Page 125 of Sinful Desires
? Candace Bushnell
Scarlett
Self-loathing crawled up my throat like bile, bitter and burning, but sharper.Worse.
It sat on my tongue, hot and metallic, as I watched him disappear down that dark hallway behind a stripper I’d paid thirty-five thousand fucking dollars for.
He hadn’t even looked back. Not once. No wink. No smug thank you.
His eyes had been glued to me all night, like I was the only thing he could see, like breathing me in was a fucking necessity. But now? Gone. Off to get his cock worshipped by some blonde with dead eyes and a baby voice.
I should’ve felt satisfied. I’d made my point.
He said I was the only one, and I’d handed him a test he’d failed without flinching. Liar. Just another man who said prettythings to get close and then went exactly where he was told not to.
But I didn’t feel victorious. I felt like I wanted to throw up. I wanted to crawl into the corner of that grimy club, curl up on the sticky floor, and sob my heart out.
I tossed back the rest of my virgin mojito and hated myself more for it. I couldn’t even drink, couldn’t even dull the edge that kept cutting deeper. Sobriety was supposed to give me clarity, but all it gave me was a front-row seat to my own humiliation.
“You know,” Victoria hiccupped, pressing against my side, “you’re thebestboss a man could ever dream of. Buying a two-hour lap dance? Iconic.”
“Averygenerous boss,” Nicholas slurred, downing another shot and nearly missing his mouth. He was pale now. Really pale. Drunk as hell and teetering like one push would finish the job.
“Yeah! Generous!” Victoria giggled as a new stripper strutted out dressed like a cop.
A sheer bra, a plastic badge, a micro skirt that barely counted as a napkin. Handcuffs spun in her fingers while that awful siren sound blasted through the speakers.
My skin was damp with sweat. I could feel it rolling down my back as my gaze flicked toward the hallway again.
Ten minutes. He’d been gone for ten fucking minutes.
Nicholas groaned. The stripper shoved him into the booth and slapped the cuffs on.
“I’m gonna—” he whispered.
I stood up. “I need a cigarette.”
“You said you quit,” Victoria blinked.
“I did,” I lied. “I just need?…?air. Or space. Or both.”
“Okay, well let me come with you?—”
“No!” Too fast. Too loud. I caught myself and tried to fix it. “I mean, Nicholas is about to puke, and he’ll need you to hold his hair or his hand or whatever.”
“Vic,” Nicholas moaned. “I think I—” He didn’t finish. He gagged, then painted the stripper’s thighs with tequila and regret. She shrieked like he’d stabbed her. Victoria screamed louder.
I turned, walking out quickly. Let them clean up their mess. I had my own, and it was already eating me alive.
As I stormed down the same hallway he’d vanished into, the pink lights washed everything in a soft, pornographic glow, which felt fitting since my heart was somewhere in my heels and I was two seconds from losing the last of my dignity.
The music shifted to something slow and moaning. Of course it did.
My brain was already painting the scene in high definition: Him, legs spread, head tilted back, the blonde grinding against him, tits in his face, her fingernails on his chest. I could practically hear him grunt.
I wanted to scream. Or slap myself. Or both.
I braced myself, heartbeat crawling up my throat, already tasting bile. There were three doors. Just three. One of them held the heartache I’d paid for.
