Page 21 of Phantom Mine

“Does it matter?” He steps closer, whispering, “I can’t wait to buy a dance from you tonight.”

Gag.

Arabella ignores him, her probing eyes now pinned on me. “Since when does Guido hire non-Italian girls?”

Amadeo drops his hand, no doubt realizing that his girl is more interested in me than him. He shrugs. “You’ll have to ask Matteo. He’s the one who hired her.”

That gets her attention. Her face snaps to the side, her eyes widening when they meet his.

“What do you mean? Matteo hired…her?Her?” she asks, going into full blown hysterics. “Personally?”

He nods, losing interest in the conversation, and looks down at his watch. “I don’t have time for this. Show her the ropes. She’s in the rotation starting tomorrow.”

With that, he disappears and what remains of Arabella’s mask falls. She closes the distance between us and towers over me in her high heels. Her hand snaps out and she grabs my face between brutal fingers, squeezing my jaw so hard that it clicks.

“So that’s how you got through these doors? By fucking your way into this job?” she sneers. “We have no room for awhorelike you here. You should check with the brothel down the street.” She strokes my cheek contemptuously with her free hand. “You’re exactly what they’re looking for over there.”

Behind her, a couple of her harpies snicker.

Good one.

Heat rises up my neck as my temper flares bright red. I grab her wrist and twist it. Her friends gasp dramatically in the background. My brother didn’t teach me how to fight just so I’d stand here and let another woman bully me.

“Don’t touch me.” A whimper falls from Arabella’s lips and she releases my jaw. “I auditioned and was hired, that’s how I got this job. Who that dance was for makes no difference to me.” I smile sweetly, adding, “However, watching the interaction you just had with Amadeo, I’d say fucking your way into a job is a concept you must be very familiar with yourself.”

I let Arabella go and she stumbles back a step, clutching her wrist like I broke it.

“Unlike you, I have no interest in slut shaming. Sleep with Amadeo. Sleep with Matteo. Hell, sleep withallof them if you want. We should all start being as slutty as men are, I’d hate to think they were the only ones having any fun.” Sobering, I add, “But leave me out of it.”

She straightens, her eyes flashing with rage as she faces me. I sigh internally, cursing my own temper. I’ve made an enemy. I have no doubt there’ll be consequences to deal with.

“You won’t last here,” she vows.

I smile pleasantly. “We’ll see.”

Still clutching her wrist, likely for dramatic effect, Arabella advances on me once more. I stay in place, not flinching a muscle, even as she uses her height to try and intimidate me.

“There are girls here who have been waiting a lot longer for him. If you stand in our way, well...” A grim smile crosses her face. “We’ll make sure you don’t. By any means necessary.”

It takes me a second to understand she’s talking about Matteo. “You can have him. I’m not interested.”

Her lip curls. “He’s not yours to give away,whore.”

This time, my sigh is audible. “I’m either in your way or I’m not. Make up your mind because this is starting to get quite boring.” Offering some type of olive branch to try and keep the peace, I ask, “How about you show me around instead?”

She looks seconds away from hitting me, the expression on her face so full of contempt that her cheeks turn red under the strain of her anger.

“Show yourself since you’re so fucking smart.”

With that, she turns on her heels and walks back to her cronies, leaving me standing in the middle of the changing room.

With the confrontation over, my adrenaline lowers and my mind clears. Beneath the waning rush, I find the anxiety and fear that I’d momentarily set aside. My chest tightens and the air thins as fresh panic sets in. I turn on my heels, scanning the rest of the changing room, desperately searching for a place to hide. Revealing my weakness now would be like dropping a bucket of blood in shark infested waters.

The area is too open, there’s nowhere to hide. The walls feel like they’re closing in on me. Pressure compresses my chest. Lowering my head, I hide behind my hair and duck for the other corner of the room.

A girl comes out from the nearby bathroom just as my unsteady legs take me to the vacant stool, my hands clutching the counter desperately for purchase.

“Woah,” she says, catching my elbow and helping me onto the seat. “Are you okay?”

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