Catching Sin, page 5
“I have another idea in mind.”
I stand now, finishing off my drink while my eyes stay locked on his. It’s too good not to finish and I enjoy making him wait. “I’m in,” I agree, like it’s my decision to make. It’s not. He’s got me by the short and curlies. In more ways than one with this. “What do you want me to do?”
“Hire her as your personal assistant at Turner Hotels.”
I furrow my eyebrows before I can stop my reaction. That’s it?
He notes my confusion and smirks. “Thought I was going to ask you for something bigger, huh? Don’t mistake this favor as something insignificant, Maddox. Hire her. Keep close tabs on her. Get her out of my club and out of my life. For good. Tell no one.” He takes a step forward and his eyes narrow. “And keep your fucking hands to yourself. Just because I don’t want her anymore doesn’t make her open game.”
Too late.
“Understood.”
Conti doesn’t respond. He just crosses his mammoth office, back over to his desk, and takes a seat. “She’s waitressing at the club tonight. Go there and tell her about her new position. I will instruct Carla to fire her shortly before you arrive.”
Something isn’t right. It can’t be that simple. I mean, having Starshine around me all the time and not being able to touch her is not simple. But still . . . something is seriously wrong with this situation. It has to be. Conti smiles like the devil he really is and for the first time since I set foot into this office, I realize just how screwed I am.
Six
ISABEL
* * *
“You can’t be serious,” I say, my jaw dropped open, my eyes wide with shock. “Fired?”
Carla looks as distraught as I feel. “I’m so sorry, mi hija. That’s what he said.”
I lean back against the wall, the thunderous sound of the base coupled with the scent of cigar smoke and the fact that I’m going to be homeless very soon making my head spin. How could he do this to me? It was one dance. One night. You volunteered, the unhelpful voice in my head reminds me. I could have asked Carla to find someone else, then I wouldn’t be out of a job. I’d just wanted an ounce of freedom.
Well, you got it. Ugh, that wasn’t helpful at all. Why couldn’t my brain ever be on my side in my moment of need? “Can I finish out my shift tonight?”
“Yes. He said tonight was your last night.”
That son of a bitch! Now, I’m going to have to go and grovel. That’s what he’s after. That’s what he wants. My total and complete submission. I can’t do it. He already holds so much over my head, such as Justin’s entire future. He dangles it in front of my face like a juicy bone, using him as the ultimate form of manipulation, knowing I’ll do anything to ensure he’s on course. If it weren’t for Justin, I wouldn’t have let Conti continue to have the upper hand. Hell, I would have left the second I graduated high school.
Tears burn the back of my eyes, but I won’t let them fall. Not here, not ever.
“If you need money—”
“I don’t,” I interrupt her quickly. “I’ll find something else. I’ll be fine.”
I wish her expression didn’t betray her level of skepticism at my bold statement. Carla has her suspicions about my relationship with Conti, especially after he forced me to quit dancing and had me sit with him last week. Occasionally, he’ll pick one of the girls to sit by his side, but he’s never treated them like a submissive pet the way he does me. Hell, he might even fuck them for all I know. But he’s never forbidden any of them from dancing up on that stage. He hires them to do that, after all.
I started working at Infinity as a hair-and-makeup girl when I was sixteen, then a bartender once I turned eighteen. Then a waitress. Then a dancer for all of three weeks before Conti caught me. But turnover in this business is high. None of the girls who are here now as dancers were here when I was pulled from the stage. They know nothing.
Carla, on the other hand, has been working here since before I started all those years ago.
“Talk to him, mi hija. He cares for you. He was just upset about the dancing. It’s my fault. I knew better, but I never thought he’d find out if it was just one night. The girls needed the money your dancing brings in.”
I give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll talk to him,” I promise. “But it’s probably for the best. I wasn’t making a lot as a waitress anyway.” I glance over my shoulder and then back at her. “I need to get back out there. Don’t tell the other girls yet, okay?”
