Page 24 of The Billionaire and the Stripper (The Manhattan Billionaires)

“No boyfriends at the club, Celine. You know the rules.”

“He’s just a friend. I’ve been having a bit of trouble lately, and he wants to make sure I’m alright,” she explained hastily.

Bo looked at me in surprise.

“Have you seen the size of my bouncers, Mr. Donovan? They don’t allow anyone near my dancers. I take good care of my girls.”

“I’m sure you do, but I’d like to stay if that’s okay with you,” I insisted politely.

“I don’t mind. As long as you pay cover and keep the tab rolling,” he replied around his cigar.

Celine shot me a knowing look.

“Told you,” she murmured.

Bo pointed his cigar at me.

“And I’m warning you not to start any fights. You so much as look at a customer with intent and I’ll have you kicked out on your ass.”

“You have my word,” I replied sincerely, not knowing what that promise was going to cost me.

Bo escorted me downstairs while Celine went to get ready for her act.

The club was done up in various shades of red and gold, and the inside looked even more opulent than the outside. The stage was big and well-lit, with poles scattered all over it.

I found a booth near the back of the room and settled in. The first few acts were group acts. And then, there was a roar of applause as the host announced the next act.

“Boys and girls, give it up for the fiery, the spicy, the gorgeous Blaze,” he yelled, and the crowd went wild.

Most of them seemed to be regulars because they called out to the dancers by name. I glanced at the stage absently and found Celine sashaying down the ramp like a supermodel. Blaze was her stage name, which was a good thing because I suddenly hated the idea that these punks might call out her real name when they jerked off to her memory.

She looked around the room and when her eyes met mine, her footsteps faltered for a second before she recovered quickly. She didn’t look at me again as she grabbed the pole and began her act. Doja Cat pounded through the speakers as Celine started dancing. I stared at her mesmerized.

She had the crowd eating out of her hand. I had always thought of strip clubs and strippers as tacky, but there was nothing tacky about Celine. She was a goddess. An artist.

And then she began to take off her clothes. A collective moan echoed through the room, and I wanted to kill every man staring at her salaciously. This was why she didn’t want me to come. And she was right. I couldn’t take this.

A man on the table next to me hailed a passing waiter.

“How much for a lap dance with her?” he asked, and I wanted to pound his face into the table.

“Twenty bucks,” said the waiter, sounding bored.

Enough was enough. I got up angrily and walked over to where Bo sat at a corner table. I threw down a bunch of hundreds.

“There’s plenty more where these came from,” I said coldly. “From now on, all her lap dances are mine. Only mine. I’ll pay for them whether I’m here or not. And if I catch you forcing Celine to give lap dances to anyone else, I’ll burn your club down.”

I didn’t care about his mob connections. All I cared about was Celine.

Bo stared at me unhappily.

“I knew you were trouble from the moment I saw you. Just a friend, my ass. At least, you didn’t start a fight. I have to give you that.”

I didn’t tell him how close I had come to punching the man who wanted a lap dance.

At the door, I took one last look at the woman who held me in her thrall and didn’t even know it.

When she met my eyes, she turned away without even acknowledging me. Then, with her back to me, she shimmied her hips and lifted one arm high in the air. She turned her head to make sure I was still looking at her before she raised a red-tipped middle finger and rotated it in the air. That was Celine’s way of saying I told you so.

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