Page 8 of A Billionaire Gentleman

“Get on with it. You don’t have anything different than we do.” A brunette catty-cornered from where I stood sneered at me. She was pretty, about my height though thinner, but her blue-green eyes were hard, glinting with something I could only describe as malice.

“Fuck off, Alexys.” Pasha raised her middle finger without looking at the other woman. “Not everyone is used to taking off their clothes in front of other people.”

I wasn’t going to let Alexys scare me off, but I still couldn’t bring myself to completely strip right there, talking to Pasha while I did it. As a sort of compromise, I turned toward the wall where my costumes were hanging and gritted my teeth. I could do this.

As if sensing that I needed to feel like everyone wasn’t watching me, Pasha started talking again. “Any tips from group numbers are divided between the performers, but any solo acts you do, you get all the tips. Don’t let any of the girls tell you any different.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her shooting Alexys a dirty look. At least I already knew who the playground bully was here. I’d avoid her as much as possible, but just like school bullies, adult ones didn’t always let the prey practice avoidance. I’d dealt with them before, though, and I could do it again.

“Sanders calls us showgirls, but the term burlesque dancers is a better description. Not exactly family friendly, but too many clothes to really be strippers.” Her voice had a hint of humor.

I nodded to say I understood. My hands shook, and I didn’t trust my voice to stay steady. This was all getting far too real.

“I know Sanders gave you the company lines about how there’s no nudity and no sex, but you don’t strike me as a naïve person, so you know there’s usually a workaround at places like this. Here, it’s the private dances. If someone requests us specifically, we have to do it, but if it’s a general request, you can pass a guest off to someone else. Most of us don’t because we get a percentage of every dance we do.”

Pasha took my shoulders and turned me toward her, fingers tucking and pulling at different parts of my body with the sort of detached movements that told me she did this a lot.

“Private dances don’t include nudity,” she went on, “but guests can request it for an additional cost, but it’s ultimately up to you. Technically, they’re supposed to keep their hands to themselves, but unless someone is trying to force you into sex, it’s a good idea to just let it go. As for ‘extra’ services…take them as cash for whatever the customer is willing to pay. We give the club a ‘bonus’ of twenty-five percent for that since it’s on their time, but we don’t have to claim it on taxes, that sort of thing. The club covers its ass and keeps down turnover at the same time.”

I thanked her for the information but didn’t add that I wouldn’t need it. The dances I could handle, but I wasn’t about to do the other stuff. That was a line I wouldn’t cross. But I wasn’t going to look down on anyone else who chose to do it. I knew, better than most, how life could throw one hell of a curveball and change everything.

* * *

“Excuse me,”I mumbled as I rushed through the dressing room, praying I didn’t turn an ankle in these shoes.

I’d done it. Routine number one in a costume that was more revealing than any bathing suit I’d ever owned. I’d kept my head up and smiled until past the point where my cheeks ached. It’d been a relief to realize that the stage lights kept me from actually seeing the audience, and the music had drowned out all but the loudest customers. I’d almost been able to pretend we were just rehearsing.

The steps had been as simple as they’d seemed, but I hadn’t realized how hard it would be to stay in sync with a group of other women. I’d managed it, though, and since no one had yelled at me, I was going to take it as a win.

None of that, however, kept me from running into the performer bathroom to throw up.

I didn’t have much to lose, but it still felt horrible. Once I was sure I was done, I came out to find everyone’s eyes on me. They didn’t even try to pretend they weren’t looking. In their eyes, I saw everything from sympathy to downright disdain.

“Your nerves will ease up after a while,” Pasha said. “Best cure for stage fright is to push through.”

I didn’t tell her that it wasn’t exactly stage fright that had made me puke. Sure, the idea of public speaking or performing in the theater made me nauseous, but I’d managed to get through both of those in high school. This was about sex, and I’d never been comfortable with that.

“She’s wrong,” Alexys said as she tossed her sequined top onto a nearby chair. She turned toward me, not seeming to care that she was now wearing only a tiny thong. “The best cure is to quit. If you can’t handle that, you’re going to freak out when you actually have to do something difficult.”

Surprisingly, it was Alexys’s words that had me squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin. “You have no idea what I can handle.Thisisn’t even a blip on my radar.”

I stalked back to my area, gritting my teeth at the whispers behind me. I didn’t try to hear what they were saying because none of it mattered. I’d suffer any amount of embarrassment or nerves, or whatever came my way if it meant I got my son back. He was worth whatever the cost was to me.

Six

Deklin

I’d gottenthe assignment on Saturday, and now it was Thursday and finally time to get started.

The Kanes had gotten in yesterday, but they hadn’t wanted me to meet them at the airport. Dad had been a little annoyed at that, but I figured they probably just wanted a day to acclimate to being back in Houston again. They’d asked for a slow start today too, so I’d spent the morning going over the property list with Dad.

Again.

Like I didn’t have the ability to read the files he’d given me on Monday.

How would I ever convince them that I could be trusted with a normal workload if no one would give me the chance to show what I could do? It was bad enough that my own family didn’t see me as capable, but to not even let me have the same responsibilities as a non-family employee was humiliating.

As the driver slowed at the second red light we’d hit, I went back over what I knew. Ronall and Aurelia Kane were old family friends of my dad’s, which meant they were probably both in their fifties, unless Ronall had done the same thing as Grandad and married someone younger than him.

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