Page 69 of To Her

I'd texted Alex immediately:

Got the door job at Underground. Start Friday. Meet me there when my shift ends at 1?

His response had been immediate:

Hell yes. Congrats! I'll bring the celebration.

I'd known exactly what kind of "celebration" he meant, and the thought had sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. More pills, more dancing, more mindless pleasure to drown out the emptiness. I couldn't wait.

Friday had arrived with agonizing slowness. My last few shifts at the restaurant had been exercises in avoidance—ducking James's concerned glances, deflecting questions about my new jobs, keeping conversations superficial and brief. By the time I'd clocked out on Friday afternoon, the tension between us had been thick enough to cut with a knife.

"So, tonight's your first night at that club?" he'd asked as I'd untied my apron, his tone carefully neutral.

"Yeah," I'd replied, not meeting his eyes. "Just working the door, taking money. Easy stuff."

He'd been quiet for a moment, and I'd felt his eyes on me, searching for something—what, I wasn't sure. "Be careful, Geri," he'd finally said, his voice soft. "That scene can get... intense."

I'd looked up then, irritation flaring. "I'm not a child, James. I can handle myself."

"I know you're not a child," he'd said, echoing our conversation from weeks before. "But I also know you're not in a great place right now."

"I'm fine," I'd snapped, the lie so familiar it had rolled off my tongue without thought. "And even if I wasn't, it's not your problem."

He'd flinched slightly at that, hurt flashing across his face before he'd schooled his expression back to neutral. "Right. Well, have fun tonight."

"I will," I'd replied, grabbing my bag and heading for the door without a backward glance.

The guilt had hit me halfway home—a brief, sharp pang that I'd quickly suppressed. James meant well, I knew that. But his concern felt like a weight, a responsibility I hadn't asked for and didn't want. It was easier to push him away, to burn that bridge like I'd burned so many others.

I'd arrived at The Underground at exactly 8:30, dressed in tight black jeans and a low-cut top that showed just enough cleavage to be distracting but not enough to be unprofessional. My makeup had been heavier than usual, my hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail that emphasized my cheekbones and the long line of my neck.

Tasha had been waiting at the entrance, looking effortlessly cool in ripped jeans and a vintage band t-shirt, her tattoos on full display. She'd given me an appreciative once-over before nodding in approval.

"You'll do," she'd said with a small smile. "Come on, I'll show you around."

The tour had been brief—the main floor I'd already seen, plus a small office in the back where the night's take was counted, a staff room with lockers for personal belongings, and the VIParea upstairs that was only open on special occasions. Then she'd walked me through my duties: taking the cover charge, stamping hands, checking IDs, keeping the line moving, and radioing security if there was any trouble.

"Most nights are pretty smooth," she'd explained as we'd set up the cash box at the entrance. "But some can get rowdy, especially around holidays. Don't be afraid to call for backup if someone gives you shit."

"Got it," I'd said, feeling a flutter of nervousness mixed with excitement. This was real—a new job, a new scene, a new version of myself taking shape.

"Oh, and one more thing," Tasha had added, her expression turning serious. "I know what goes on in clubs like this. I'm not naive. But keep your own shit under control, okay? I don't care what you do on your own time, but when you're on the clock, you're representing The Underground."

I'd nodded, understanding the unspoken warning. "Absolutely. I'm here to work."

She'd held my gaze for a moment longer, then nodded, apparently satisfied. "Good. Let's open up."

The first night had passed in a blur of faces and cash and the steady thump of bass from inside. I'd fallen into a rhythm quickly—take money, stamp hand, check ID, next. The hours had flown by, and before I knew it, it was 1 am and Tasha was coming to relieve me.

"Not bad for your first night," she'd said, counting the cash in the box. "You're a natural."

"Thanks," I'd replied, feeling a glow of satisfaction that had nothing to do with the job itself and everything to do with the approval in her eyes.

"Go have fun," she'd said, nodding toward the club's interior. "You've earned it."

I'd spotted Alex immediately, lounging at the bar with a drink in hand, his eyes scanning the crowd. When he'd seen me, his face had lit up with a smile that had sent a jolt of desire straight to my core.

"Look at you, all professional," he'd teased as I'd approached, his eyes roaming appreciatively over my body. "How was it?"

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