Page 38 of Promiscuous Lies

When she hangs up, I ask, “Is everything okay?”

“No. That’s the third dancer tonight to call in sick. I think there’s a virus going around, but we’re way too short-staffed for a Saturday night.” She pulls at the back of her neck. “Fuck. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” She looks at me then and bites her bottom lip. I know what she’s going to ask before it even leaves her lips. “Could you work the floor for one night? Even if it’s only for a few hours. One dance and the rest on the floor?”

I groan, not at all wanting to do that. Nor am I obliged to. But I know Paula wouldn’t ask unless she was desperate, and I’d rather not say no to the woman who’s helped me so much.

“There’s no one else?” I ask. I’d have to call and see if Amy’s available.

“I wish there was, unless you want this old hag dancing on stage.” She waves a hand at herself with a laugh, but there’s no amusement in it.

“I’ll do it. But only for tonight. Let me check with my babysitter.”

She grabs both of my arms. “You’re a lifesaver, Posie. Thank you.”

I roll my eyes as I make the call—Amy is more than willing to help out since her plans for the evening were canceled.

“Only this once!” I tell Paula. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” I wave to her before I finally escape.

It’s busy, which only means one thing. My efforts in my new role are working, which makes me proud.

I told Paula I would only stay for one dance and then work the floor for two hours. She was just happy that the empty slot had been filled.

“Haven’t seen you for ages,” Samantha says as she comes off the stage. I smile at the pink lingerie she’s wearing—the set I gave her. It’s obviously her new favorite.

“And you’re looking amazing. Thanks again for agreeing to do the photo shoot,” I reply. She gives me a wave as if it’s nothing.

“You didn’t even include my face, so it’s a win-win. And you photoshopped my tattoos. So even those closest to me won’t know it’s me.” She winks. The music changes and I know that’s my cue to go out onto the stage. “Good luck,” she yells as I hurry past her and stand behind the curtains. I wait a few breaths as the music drops to a lower beat, then I make my move. Relaxing my jaw, I saunter out, one foot in front of the other.

I’m wearing a lingerie set Dutton gifted me. I didn’t know what to do with the pile of skimpy items. And even though I don’t like the feeling of owing anyone anything, I was very partial to this set studded with diamonds. So if I’m dancing one more time, why not wear it? I certainly feel hot as fuck in it.

Tonight, I’m wearing black leather—a short skirt and a top with a cutout at the breast area. My high-heeled boots are black to match the attire, and I’m wearing fishnet stockings. When the music picks up, cheers start, and I sashay around the pole, one hand wrapped around the cool metal, making eye contact with the men.

My gaze lands on a set of cold blue eyes, and immediately, I know I’m in deep trouble. But I don’t care because I don’t answer to that asshole. Okay, technically, I do because he’s my boss, but not on matters where he’s treating me differently from the others. There’s only so much fuckery I’ll accept.

Besides, I’ve always lived by the philosophy of asking for forgiveness over permission. My boss doesn’t look happy, scowling in his seat beside the twins. I smirk, and even from here, I swear I can see his left eye twitch.

I can’t help but fill with mischievous delight at pissing him off as a friendly reminder that he doesn’t own me.

Dropping down to my hands and knees, I crawl to the edge of the stage. The twins are warily looking at Dutton. The bulkier one, who I’ve come to learn is named Hawke, can’t help but stare, and I smile. His brother punches him in the arm, and he curses, rubbing it.

Dutton looks like he’s about to burn him alive.

He better tip me.

“Hey.” I wink as I get up on my knees. Lifting my hands to my shirt, I pull it open and expose my lace bra, which gives hints of my nipples underneath. This time, I only look at Dutton. His gaze dips only once before coming back to my face. He’s seriously pissed.

“Stop,” he grits.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I only answer to tips,” I smirk.

I keep eye contact with Dutton as I throw the shirt onto his lap. Usually, I would never do that, but I know I’ll get it back from him. His fists close around it, and I feel too smug at how he looks like he wants to teach me a lesson.

I switch positions, grinding down sensually until my back hits the floor.

“Get off the stage, and do not remove one more piece,” he growls.

I smile sweetly, and that’s when Hawke nudges him.

“You still haven’t tipped her,” Hawke whisper-shouts.

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