Page 11 of The Billionaire and the Stripper (The Manhattan Billionaires)

“Sure. Is your room on the same floor?” I asked absently, as I texted Brandon to ask if Rose had settled in nicely. I might have no faith in his parenting skills, but his girlfriend, Sarah, was the bomb. She was a lovely person and a wonderful mother.

“You can have the bigger bedroom. I’ll take this one,” replied Marcus, heading for the door in front of us.

“Wait! What the hell is this?” I asked in confusion.

“This is the Royal Suite, Celine,” he said, throwing open the door to reveal a large, ornately decorated sitting room, with two doors on the side. “Those doors lead to the bedrooms.”

“We’re sharing a room?” I asked, with a gulp.

Marcus shook his head kindly.

“Just a suite, don’t worry. It’s safer this way. I’m only a shout away from you, and you can still have your privacy.”

My mind went blank at the thought of how much such a suite would be costing him. We had a frickin’ private elevator that opened into our suite. I took a deep breath because I didn’t want to humiliate myself by passing out on the very expensive carpet. With my luck, I’d drool all over it and have to sell both my kidneys to replace it.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Thank you, Marcus,” I said softly because there was nothing else to say.

I could hardly ask him what time the breakfast buffet ended because that butler would serve me breakfast even at midnight if I liked, and he’d do it with a smile.

My phone buzzed as I shut the bedroom door behind me. It was Brandon.

Rose is fine. She fell asleep without any trouble. Celine, we need to talk.

Ugh, I thought, making a face at the phone.

I was in no mood for another of his lectures. It really hurt his pride to know that the mother of his child took her clothes off for money, especially now that he was lobbying for the post of Assistant DA.

Let’s talk tomorrow, I replied and threw my phone on the cute bedside table.

I barely had the energy to change into my PJs and brush my teeth, and I fell asleep as soon as I got into bed.

I slept badly, with disturbing dreams about being chased around Queens by a gun-wielding maniac. They all ended the same way, with me dropping Rose just as my assailant caught up with me. I woke up covered in sweat and cursed under my breath as I forced myself to get out of bed. It was still early. Barely six am. I threw the curtains open and saw that it was still dark outside.

My bedroom looked out over Central Park and it looked very inviting without the daytime crowds, but I wasn’t foolish enough to go for a run so early. It was like asking to be mugged. I debated getting back into bed, but I didn’t think I could handle another scary dream without losing my mind. So, I brushed my teeth and changed into my leotard and six-inch Pleasers - the best brand of stripper heels I could afford.

I was working on a new routine at the club because I had a feeling my old one was slightly stale. Since there were only so many ways to take your clothes off in front of a roomful of men, I liked to change my choreography from time to time.

I wished I had brought my portable pole, but I wasn’t sure the ceiling of the hotel would take the strain. Most of the motels I had stayed in were basically built of cardboard and held together with a bit of putty and a prayer. If I’d known Marcus was planning to bring me to the Ritz Carlton, I would have packed it for sure. This ceiling looked strong enough to hold ten poles. For now, though, I’d have to make do with a chair and just practice my lap dance routine.

I pulled up my playlist and got to work, doing my limbering exercises first. But there wasn’t enough space in my bedroom to move freely. Who even needed such a big writing desk in addition to a seating area? Especially when there was a similar set-up in the sitting room. I picked up my mat and stomped out of my bedroom, wondering if the music would disturb Marcus. His door was firmly shut, but I didn’t want to take any chances, so I put on my giant headphones and moved a small coffee table out of the way to create some space in the sitting room for my routine.

I finished my warm-up and got into the routine. As I sashayed across the carpet while pretending it was my stage, I was reminded of the one thing I actually liked about this job. I hated the ogling men, the judgmental looks, and the body glitter. God, how I hated the body glitter! It goteverywhere. But the one thing that made it worth it - apart from the money - was the dancing.

I had always loved dancing, and while my mother had never been willing to pay for ballet lessons, I had been a natural at dance. It had taken me some time to overcome my natural shyness, but now I owned the stage from the moment I set foot on it. When I danced, I wasn’t a sex object. Not in my eyes, at least. I was an artist. A sexy, powerful goddess, in charge of my own destiny.

I dropped down into a low squat in front of the chair and held it as I shimmied my hips. I was so lost in the music and the movement that I didn’t even hear Marcus’s door open. I turned around and went down on my hands and knees to cat-crawl across the room, and my eyes came to rest on a pair of sneakers.

Shit! How long had he been standing there, I wondered as my eyes traveled up the length of the muscular legs attached to those sneakers.

From the shock on his face, it was clear that Marcus had been standing there long enough.

CHAPTER 5

MARCUS

What the…!

She was…

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