Page 9 of His Little Secret in Discretion
“There’s that smile,” I murmured, hands sliding down her waist.
“Don’t you have to leave soon?” she asked, a touch of disappointment lacing her voice.
“I do,” I admitted, pressing another kiss against her skin, “but there’s something else I’d rather do…”
She swatted my shoulder lightly, though her smile betrayed her. “Killian is going to kill you.”
I smirked, lifting her onto the counter, caging her in with my body. “He can choke me out at the office all he wants… but right now?” My voice dropped. “I want something else to suffocate me.”
Chapter four
Maia
Stepping into the dance studio, I was immediately met with squeals and little arms wrapping around me. The kids always greeted me like I’d been gone for weeks instead of a day, and I hugged each of them back before gently nudging my way toward the dressing room.
This afternoon’s lineup was packed with jazz, ballroom, and contemporary. My coworker, Brielle, handled ballet, pointe, and modern. If I had enough time before my shift at the club, I’d sneak into one of her classes just to keep my own skills sharp.
In front of the mirror, I pulled my hair into a low bun and sighed. Two jobs, two worlds, both just to keep me afloat. Brielle understood; she worked at the studio during the day and the library at night while raising a child. I worked here and then poured drinks and waited tables until well past midnight.
The money at the club wasn’t bad. The tips were even better. But compared to the other girls? I barely scraped by. They made the real money, working the backrooms, entertaining private clients, taking the stage. Sometimes it was tempting, especially when bills stacked higher than my paychecks.
But lap dances for married men twice my age? Men with kids waiting at home? I couldn’t bring myself to cross that line.
As I finished getting ready, I stepped out of the dressing room only to be stopped by Madam Alexandrova, the studio’s owner. She held out an envelope.
“Take it. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
I frowned. “Madam A, we don’t get paid until next week.”
“Brielle told me the same thing ten minutes ago. You girls are too stubborn for your own good. Consider it an advance.”
“We’ve been getting advances for the last few months,” I admitted, guilt twisting in my stomach.
Her sharp eyes cut into me. “And if I didn’t care about you, you wouldn’t be getting it at all. Take it, or I’ll force you.”
I took the envelope reluctantly, guilt weighing heavier than the paper in my hand. I hated pity. Hated how dependent Brielle and I… and half the girls here were on Madam A. Without her, I wouldn’t make rent, wouldn’t have food in my fridge. But every time I saw the tired shadows under her eyes, I felt responsible.
A sharp slap landed on my shoulder. I jumped.
“Stop overthinking everything,” she barked, shooing me off before I could spiral further into my pity party.
Back in the dressing room, I shoved the envelope into my bag. The guilt lingered, but so did the relief. A small smile tugged at my lips despite myself. Without her, I don’t know what I’d do.
After my shift, I rushed home, showered, and dressed for the club. Black high-waisted jeans, a fitted long-sleeved tee, heels. It was neutral, safe enough for me to go unnoticed. Grabbing my bag, I paused in front of the bathroom mirror, fluffing my loose waves.
My hand drifted to my neck. The faint hickey had almost faded, one of the many marks Blaine Porter had left. For the first time all week, I didn’t need makeup to cover it.
I wasn’t like the other girls at the club, not really. I tried to separate myself from them, as bad as it sounded. They went home with clients, kept their bills paid in cash and gifts. I told myself I was different. Better. But the truth?I was worse. Because I was waiting. Waiting for him.
I thought about the way his hands held me, how he made me feel seen, cherished even, his humor woven so seamlessly into the rough edges of his dominance.
And I hated myself for it, but I thought about his face too. That sharp jaw you could cut glass on, cheekbones so precise they didn’t look real, the kind of piercing blue eyes that pinned you in place until you forgot how to breathe.
Dark hair always a little messy, like he’d just come from a bedroom session. He was unfairly beautiful… untouchable. And yet he’d touched me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, because even remembering his smile… the cocky tilt of his mouth, the dimples that only showed when he was teasing, it was enough to make me ache. Even as I remembered, I knew better than to expect anything.
Men like Blaine Porter or Killian Russel don’t call girls like me back.