She nods. “I’ll wait until later.” Carla tugs me in for a hug. “If you need me for anything, please promise you’ll ask. I’m always here for you.”
“I know. I will,” I lie. Her world is nearly as messy as mine. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
Carla releases me, and I numbly work my way back through the throngs of tables filled with men. Summer is on stage and I’m grateful the patrons are distracted. I need a minute to get myself together. I’m tempted to just walk out now, but I need whatever money I can get my hands on tonight. And then I need a plan.
An hour goes by, and despite the tediousness of serving drinks, I can’t think. I just keep cycling back to the same question. Why? Why would he do this? I texted Justin, worried that if my situation was so drastically altered maybe his was as well. But it’s the middle of the night there and he didn’t reply to my “Hey.”
I’ll have to find Conti tomorrow.
It’s as simple and as impossible as that.
One of these days, I’m going to tell Conti what I really think of him. And then he’ll pull out a gun. Or better yet, strangle me to death. At least then I won’t have to fight this chronic fear and indigestible malaise. The lead coating my stomach like an antacid will be gone. And when I take a deep breath, it won’t hurt so fucking much.
Three years.
I just need to hang on for another three years.
I swallow down a sob. I haven’t cried in years. I won’t let this moment be the one that breaks me. It’s all so ironic. The man who I naïvely once believed was my salvation will be the one who kills me once and for all. And the worst thing is, there is nothing I can do to stop it.
“Evening, Starshine.”
I close my eyes. Not tonight. Please, Lord, if you haven’t given up on me completely, not tonight.
“Can we go somewhere to talk?”
“I’m working.” I don’t bother glancing up when I answer him. I just carry my empty tray back over to the bar.
“I’m willing to pay for your time.”
I laugh bitterly. “I don’t do lap dances anymore, and I don’t fuck patrons.” Or anyone, for that matter. Getting involved with a man is as ridiculous a notion as escape. Didn’t I mention that to you already, Maddox? Oh, I left that part out? My bad. I’m rocking my pity party hard tonight. “Go away, Maddox.” I don’t need more of an audience.
He sighs. It’s heavy and hard and annoyed. Maybe a bit tired, too. Or maybe I’m projecting. “That’s not what I’m here for. I promise. I just want to talk about a job proposition.”
Is he fucking psychic?
“You don’t know me well enough to offer me anything other than me spreading my legs.”
Now he growls. “Stop it. Stop that shit now. It makes me fucking insane. You’re not spreading your legs for anyone. Me included. So, go find us a quiet space where I can talk to you. I’ll pay.” He thrusts a handful of hundreds into my peripheral vision. “Is three thousand enough?”
More than enough. The champagne room is twelve hundred for an hour with a single girl. The club gets nine hundred, and the dancer gets the other three. It goes up by three hundred a girl. If he’s paying me three thousand . . .
Who carries that kind of cash around unless they’re like Conti?
“Fine,” I grouse, like I’m just so done with him being here that his money is inconsequential. “Follow me.”
I take his outstretched hand and tuck it back into his pocket before he gets jumped for the cash. Then I cackle. Out loud. No one in their right mind would jump Maddox. He’s a mountain.
“Are you okay?”
No. I’m really not. I think I’m finally losing it. I’m stuck between rock bottom and the hardest place. “I’m fine.” I shut my mouth and find Carla. “I’m taking room three for an hour.”
She eyes Maddox for a long hard moment and then turns her gaze back to me. “No. You’re absolutely not.”
“He’s a paying customer. Maddox, give Carla twelve-hundred dollars please. The rest you can give me in tips.”
Carla’s eyes widen, but she extends her hand and takes his money. Probably because my eyes plead with her. I need the money and she knows it and Maddox probably knows it. That’s all there is to this moment. I’ll dance for him for an hour and then I’ll never have to see him again because I won’t be working here anymore. I should have never let him drive me home. I most definitely should not have let him buy me dinner or kiss my neck or look into my eyes like he gave a shit.
