Page 7 of VIP
Arlo
I was avoiding Cass, and he knew it. He threw me a glare from across the room as he mingled with the customers between sets. I pretended I hadn’t seen him and spun back toward the bar. Setting my empty tray down, I recited my customers’ orders to Danny.
As he poured a glass of scotch for me, he chuckled. “What did you do?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, playing clueless.
He jutted his chin toward Cass. “You and your bestie seem to be on the outs, and if he were looking at me like that, I would get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness before he started making a voodoo doll.”
I shook my head, chuckling at his exaggeration. “It’s nothing, really. He’s just pissed because I won’t gossip.”
“Mm,” he murmured, nodding. “You mean about how you left the club with a certain famous actor last night and haven’t said a word about what happened?” I speared him with a look, and he shrugged, not even a little chastised. “What? You can’t expect us to just pretend it never happened. Seriously, you’d be better off spilling the tea to your friend so you have someone on your side when the rest of us wolves come snapping at your heels. We won’t be satisfied until you start dishing that dirt. I want specific details about his size and endurance.”
I growled under my breath before snatching the last drink from his hand and loading up my tray. “Just butt out,” I snapped before stomping back out to the floor. I could hear him laughing behind me, but I wasn’t sure what he thought was so funny.
Last night, I had come home and crawled straight into bed. I even beat Cass home, so I just pretended I wasn’t there so I didn’t have to explain what happened. Because honestly? I had no clue what to say! One minute, I was getting down and dirty with Max in the parking lot, and the next thing I knew, some creepy dude was jumping out of the bushes and taking pictures of my ass! And then, a marriage proposal? Sort of?
What was I supposed to say when Max up and claimed that I was his, not just for one night but for life?
First thing this morning, I snuck out before Cass was awake, and I went straight down to the Q-Cup on the corner to buy the latest edition of every celebrity gossip magazine. I’d been expecting to see a picture of us on the front page, but there was nothing. Not even when I flipped through them did I find a single snapshot of what happened last night. Were we not newsworthy? Or maybe it just hadn’t made the deadline for today’s edition. Maybe it would be tomorrow… Great, another whole day of freaking out over it.
I would’ve asked Max what happened after I left, but we hadn’t even exchanged phone numbers. I had no way of reaching him. I mean, hell, I barely knew the guy. We were just planning on having sex—well, that was what I was planning, anyway, and I was pretty sure he was on board.
As if all of that wasn’t bad enough, I’d had a phone call from Golden Years this afternoon. My last check for Gran’s residential fees bounced. I made excuses, saying I forgot to deposit my paycheck and that I would get the money to them by the end of the week, but I honestly had no clue how I was going to find that kind of cash.
“Arlo,” Cass hissed, coming at me from the right. Without a second thought, I ditched my drinks on the nearest table and spun in the opposite direction. “Don’t you dare run, you coward!” he whisper-yelled behind me.
Without watching where I was going, I didn’t see Chance until I ran straight into his chest. My breath left my lungs with an “Oof!”
His hands came up to catch me. “There you are, Arlo. You’re a hard man to find. Are you interested in making some extra money?”
I looked up at him warily. His expression was carefully guarded—even more than usual. He was up to something. “You know I am, but… what do I have to do? And how much money are we talking about?” My brain reminded me of that bill needing to be paid. I couldn’t afford to be picky. I was way beyond hurting for cash at this point, moving on to being straight-up desperate.
“A customer has requested a private dance,” he said, and his fingers tightened slightly where he still gripped my arms, as if he expected me to run.
“Chance, I’m not a dancer.”
“Yes, I know, and I told him that, but he insisted I ask anyway. And he’s willing to pay… quite a lot,” he said, emphasizing the last bit, his dark eyes flaring. Alarm bells went off in my head. If someone was acting pushy and they were throwing money around, it was best to be careful.
Chance could see where my thoughts were headed, and he shook his head, using a soothing tone of voice to assuage my concern. “The risk is low. There’s no touching allowed, and security will be right outside the whole time. If you want my opinion… he’ll make it worth your while.”
Desperation warred with dread inside my chest. My boss had lived up to his name by taking chances, but he never played games when it came to his staff’s safety. Except it wasn’t just my own comfort on the line, but my grandmother’s home.
“But I have zero rhythm,” I said with resignation. “I’m an awful dancer.”
Chance smirked. “I don’t think it’s your dance skills he cares about. Just shake your ass for a few minutes and take his money.”
I laughed lightly, a bit of my anxiety dissipating with his teasing. There wasn’t a single bit of concern on his face. Whoever this client was, Chance wasn’t worried about him. They must’ve been a regular customer, someone who had never caused any trouble.
“Should I… change?” I asked, looking down at myself. I had ditched last night’s booty shorts in favor of tight pants with more coverage, and instead of a mesh shirt, I had on a tight vest, no shirt underneath.
“No need,” he said, nudging me toward the door to the back. “He’s in room three.”
“No time like the present, I guess,” I muttered under my breath. If I waited, there was a good chance I would psych myself right out of a paycheck.
What happened in the back was entirely legal—technically. Chance liked to play fast and loose with loopholes in the law. Our customers were not paying for sex… but if two (or more) people decided to engage in sex as consenting adults in the privacy of these rooms, then that was their choice. There were contracts and everything.
Chance left me at the door. As soon as the door closed behind me, the pulsing beat from the club was muffled, the flashing lights exchanged for blue sconces casting dim light up toward the ceiling, leaving me walking in shadows down the long central hallway. There was music coming from room one, but as I passed room two, I paused, hearing low moans and panting. I arched a brow as I exchanged a look with Seth, tonight’s security guard, who was leaning up against the wall, arms crossed. He shrugged, unfazed. This was just another night at The Bar Cherry.