Page 31 of Her Defiant Heart (Damaged Hearts 1)

Fuels me.

After I freshen up a little in the bathroom—take a pee, brush my hair, clean up the mascara smudges from beneath my eyes so I don’t look like a raccoon, and slick on a new coat of shiny pink lip-gloss—I decide I look pretty good. There’s a sparkle in my eyes that wasn’t there before, which I blame on last night with Rhett.

There’s also a glow in my cheeks that I attribute to my night with Rhett too. It’s so weird, how he did this to me. How much my evening with Rhett affected me. I didn’t know sex could be like this.

And now here I go, cheapening everything I did with Rhett by letting some perv customer from City Lights feel me up for seven thousand dollars. I’m prostituting myself. There’s nothing else to call it, right? I made Don promise he wouldn’t tell anyone about this deal, not even Savannah or Chuck. I feel bad enough for my choices—I don’t need their judgement too.

What else am I supposed to do? I’m broke, I need money, and this is the easiest way for me to make it. I know I said I don’t want to become a stripper, and what I’m about to do tonight is even worse, but I know for a fact that Savannah has done this sort of thing before. She’s confessed as much to me, though she doesn’t like to talk about it. But when a girl is in a predicament and needs cash fast, you have to take your opportunities where you can.

I can’t let my choices make me feel bad. Sometimes we have to do things we’re not proud of. It doesn’t mean that we’re bad people.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

After exiting the bathroom, I sneak into the private room Don instructed me to wait in and glance around, wrinkling my nose. It’s a little musty in here, meaning that the room isn’t used much, and I’m glad to see Don lit a candle before he left. I clean the room up even further, fluffing the cushions on the sleek black couch and turning on a few more lamps so it’s a little brighter, though the light bulbs are faded and dim at best. But if it’s too dark, the guy might try and do something extra sketchy. Better to be bright and put this asshole on display as much as possible.

Once I’m finished, I examine the room one more time, unable to fight the frown that takes over. This room is dingy, reminding me of a crappy motel room, but I only have so much to work with. I’m thankful I brought a bottle of water with me just in case I get thirsty. I would’ve brought my phone too, but I have nowhere to stash it and I didn’t want to leave it out so the guy can see it. Besides, not like anyone’s texting me right now. Not even Rhett.

Asshole.

There’s a knock on the door and before I can do anything, it swings open, and in walks one of the guys from the corner table I was working earlier, the one with the best view in the house. It’s the most attractive guy from the table, if I’m being honest. He’s probably hovering around fifty, with attractive smile wrinkles fanning from the corners of his hazel eyes and a thick head of hair sprinkled with salt and pepper. He’s clutching a full glass of amber-colored liquor, and I can tell he’s fit, his black button-down shirt and expensive-looking jeans showcasing a body that he takes care of.

Not necessarily my first choice, but at least he’s not some creepy, gross guy with bad breath and a pot belly.

“Hello.” He smiles as he approaches me and I smile back, mentally batting away the nerves that threaten to take over.

“Hi.” I discreetly check his left hand. Ring finger is empty and there’s no telltale white tan line there either, so hopefully that means he’s not married. I mean, there’s no guarantee, but I’m going to pretend he’s single.

Just like me.

“I’m Greg.” He holds out his hand and I take it, surprised by his firm shake. My fingers actually ache when he lets them go, and I’m tempted to shake them out.

“I’m Jen.”

He raises a brow. “Just Jen?”

“Just Jen,” I say with a nod. He doesn’t need to know any more about me than that. I hope he doesn’t think I’m going to share my life story, because this is about as much information he’s going to get out of me.

“I appreciated your excellent service tonight at our table, Jen.” He steps closer, so he’s standing directly in front of me. I can smell him. His cologne is expensive—no cheap Axe on this guy. And can you actually smell money on a person? Because this man reeks of it. “I couldn’t help but think what a pretty girl you are.”

I refuse to let his words bother me, but…he’s sort of creeping me out. This man could be my father. He’s definitely old enough. “Thank you,” I manage to say, stepping away from him and pointing toward the couch. “Would you like to have a seat? Get more comfortable?”

Greg takes a sip of his drink, contemplating me over the rim of the glass. “Did your boss tell you what I want from you?”

Guess he’s getting right down to business. Taking a deep breath, I say, “He mentioned you wanted to spend time with me this evening.”

“That’s true.” He contemplates me, his gaze roving over my body, lingering on my chest. Of course. Everyone stares at my tits—it’s part of the job. “But I asked for something very specific from you.”

A tremble moves through me at the tone of his voice. Damn Don for not telling me what’s really going on. “I’m sure I can accommodate your request.”

“I’m sure you can.” He’s standing in front of me again, reaching out and trailing his fingers down my upper arm. “I definitely want to see you naked.”

I swallow hard. Yes, I knew this was coming. Who’s going to pay ten grand and not get some pussy action? “Okay.” I reach for the waistband of my skirt, ready to shed it, but he places his hand over mine, stopping me.

“Not yet.” He smiles, a flash of blinding white in the dull yellow light of the room. “I want you to dance for me first.”

I slowly back away from him, my nervous laughter ringing in the tiny room. “Um, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, I definitely think so,” he says softly. “I’m sure you know how to move.”

---