and remain silent. My heart sinks at hearing the official confirmation of what this job entails.

“What’s your background, Grace? Do you have any experience dancing?”

“I’m a finance major at NYUC. My mom was a performer on the Broadway stage when she was younger and she was also a burlesque dancer. While I didn’t have official training, she taught my sister and me rudimentary ballet and jazz when we were kids. I’m not a professional, but I’d like to think I can dance fairly well.”

She cocks her head to the side and stares at me for a few seconds, as if she’s trying to read my facial expressions. I fight to remain still, poised, and neutral. Anything to prevent her from seeing the myriad of emotions inside me—the sadness, nervousness…disappointment at life’s events.

“I’m good at reading people. You don’t seem to fit the profile of our usual candidates for the job. You look like you belong on Wall Street. Why are you here?”

I heave out an exhale and lean forward. “To tell you the truth, my family is in a dire situation and I’m in need of a good amount of money in a very short timeframe. My job offer at Pietra Capital fell through at the last minute and I’m in a bind. When I called Belle, she mentioned your name. At this point, I’m willing to do anything. I’m a hard worker and I’m a professional. You won’t regret hiring me.”

Sofia hums under her breath. “How much do you need?”

I give her the sum, and she doesn’t bat an eyelash at it.

“That can be arranged via a loan but will require you to be employed with us for at least two years. But before we get there, I need to see you dance. It’s an interview or audition after all.”

She opens her drawer and takes out a skimpy bikini, the black triangles barely big enough to cover any private areas. She sets it in front of me. “Change into this in the back and come back out.”

My body freezes as I eye those tiny scraps of clothing, something I would never, ever wear normally.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. The actual costumes are much skimpier,” she says gently.

Her words jolt me into movement and I grit my teeth. I can do this. If Mom could do it, so can I. Without a word, I grab the bikini and head toward the restroom in the back, shed my clothes, and slip it on.

I glance at myself in the mirror, and a sudden urge to cry nearly overcomes me. My breasts are on full display, the tiny triangles cover my nipples and the bottom half of my swells. The bottoms are slim, barely concealing my slit.

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