Page 5 of A Billionaire Gentleman

I shook my head this time, then reached into my purse and pulled out a sheet of paper. When I held it out, he gave me a strange look.

“My resumé.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You brought a resumé to apply to be a showgirl?”

I flushed and looked down at my hands. “Yes, sir.”

“Sanders, please.” He skimmed the paper as he spoke. “So, no dancing experience?”

“No, but I’ve always been athletic and a fast learner.”

“Never heard anyone refer to dancing as athletic, even though it is,” Sanders said. “Is there anything not on the resumé that you would put on an application?”

Shit.

I supposed honesty was the best policy. “I’m on probation.”

He looked more amused than surprised. “For what?”

“Drugs. A misdemeanor.” I really hoped he wouldn’t ask for more details than that. I didn’t want to relive it any more often than I already did.

“We’re a drug and alcohol-free workplace.” The words came out automatically, as if they were part of a script.

“I’m clean,” I said, hating the words even as I said them. I could tell people I didn’t do drugs, that I’d never done drugs, but it wouldn’t do any good. Once that little five-letter word had inserted itself into my life, no one believed that I’d never used them. The best they believed was that I wasn’t using anymore.

“We don’t do drug tests,” he said. “But if we catch you using or it affects your work, you’ll be fired.”

“I understand.” I really hoped the way he was talking meant I was going to get the job.

“You wear the costume we provide, and you start in the background. When I say you’re ready, I’ll move you to where I think you’ll be best.” He flipped over the paper and wrote a few things on the back. “Are you able to stay tonight to watch the routines?”

“Yes.” I almost frowned at how eager I sounded. “Yes, I can.”

“Good.” He handed me the paper back. “If, at the end of the night, you think you know them well enough, you can start tomorrow evening.”

Well, that was easier than anything had been in a long time.

I really hoped it didn’t blow up in my face.

Four

Deklin

Ireallyneededmy own place.

It’d made sense for me not to get anything permanent either here or there while I was still in school, but I hadn’t realized how claustrophobic it would feel, being home again and knowing that I didn’t have a set time where I would get to leave, no safe space to escape to.

I loved my father, but living with him could be…well, it could be a bitch.

For example, on Sunday afternoons, he always wanted us to have lunch together after church, and he’d always tried to use that to get me to go to a service with him. I had a bad feeling that the longer I was here, the more he’d expect me to go along with how he did things. I didn’t have a problem with him going to church. I never did.

But I didn’t want to go. That wasn’t how I wanted to live my life. Which meant I needed to establish myself as a responsible adult instead of a college student.

But before I could start looking for an apartment or house or whatever, I needed to be absolutely certain where I would be working.

“Is there something wrong with the tuna salad?” Dad asked, his tone telling me he’d asked once all ready.

“No, no, Dad, it’s fine.” I scooped up another forkful. “I was just thinking.”

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