Page 10 of His Little Secret in Discretion
Not the broken ones. The overworked ones. The ones who bend until they break just to survive. Why would they? When they've had their fun, they turn to the next girl with just as much baggage and no attachments. When they’re done, they move on to the next pretty distraction.
I shoved the thought away, grabbed a water bottle, and headed out.
Whatever that night had been with Mr. Porter, it was over. Just a fling. Just fun while it lasted.
And I had to remember: I lived in the real world. The kind where billionaires don’t give girls like me a second glance.
“Two old fashioneds,” one of the men said, leaning on the bar.
I gathered the ingredients, giving him a quick look. “Just because you order an old fashioned doesn’t mean you have to look the part too.”
They laughed, and one muttered, “Well, aren’t you amusing?”
“You’re supposed to tell me I’m pretty too.” I winked, sliding the drinks over.
“That you are…” he added, his eyes lingering a little too long.
I grinned through it, but as I turned away, a hand caught mine. Something small and folded slipped into my palm. I resisted the urge to jerk back and plastered on my smile. The tip was generous, $150, but it didn’t make up for the way their eyes clung to my ass and chest like I was just another item on the menu.
As I tucked the bill away, Jennifer sauntered over, stage makeup still glinting under the low lights. She was a favorite here, and she loved making sure everyone knew it, never failed to tell us every shift.
“Big boss wants to see you in his office,” she said, her tone edged with something sharp.
“Doesn’t he know I’m busy?”
She shrugged, bored. “He doesn’t care. Lily will cover you.”
I exhaled hard, handing the last slips to Lily before weaving my way toward the back. Past lockers, past the doors of private rooms where muffled music and laughter leaked through. By the time I reached the office, the air already reeked of cigar smoke and cheap, over-sprayed cologne.
I knocked.
“Come in, sweetheart,” Vaughn’s voice called.
He leaned against his desk when I entered, arms folded casually like he had all the time in the world. He was in his early forties, good-looking in a way some women fell for, but I saw through his charm. His figure was a bit lanky and slender, but he was fit.
He reminded me more of a pimp than a businessman, and the smirk tugging at his mouth only made him uglier.
It made things worse when my mind betrayed me with a comparison I couldn’t shake: Blaine… the man of my dreams and in them. Broad shoulders filling out his shirt, that cocky smirk balanced with seduction and humor.
There was virtually no comparison.
I shut the door, forcing myself forward. “You wanted to see me, sir?” I asked softly, trying not to wrinkle my nose at the thick scent still hanging in the air.
“Good night so far?” he asked casually.
“Not bad,” I murmured, and he nodded like he’d expected that answer.
“That’s good. That’s good.” He took a long drag from his cigar, eyes never leaving me. “You’ve probably noticed, we’ve had an uptick in clients lately.”
I gave a small nod. Of course I had. The club always attracted money, but lately it was a different breed. Wealthy men who left their wedding vows at the door and came hunting for something else.
“And you,” he went on, smoke curling from his lips, “seem to have become a favorite among the new crowd.”
My stomach knotted. I didn’t like where this was going.
“With these newcomers… private room sales are lagging. They stay on the floor. Watching you.”
I froze. “I don’t think I understand, sir.”