He’s a soldier and I’m a fool.
“Room three is yours. Give me five minutes and I’ll have a bottle brought in.”
“Save it,” Maddox says coolly. “I’m not here for champagne.”
Of course he’s not. Carla doesn’t even bat an eyelash. She just smiles warmly like it’s all good and waves us on our way.
“He’ll have an expensive bourbon on the rocks.” I have no idea what make he likes, but I know Carla can improvise.
“I’ll bring it straight away.”
“No thanks. Again, I’m not here for that.”
I shrug. “Suit yourself. It’s your private show.”
I picked room three for a reason. It’s the smallest of our champagne rooms. Typically, men—usually in large groups given the cost—come into the champagne rooms requesting multiple women. They expect bar or bottle service. Maddox hasn’t requested anything other than my presence and a conversation. We enter the room and I instantly turn on him, pushing him down onto the curved bench seat. His eyes lock on mine as he unzips his hoodie, removing it.
I shouldn’t be excited by this. But I am.
It’s the most alive I’ve felt since I was on that stage last week. In this private, intimate setting, I’m willing to play whatever game Maddox is after—especially for that money and those heated looks he can’t help but shower me in. I’ll make him wish he never met me.
“What music would you like to me to play?” I ask, watching him as I turn on the small tablet affixed to the wall in the corner. “We have everything.”
“Rachmaninoff?”
I laugh despite myself. Has Conti told him everything about me? Fucking bastard. “He doesn’t do much for strippers. If classical is your thing, I’m sure we could rig up The Nutcracker and I can do the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.”
“What if I just want to talk?”
I glance up over my left shoulder, eyeing the cameras and microphones honed-in on us. “They’ll pull your ass out of here. This room is for music, dancing, and stripping.”
He holds up his remaining cash like a fan. It’s an offering. A bribe. “They won’t kick me out of here with this. Sit down. Let’s talk.”
“Didn’t get what you were after the other night? Funny, I thought we talked plenty.”
“Starshine.” It’s a warning. Probably for me to shut up and not mention our dinner when there are ears everywhere. Fortunately, that’s not my name and I don’t have to obey him. “What if I just want to talk without the dancing?”
“And what if I just want to dance without the talking?” I can’t talk to him. I know he’s here at Conti’s bidding. And I hate all things Conti. Including Maddox. Instead, I queue up the iPad and put on Porn Star Dancing. If ever there was Vegas trash that women like me are forced to dance to, this is it. Maddox frowns, sitting back in his seat as I climb onto the stage in the center of the room. I’m wearing my waitress outfit—a tiny black skirt and tank top that stops just below my tits, leaving my belly completely exposed.
“I don’t want this,” he repeats, a bit more emphatically. “I just want to talk to you.”
I don’t care. There are no coincidences. The fact that he’s here the same night Conti fires me . . . Nope. Not having it. The stupid beat and horrible lyrics begin, and I jump up, locking my legs around the brass pole, swinging around and around.
“Please stop.”
“You paid for the room.” He stares me down and I drop my feet to the platform, facing him before I spin around, my hands falling as I bend forward. I angle down, my back arched, almost into downward-facing dog so he catches the crest of my ass and my black thong as it rides up my ass. Peeking at him from between my spread legs, he narrows his eyes at my cheeky grin. “No? Not happy yet? I can fix that.”
“Starshine—”
“That’s not my name. In this club I’m known as Star.” Righting myself, I spin around to face him, slowly slipping off the top of my half-assed tank and tossing it away. I’m left in only my black bra and skirt, which is still more than he saw me in last week, so what the hell is the difference at this point? Two things can happen in here. One, Conti finds out and loses his shit. Two, Maddox gets to the point faster and leaves. I’m banking on both.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his fingers raking through his short hair. “I need to talk to you. Not watch you strip naked.”
