Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
But in Club Z, the walls come down. I’m me. The real me. I don’t have to pretend about what I want, or how I’m going to go about getting it. I still have to smile and laugh with the clientele, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not forced because this is what I want to do, and I’m happy to come to work, if that makes any sense. I look forward to my time here, and become the best version of myself when I’m on shift. It’s sad because working at Club Z is the opposite of what would be considered “appropriate” for a woman my age. Hell, it’s inappropriate for anyone, period. Instead, it’s my life outside that gets all the accolades, from my pre-med studies to the volunteer work that I do at the hospital, to the road races that I run as my hobby. Obviously, it’s all about appearing normal, whereas the real Emma Kincaid is kinky, naughty, and off-the-wall. But I can’t show it for fear of being judged.
A slight sigh escapes my lips. These thoughts are only getting me down, and I shake my head in the mirror before checking my outfit one last time. I can’t think like this because it’ll only make me hate myself and my life, even more than I already do. Better to put it out of my mind for now, at least. With another wry smile at my reflection, my fingers adjust my outfit, ensuring that everything’s in place.
At least my appearance is on point. My skin is glowy and flushed from the orgasm earlier, and my blue eyes are wide and inviting. Plus, I’m dressed sexy, but not over the top by Club Z standards. A plaid mini-skirt decorates my hips, stopping a few inches below my sweetest spot, and my girls are contained in a leather bralette that shows off their size and swing. My hair flows in a golden river down my back, and my make-up is light, with just a touch of lipstick and blush. But most of all, it’s my energy. I’m so happy and relaxed after the Red Room scene that I feel that I can conquer the world. Clients will be able to feel it too. They’ll be drawn to me like bees to honey, and I’m expecting to fend off quite a few men tonight.
With that, I exit the women’s locker room and walk down the carpeted hallway to an elevator at the end. Then, I get into the gilded cage, which pops me out at the staff entrance of the Lily Lounge on the second floor. Perfect. Taking a deep breath, I enter the darkened space and smile.
“Hey girl,” Julia greets over by the bar. “You look amazing.”
“You too,” I smile in return while walking over to grab a silver serving tray. “How’s the shift been so far?”
Julia shrugs and smiles again.
“Not bad. We had some new clients in from Venezuela.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised. “Why were they here, at Club Z?”
Julia winks while throwing her red hair over one shoulder.
“I don’t know because they were speaking Spanish for the most part. But they were gorgeous, girlfriend. Latin men with dark hair and bronzed skin are the best,” she says before doing a chef’s kiss with her fingers. “I hope they come back.”
I smile sassily.
“Well, we’ll have to pick up some Spanish in the meantime,” I say. “I can speak a little from volunteering at the hospital, but it’s just the basics.”
Julia nods, her eyes filled with wonder.
“I’m in awe of you, Emma. I can’t believe you go to school, work here, and also volunteer. Heck, this is my full-time gig and I can hardly manage that alone!”
I merely smile at the sassy redhead.
“If only you knew,” is my light reply before I turn away. A patron has entered my area, and I need to get to him. He’s seated, facing away from me, so I have a few seconds to collect myself as I stroll to his booth.
“Hello Sir,” I murmur with a coquettish smile when I’m finally in front of him. “What can I get –?”
That’s when all air whooshes out of my lungs because it’s him. The man with the smoldering gaze from the Red Room. In fact, he’s even sexier now that I can see all of him. He’s obviously tall, even while seated, and his hair is a charcoal black that seems to absorb all light. Those eyes are a piercing crystal blue, and his shoulders are broad in a suit jacket. The white button-down underneath only highlights the deep bronze of his skin, like he spends his days under the hot sun of St. Tropez.
But we’re in Minnesota, so where did this man come from? Oddly, he doesn’t seem surprised to see me at all.