Page 8 of Promiscuous Lies

I shrug. “Let him cower in his home for a week. When he thinks he can face society again, blast it.”

Eli smirks, and I frown, noticing the blood splatter on the cuffs of my shirt. I was so preoccupied with my craftsmanshipthat I forgot to roll up my sleeves. I undo the shirt and then hand it to Hawke. “And burn this.”

“They don’t work for you,” Eli reminds me under his breath.

“No, but we’re all friends here, aren’t we?” I smile handsomely. “Now, who feels like a drink? My treat.”

CHAPTER 5

Posie

I’m grateful Bentley’s fever went down in time to celebrate his fifth birthday. When we returned from shopping, I noticed he felt warm, and it progressively got worse. It wasn’t until he finally fell asleep and his temperature started lowering that I could message Paula, but half of my shift was already over. I’m hoping I don’t lose my job for it, but no matter what, Bentley comes first.

I spot Paula straight away as I enter the club. Tom, the security guard who usually walks me out at night, offers me a nod as I pass him and go straight to the back.

“Mr. Taylor wants to see you before you take the stage,” Paula says with an apologetic expression. I figured it was coming. I technically did a no-show for my last shift. But why is that asshole around so much lately? How had I been so lucky to avoid him for two months, and now he seems to be here all the time?

“Sure,” I say with a bright smile. I show everyone what they want to see. The smiling blonde, the happy-go-lucky girl. All the things I am anything but. When Paula leaves, I move closer to Samantha. I look at her ankle and notice it’s not bandaged, so she mustn’t have done too much damage last weekend. “Care to swap?” I ask her as I wiggle my brows.

“My song’s up next.” She rolls her eyes as I unpack my bag. She’s always considered me a troublemaker, but I know she secretly loves it. And I help her out when men get too handsy without paying. Where she might be the best dancer, she still has a lot to learn in the way of intentionally influencing men by being sickly sweet and sometimes being a little rougher when need be.

I quickly touch up my makeup. “I can dance to that. You have plenty of songs, right?”

She nods and glances in the direction that Paula just left. Farther down the hall is the office where I’m assuming Mr. Stalker Boss is. “You won’t get in trouble?” she questions.

“I’ll probably get fired, but I would at least like to make some money before I do,” I say, taking off my loose dress, my work lingerie already on underneath.

She lets out a bark of nervous laughter but agrees. I change into the schoolgirl outfit and slide on my black heels before I lean down and kiss her cheek. I wait only a few moments before the music starts playing, then I open the curtains. Men catcall, but I don’t give them the privilege of eye contact. I sway my hips as I go straight for the pole. I grab it and hook a knee around it, twirling in circles as I eye those closest to the stage, spotting which of them I think are the biggest tippers.

I come to a stop, gripping the pole with both hands, with a smile, as I throw my long blonde hair over my shoulders. I drop down into a crouch and look over my shoulder, winking at the man who looks like the biggest fish here. I lift my skirt, smack my ass, and grab a handful of flesh. Men begin cheering and throwing money on the stage. I smile as I lay down on the stage. My hands caress down my body until they reach the waistband of the skirt, and then I shimmy it down my hips until it’s off. I turn around to get on my hands and knees. As I reach for the pole again, someone lifts me and drags me off the stage.

“What the fuck! Put me down!” The men boo as I’m carried off over a shoulder, even as I kick and punch. I don’t recognize who it is until we are behind the curtains, and he speaks.

“You. On now,” he roughly commands, and that’s when I notice Samantha.

“Get my tips!” I yell out after her. She slips through the curtains, and the moment they close, I’m a fiery, chaotic bitch.

My boss lowers me to the ground, and the moment my heels touch the floor, I shove him away. This infuriating man stares at me, and I fucking glare back. Most men would ogle my body, the G-string and barely-there schoolgirl top. Not this man. He takes me in as if he’s entitled to my every movement, never averting his gaze from my eyes. He’s fucking intense and purposefully trying to intimidate me.

Good fucking luck.

Dutton is dressed in a black suit. His lips are pressed in a hard line as if expecting me to actually be scared. I don’t ever feel intimidated by men. I’ve been around all types of powerful men in my life. And although none of them have ever put me on edge like Dutton does, I fucking refuse to bow at his intensity just because he expects it.

So, I might be a brat.

I don’t give a fuck.

When I don’t say anything, a tic runs through his jaw, and he grudgingly breaks the silence. “I requested you to come see me when you got here, and you ignored that and went on stage.”

I place my hand on my hip.

“I was coming to see you after work to display why I’m a valuable asset.” I beam at him, and the vein in his temple throbs once, then twice before he shakes his head.

I know he wants to call me a smartass. I can see it written all over his face.

“Is this fun for you? You do need this job, correct?” he asks, crossing his arms as if trying to look at me in a different light.

“I do need a job, but I don’t do well being micromanaged by a man who doesn’t know how to shake his ass or show his tits,” I throw back at him.

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