I turn around, bending over backward, my palms hitting the floor on either side of my face, my tits practically at my chin as they spill out of my bra. I curl my legs up, one by one, wrapping them around the pole. I roll my body once against the cold, metal meeting his eyes and savoring the flame I catch in them. My legs glide up, my hips undulating to the wretched beat of the music. Maddox licks his lips, and I lift my upper body, my hands grasping the top of the pole and swinging around it, sliding down slowly until my ass lands on the plastic platform.
“How did you learn how to dance like this?”
“I’ve been working here forever. The girls taught me a thing or two over the years.”
“How old are you?”
I laugh, rolling my back and hips in his direction. “That’s not a real question, Maddox. It’s certainly not a job proposition. Try again.”
He’s a mess. All flushed cheeks, full lips, tousled hair and firm, hard body. Christ. The man is making me wet and he’s not even doing anything other than looking pissed off.
“Fine. How’s this then? I’d like to offer you a job as my executive assistant.”
Bending forward, I set my palms on the red floor, showing him an obscene amount of cleavage. Straightening my legs, I hoist my ass in the air. My head raises, and our eyes meet. “I don’t even know what that position entails. I’ve never been an assistant, let alone an executive assistant. I’m calling bullshit. What are you really doing here? And why tonight of all nights?”
I climb up the pole until I’m practically doing a handstand again, then swivel my hips against the pole in slow, hypnotic circles to whatever stupid, inane song comes on after the previous crap. I wish Maddox would leave. Just get up, toss me the money and go. Any high I was riding from dancing is starting to wane. I don’t want him to see me like this anymore. I don’t want to dance sexy. I just want to go home and be alone, lose myself for a bit in my misery before I pick myself up and start again.
“Did you graduate high school?”
I pause, peeking up to glare. “Yes. I graduated high school.” With honors, asshole.
“Then you’re qualified.” I flip over and stand up, pressing my back into the pole to gaze down on him. He’s so broad. So tall. So beautiful. All muscles and power and smiles that promise softness and devotion. Such crap. Everything about this man is a lie. I bet that whole grocery-store-slash-dinner thing was as planned out as everything else. And I fell for it. Men are the worst.
I quirk an eyebrow, tilting my head and folding my arms over my chest to try to cover some of myself up, while retaining the non-existent dignity I wish I had.
“Somehow I doubt a high school diploma is the only qualification needed. Let me clue you in on something. I’m not the hooker with the heart of gold. I already told you, I don’t fuck men for money. If you think I’m a stripper working her way through college, you’re wrong again. My higher education was earned here on this stage and it’s the only one I’ll ever be allowed to obtain. I’m not the cliché you’re after. There’s no saving me. I don’t know what you’re really doing here, Maddox, but I’m not the girl for your fake job. I have no experience. I have no education and no skills. Leave. Now. Please,” I add before I can stop myself. This man. He cuts me down. Weakens me with bullshit pretenses.
His expression softens. “Please talk to me. Come sit here with me and talk.” He pats his thigh. It’s not in a “come heel” way. It’s in a “I want to feel you close” way. It’s the same expression he had right before his mouth met my neck. I want to tell him to fuck off, but I suddenly need the contact more than my pride. I climb down off the stage and crawl over him. My legs spread, skirt hiking up, nudging over his firm, muscular thighs.
I sit back, and he smiles. His hand climbs steadily up and I shake my head. “You can’t touch me, Mister Sinclair.”
That hand drops just as quickly, and he nods, laughing lightly, before growling like the caveman he is. “God, you’re so tempting.”
“That’s the point. What are you really doing here?”
“I already told you. I want you to come work for me as my executive assistant. The job includes a good salary and excellent benefits.”
I smirk, sitting up straighter as I inch up his thighs. “And the catch?”
He half-groans, reaching up to stop me, but then seems to think better of it. He drops his hands. “You have to work for me.”
