Page 31 of Sin

11

THE MUSIC IS LOUD as I enter the employee’s lounge on Friday, walls vibrating with each pulsing note that comes through each speaker. There’s a party tonight, a celebratory function with a CEO of a tech company—a bachelor’s sendoff that includes a free-for-all with the staff.

A bride and groom will each own a floor tonight to have what they call a last hoorah.

I’ve been dreading this night; I know I’m on the schedule for a group dance, and I’m not looking forward to it.

It feels wrong. Like somehow I’m cheating, which is ridiculous.

That kiss is messing with me. His thoughtful gift throwing me for a loop.

He sent me a brand new iPhone when my old cell was about to crap out. But it was more than the thoughtful gesture—it’s the text he sent after that gave my heart a jump start.

You deserve the best, sweetheart. End of.

The man is an enigma I want to solve, even though I should stay away. It doesn’t slip my mind that his package arrived fifteen minutes after my brother and father left for God knows where. That he somehow knew that I’ve been eyeing a rose gold one, setting a small chunk each week outside of my moving fund to do just that.

My father doesn’t know just how much I make. They have no idea that the waitress salary they think I have doesn’t even make up an eighth of what Liam pays me.

The phone in my hand beeps with an incoming text, which I ignore. I can’t give in. Must fight it, whatever this is, even though I want nothing more than to get lost in him.

It’s a week later and I can still feel the ghost of his lips on mine; I can’t get him out of my head. He’s there and refusing to give me a single moment of reprieve. Swear I can smell his woodsy cologne inside my room when I wake up each day.

Feel his lingering presence.

I’m going insane.

Every single day since then, all I do is think. I let him steal my first kiss, and it’s creating ideas in my head—wants that before meeting him never came to mind. What I didn’t think is possible for me until I’m far away from this place: hope.

For more. For peace. For everything.

Back at his house, the way he held my brother under his control, was sexy. Made me feel safe and untouchable—they couldn’t treat me like dirt. As if I’m their property.

Malcolm is powerful and rich. He commands respect by merely entering a room, which is something I never thought to find attractive in a man.

He’s not like Alton and the idiots he associates with.

My brother and father haven’t spoken a single word to me since that awkward brunch. A few glares from Alton, yes, but no reprimand or recrimination. Instead, they spend their days in my brother’s office trying to figure out who stole and set his car on fire. There’s been yelling, cursing—glass smashed, but all behind a closed door, and that was more than okay with me.

Those few days of calm were a godsend. While they slept, I took care of the house and their mess, staying out of the way the moment they rose from sleep.

“Get it together, girl,” I whisper under my breath, trying to shake off this feeling that sits heavy in the pit of my stomach.

I can see Stacy inside the employee dressing room with another girl from where I stand, one that I met just briefly the day I came asking for work. Neither notice me, and that’s okay. The last thing I need is another person asking me how my night with Malcolm went.

Each girl is wearing tonight’s uniform, which consists of a ruffled pair of booty shorts, tassels, and stilettos, all in white. While the men on staff usually wear a variation of boxers or briefs depending on the request, I’ll take a wild guess that theirs tonight will be all-black and tight.

Everyone that works here is beautiful, and so much more comfortable in their near-naked state than I will ever be. More uneasiness settles deep into my bones. More doubt on how I will get through the night.

You need the money. You need it to get out. It’s my mantra. On repeat as I square my shoulders and take another step toward the room.

My plan of going unseen doesn’t last long when my foot catches on the threshold, and at once, their low whispers cease. Both girls look at me.

One with amusement, the other like she’s trying hard to figure me out. It’s almost comical, and had I not been freaking out about getting up on a stage, my giggles would’ve burst forth.

“Hi.” I give a small wave, walking over to the wall where our performance schedules are. Skimming the name list, I find mine, and pause. What the…?

London:

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