Page 38 of Four Seconds to Lose

I’ve been working at Penny’s for over a week and, as shocking as it is to admit, I don’t know that I’ve ever had more fun in my life. Hanging out with Ginger and DeeDee on the bar all night is entertaining, the nights go by quickly, and I’m making good money. Not as good as what I’d be making in the V.I.P. rooms, but Cain hasn’t allowed it yet. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved about that. And dreading the day he gives his okay.

Because then I’ll have no valid excuse.

Stripping onstage is still a horrendous, nerve-wracking four minutes, at best, but my mind no longer has to wander off to the mountains and the beach and all those other places I imagine myself going when I’m finished being Charlie Rourke. It keeps getting stuck in a dimly lit room, alone with Cain.

In his office.

In a V.I.P. room.

In the walk-in beer cooler.

Really... anywhere.

Ginger has created a monster.

And what feeds these illicit thoughts is the fact that Cain keeps coming out to watch. There haven’t been any more cock-adjusting, winking moments. He’s made no effort to speak to me since hiring me. The few times I’ve crossed paths with him in the back hallways, I’ve gotten nothing more than a nod.

But while I’m on that stage, I feel those dark eyes on me, like those of a predator stalking his prey, while the music vibrates through my body, and my limbs coil around the cool brass, and my hips swirl and curl and dip and bend.

I really am a fantastic actress.

And Cain is an even more fantastic distraction.

¦¦¦

Show Number Thirteen

I’ve become bold. I’ve switched up my short shorts because, despite what he said, I don’t want Cain getting bored. So I’ve adopted this little short-skirt–bikini-bottom combo that is more revealing but not completely. Like a skimpy bathing suit, I tell myself.

And I don’t bother to hide what I’m doing anymore. I face him head-on as my fingers curl around the fabric of my top and peel it off. As I offer him a wink. I see his lips part slightly and his ghost of a smile as his eyes rake over my body, shamelessly. Even from here, I see the fire in them.

I love the feel of his eyes on me.

Although the possibility of him being my pimp has faded, I still don’t know what the hell to think about Cain. At night, when I’m lying in bed, relieving myself of this pent-up frustration so I can actually fall asleep, I’m still picturing him as an unemotional, demanding man.

Only now, it’s in a very appealing way.

I’m not sure how accurate Ginger was when she called him “safe.”

This is my boss.

But, while I silently wait to escape my life, this is also one hell of an intoxicating game.

chapter fifteen

¦¦¦

CAIN

“Cain!”

“Two and a half weeks for a simple background check! What the fuck am I paying you for, John?” I’m glad I had the good sense to install a sound barrier in the walls of my office. It doesn’t completely drown out the throbbing music in the club, but I can at least have a phone conversation without shouting.

A horn blasts in the background and I picture my P.I.’s round belly pressed up against the steering wheel of his nondescript black sedan, tailing someone’s cheating spouse or a fraudulent insurance claim through the streets of L.A. He spends most of his days doing just that. And they’re long-ass days from what he tells me. John works more than I do. After his third wife left him, he figured out that marriage and his career don’t mix.

I met John ten years ago, when he was still a cop. He’s well connected, fast, trustworthy, and—most important—he’s as discreet as they come. He’s also expensive, but it’s worth it. I use him for all of my employee history checks. He finds things that no typical background check would ever uncover, and I can usually get answers from him within a few days.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t Backgrounds R Us,” he grumbles wryly—the usual dig at the kinds of places normal employers use. “This one took a little bit more work...”

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