Page 60 of Darkest Deeds
“Name.”
“Rub—” Crap! I almost said my regular stage name. Not that it’d mean much to this guy, but if he repeats it, everything will be blown all to hell. “Uh, I mean, Sapphire. My name’s Sapphire.”
Ruby, Sapphire, Diamond. What’s the damn difference?
The skinny man in the shadows waves his hand. “On with it.”
I like my song selection to make a statement, so as the beginning beats of Buckcherry’s Crazy Bitch play, I complete a full swing around the pole. Usually, I’d let my long hair fall back, but I’m not one hundred percent confident this brunette wig won’t go flying across the bar. As the tempo picks up, so does my speed. Eventually, I hook a leg around the pole, spinning as I climb.
It’s like riding a bicycle—if the bicycle is made of vertical steel and you’re balancing on it upside down and naked.
I perform my usual routine with ease, spinning, sliding, twirling, climbing, and crawling my way to perfection. I end with a standing split against the pole, smiling as I pick up the fallen pieces of my costume and face the new manager.
He’s not happy.
“Sweetheart, I don’t know what kind of other clubs you’ve auditioned at, but I need to see those tits before I hire you.”
Fuck.
I lower my lashes and sneak a quick glance to the back of the club, where Niko stands smirking like a motherfucker.
“I can’t take my bra off yet. I… Uh, had a boob job and the wounds are still healing.” Scooping up my breasts in both hands I give them a little jiggle. “Have to keep them supported until the stitches dissolve.”
God, he’ll never believe that.
The creepy new manager tilts his head, first right and then left. “Doctor did a good job. Nice full C cup.”
They’re a D, but whatever, asshole.
“So, does that mean…” I lift my eyebrows in mock hope.
“You start tomorrow night. Be here at one p.m. to sign paperwork.”
I can’t stop the grin breaking across my face. “That’s perfect. I’ll just go in the back and change.” I catch Niko’s eye one more time and he nods, moving into position to guard the hallway as I slip behind the curtain.
Necessity breeds speed, so I change faster than any woman on the face of the earth. Keeping my head down, I listen to the unfortunate sound of my forgotten stripper heels clicking against the wood as I make my way through the deserted hallway. Thankfully, it’s the middle of the day and the adult entertainment industry operates on the sleep schedule of a newborn baby. Other than the unlucky dancers who pulled the lunchtime shift short straw, it’s a given fact that if the sun’s up, they’re not.
And today, I counted on it.
Stopping outside the closed door, I blow out a harsh breath and place a hand over my stomach to calm the hurricane of nerves brewing inside. Forcing a blank expression, I push the door open.
“We need to talk,” I say, long red hair spilling down my back as I pull the brown wig off and step inside.