Page 40 of The Autumn We Fell in Love

The lead shrugs. “It’s good marketing. Customers love knowing when a person is selling the thing that changed their own life.” He cocks a single bristly eyebrow at me. “That’s not going to be a problem, is it, to bring your partner?”

I shake my head even though I shouldn’t, even though I should confess, even though I should tell these men that they’re not the right investors for Blush. “No, it won’t be a problem at all,” I say instead.

He grins at me. “See you in a week, Ms. Meade.”

“Yeah,” I say in a distant voice as the men depart, one of them throwing a stack of money down to cover the check.

I sway on the spot, looking at the stack of cash on the table.

I’m doing this for the money, I tell myself. I’m doing this to survive. No, to thrive. On my terms.

That’s why I created Blush — to make my own way in the world, to put my skills to use in meeting my needs on my terms, not that of some bloodsucking tech firms.

But now I’ve gone and muddied the waters big time. I’ve got seven days to decide if I’m going to bail on the investors or try to come up with a man.

There’s really no question, though. Blush is my ticket out of my family’s generations of poverty.

I’ve got to get a man.

Sure, I could try to use Blush. That’s what it’s for. But its algorithms take time, and time is the one thing I don’t have.

I’m going to have to apply other methods.

There’s no doubt I’m going to do what the investors require. The only question now is how the hell I’m going to do it.

Laurent

When I enrolled at Yale University five years ago, I knew my higher education would enrich my life in a myriad of ways. I was confident that it would open doors for me, help me form important connections, and set me on an impeccable trajectory for the rest of my life.

I never would have guessed that I’d end up as an exotic dancer.

But here I am, one of the most popular, uh,performersat Fine As Wine Strip Club and Wine Bar in San Pablo, California.

Yeah. It’s as classy as it sounds.

But because the place touts itself as a wine bar, it attracts higher-brow customers. That means more cash for me.

Squinting against the lights and blinking sweat out of my eyes, I perform a back-hook spin around the pole I’m dancing on. The crowd hollers in appreciation and money rains upon the stage. Dismounting the pole with a deft tumble, I bow and sweep up the money before exiting stage left.

“Damn, that was a good set,” my fellow dancer Tonio says as I breeze by seeking a towel to dry my sweat. He follows. “You picked up some new moves.”

“Yeah, I watched a few YouTube videos.” I deposit my earnings in the tiny safe Fine As Wine gives each of its employees.

Tonio shakes his head. “Man, you can learn anything on YouTube these days.”

Anything except how a Yale graduate ended up as a boy toy, I’m tempted to growl. Instead, I say, “It’s pretty amazing.”

“Hey, me and some of the other dancers are going out for drinks after our shift. You want in?”

I consider Tonio. He’s the closest thing I have to a friend in this place. With his warm brown eyes, smooth olive skin, and lean but defined abs, he’s as much of a club favorite as I am. He’s a good guy, like most of the folks who work here.

I’m tempted to say yes, to let off some steam after work with the few people who really know what this life is like.

But I can’t.

Because if my family found out what I was doing, it would just about kill them. And they’re who I’m doing this for. They’re depending on me, but that doesn’t mean I have to inform them about this side of my life that would only make them feel ashamed, and ashamed of me.

I’ve got to keep a low profile. That’s why I work in San Pablo when my family’s vineyard is in Sonoma. Here the bustle of the city keeps my secrets — as long as I don’t stick my neck out.

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