Page 50 of All Bets Are Off

Zach blinked. Then he blinked again. “How is that your concern? You’re not a stripper.”

“Exotic dancer.”

“Don’t push me.” He extended a finger. “You cannot be involved in this.”

“And just why not?”

“Because you’re a Stone now. How do you think my father is going to take it when he hears you’re partnering with a bunch of strippers to make the whales unhappy?”

“Exotic dancers.”

He didn’t say anything. He just stared, a muscle working in his jaw. Jeez. He was a complete and total baby when he wanted to be.

“Maybe, if your father feels his bottom line is being adversely effected, he’ll step in and pressure the club owners to pay their dancers fairly,” I suggested. “They provide a service. They’re not slaves.”

“Nobody said they were slaves. They willingly went into the stripping business, however. That means they can take or leave the pay that’s being thrown at them.”

“Well, they’re leaving it and trying to better their circumstances. Also, the number of people who sit and dream about growing up to be a stripper when they’re a kid can’tbe high. They are doing what they have to do to take care of themselves. Don’t look down on them.”

“Who said I was looking down on them?”

“Oh, it’s obvious.” I glared at him. “They deserve respect. They’re people.”

“Why are you so involved in this?” Zach looked as if he was at the end of his rope. “Why do you care?”

“Because I care about people. I don’t like it when people are mistreated.”

“Is this about you losing your job? I said I would get you a new job!”

That just tore it. I hopped to my feet and moved to stand directly in front of him. “I don’t need you to ride in on your white horse. I was penalized for doing the right thing. The thing is, I’m always going to do the right thing if I have the option.”

“And that’s what you’re doing now? The right thing?”

I nodded. “Yes. Treating the dancers as if they’re less than human because they take their clothes off for a living is misogynistic and disgusting. They don’t deserve it.”

“It’s not you! You’re not a stripper!”

I was so angry at his refusal to see anything outside of his privilege—he was incapable of seeing the plight of these women because he’d grown up in a mansion with a butler serving his every whim—that I made a rash choice. As I glared at him, I reached for the back of my shirt.

“What are you doing?” Zach demanded as I pulled it over my head and tossed it as his face. He lost two shades of color as I did the same with my pants. “Are you having some sort of mental health crisis?”

I kept going. I’d committed to this plan of attack and I wasn’t going to stop now.

Zach stood there, open mouthed, as I removed my bra and panties. He didn’t duck when they went flying at his head.

“Now I’m a stripper,” I said to him before reaching for my food bag. I didn’t run to my room. I walked in that direction, slowly, my rear end twitching indignantly. I could feel his gaze on me as I walked across the threshold. “I’m going to do what I want.”

“You’re my wife,” Zach said. His voice was low and raspy. “As a Stone, you’re expected to adhere to a certain code of conduct.”

“I didn’t agree to that.”

“You did when you said ‘I do,’” he insisted.

“No, I did not.” I vehemently shook my head and tried not to laugh at how red his cheeks were, or the way he absolutely refused to look lower than my shoulders. It almost appeared as if he was going to have a stroke from the effort. “You’re not the boss of me. I know I’ve said that a few times, but I mean it.

“You might be my husband, but you’re not my dictator,” I continued. “If your father has a problem with me helping the dancers, set up a meeting, and I’ll tell him exactly what I just told you.”

“Livvie.” Zach sounded as if he was going through some torturous ordeal. “Don’t make things difficult. Please.”

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