Page 18 of Gilded Fake

“I’m a silver spoon dickhead,” I remind him. “Besides, I know your guy’s dad. Where do you think I got hooked on those pills before you started selling them to me?”

“Christ,” he mutters. “This should be fun.”

“I’ll swing by in ten,” I say. “You can introduce us. And then maybe you can tell me, since I know you don’t do relationships, what the fuck you’re still doing with Gloria Walton.”

four

Rumor Has It… The newly crowned king and queen were seen having a lover’s quarrel at the local ice cream shoppe. Don’t get any ideas, girls. It was quickly resolved and the couple remains blissfully in love.

Gloria Walton

A knock sounds at my dressing room door, and I pull my satin robe closed just as the door eases open and my boss pokes her head in.

“Hey, Ms. Scarlet,” I say, swiveling around. I’ve rarely seen the owners of the place since I started working in Envy. By then, Ms. Scarlet had finished training me and Mr. North had finished drilling the rules into my head. I know if I needed them, they’d be here in a heartbeat, since he works in the office, and she works in the diner downstairs. But I don’t like asking for things. Long before Lennox North, I had my own set of rules, reinforced by the consequences of wanting anything for myself.

“Hey, darlin’,” she says. “You make it in okay? I saw some roads were washed out up your way.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s really comin’ down out there,” she says. “You stop by my office downstairs if you need an umbrella on the way out.”

“I got one,” I say, nodding to where the big thing sits in the trash can, shedding the water it collected on the way in. “But thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Sorry I haven’t been up to check in on you more,” she says. “I was told I get too attached, try to mother the girls, so I’ve been trying to keep my distance. But if you need anything, anything at all, you know you can always holler at me.”

“Thank you,” I say, wondering if her husband told her that, or the girl who used this dressing room before me. If that’s why she no longer works here. “It’s been great. You’ve thought of everything. I can’t thank you enough for taking a chance on me.”

“I didn’t give you anything you didn’t earn for yourself,” she says, glancing at the ceiling as a boom of thunder shakes the club. “Mavvy-baby told me you had some trouble getting on your feet when you first got here. I just wanted to let you know, you don’t have to go to his parents for help. We’re right here.”

“Thank you.”

In truth, I haven’t needed anything from the Norths that they haven’t already provided. Infernal Vices is a well-oiled machine, a tight ship with every detail already taken into account. Besides my bouncers, Angel, and the other dancer who shares my dressing room, I don’t see much of anyone. The other girls are close—some of them even live together. They all hang out, go for drinks after work, grab burgers at Boehner’s, take trips to Little Rock to shop at their mall since ours shut down. They’ve invited me a few times, but I always say no. I keep to myself here the way I do at school. It’s hard to trust people after everything.

“Alright then,” Ms. Scarlet says. “I came on by to let you know a client booked your room for a private session. You up for it?”

“I’ll have to do one sooner or later.”

Groups book private sessions often, but when a single client books one, paying extra to be the only man in the room, they expect things. They’re paying for time alone with a sex worker, and they think we owe them sex, even though the club is very clear about their rules. From the bits and pieces of conversation I’ve gathered from the other girls, they all hate how pushy the guys get. I haven’t had one yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

“That’s the spirit,” Ms. Scarlet says, coming in and straightening my wig as I sit at the mirror. She smiles, her scar crinkling. “Just remember, you don’t owe them any more than when they come in with a group. And we don’t allow sex in the club. You’re there to entertain and tease, not to satisfy. They give you any trouble at all, the bouncer is just a shout away.”

“I know,” I say, standing and drawing myself up. “I’m ready, Ms. Scarlet.”

The moment I step out from my hallway onto the stage, I know I was wrong. I’m not ready for this. It would be one thing if it was Rylan, or even the Dolce boys come to make fun of me. But it’s not any of them.

The man sitting alone at the edge of the stage is Colt Darling.

I trip over my heels and stumble, only catching myself on the pole by inches. I grip it like a lifeline, so thankful I didn’t fall on my face in front of him that I can barely stand. The music starts thumping out the sultry rhythm of the night’s first dance, but I can’t move. I’m frozen in terror.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I cannot dance for Colt. I’ll die of humiliation.

But my body knows the way, and before I can think too hard, I’m turning my back to the pole, sliding my ass down it. I move on autopilot, the way I used to, before dancing here made me feel powerful. My head is spinning with questions, but my body finds its rhythm, moving to the beat.

Why is he here?

Did he know I would be here? Is that why he got the private room?

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