8. Posie
CHAPTER 8
Posie
T he evening is more fun than I anticipated. I join in on a game because Mike is insistent, and I’m surprised when I win a fucking laptop. If I knew the games were giving out these types of prizes, I would have joined in sooner. I thought it was a joke they played on newbies when they mentioned someone winning a twenty-carat diamond bracelet last year, but the prizes are all extravagant in their own way.
I could do so much with a laptop. I haven’t seen it as an essential, but now that I have one, I’m itching to go back to my designs online, which I was doing before Bentley. I hadn’t picked it up since he was born because I sold my last laptop for extra cash.
The minute I found out I was pregnant, I started saving. I saved and saved so I could move away. And I eventually got there. I sold everything and started fresh. And it worked until I started running out of money. I began working at a local cafe and was there for a few years before I realized it wasn’t paying enough. Then I found out about the club, and even though I’d never stripped before, Paula hired me. My first paycheck was only a few hundred, but that money was a saving grace. I quit the cafe and just kept this job. And I haven’t looked back since.
But now… I could dabble in my designs again, which makes me ridiculously happy. Or maybe it’s the slight buzz from the drinks making me feel this way. When I think it’s about time I leave, Mike pulls me to the side with a mischievous grin.
I want to slip out before the others start heading for other clubs that I have no interest in attending.
“Do you want this?” Mike asks. He opens his bag, and I see a brand-new cell phone inside. I look up at him, confused.
“You won that?” He nods with a triumphant twinkle in his eye. He opens another small bag, which has another phone in it. “You won two? How is that possible?”
“Lucky, I guess.” He shrugs. “I don’t need two, and seeing your cracked screen makes my eye twitch. But if you don’t want it, it’s all good. I can just sell it.”
“No way. I want it. Can I pay you for it?”
“No. Why would I charge you? I won it, so take it. Consider this my down payment to receive all the gossip of whatever happens between you and the boss.”
I laugh because he’s genuinely a devilish gossiper. “Nothing is happening between us.”
He looks me up and down. “Girl, you’re delulu if you think he’s once taken the time to speak with the dancers, let alone bring them a drink.”
I wave him off as I accept the bag. Then I throw my arms around him because I’m already on my third glass of the champagne mixture. He’s startled but hugs me back since I’m not usually the affectionate type.
“I know it’s a pity phone, but I love it.” I clap my hands. “Best work party ever.”
“Yep. So, are you going out with the girls tonight?” he asks.
“I think she’s had enough to drink, don’t you?” Dutton says, appearing behind us again, and we both startle. Is this guy a fucking wraith?
“You need to stop sneaking up on people like that. It’s fucking creepy.” I sigh. And then I glare at him. “Are you trying to control me? Because the last man who did that never saw me again.”
“Noted. Though, that won’t work here while I pay your bills,” he says in his superior, asshole-ish tone.
Mike bites his bottom lip, trying to hide his I told you so expression. I glare at him as if to say, There is definitely nothing between me and the boss.
I lean toward Dutton. “Technically, your clients pay my bills. Not you.”
“How are you getting home?” he asks, nodding to the glass of champagne.
“I’ll call a cab,” I tell him, looking down at my phone.
“I’ll drive you. Grab your things, and let’s go.”
Mike coughs next to me, and I don’t miss the mischievous twinkle in his eyes again.
“And Mike?” I ask Dutton. Dutton glances at him as if only noticing him for the first time.
“Get your shit too.”
Mike straightens his back and nods, picking up his bag. I can’t help but giggle at his smug-ass smile.
I grab my handbag from the back and thank Paula for the evening. She’s the only one we say goodbye to because we want to slip out quietly. Well, Mike and I, that is. Dutton is already waiting outside beside his car, hand casually tucked in his pocket as he talks to someone on the phone.
This car is different from the one he drove to my house. It’s a G-Wagon and looks just as expensive as the last. Does this asshole have multiple cars at his disposal? Most likely.
Mike leans in and quietly whispers, “He’s never personally driven any of the girls home.”
“Well then, it might be your lucky night.” I nudge his shoulder.
He laughs as he throws his hands in the air and yells, “Shotgun for the back!”
Dutton finishes his call and opens the doors for both of us. Mike doesn’t even try to hide his smile, and it’s contagious as I try to hide my own as I slip into the front.
“I feel so bougie,” Mike whispers as Dutton walks around the car. “There’s so much space back here, you two could fuck in here, for sure.”
“You have a one-track mind.” I laugh.
“Yeah, I’m a man. And, also, girrrl, you’ve seen him… That man is a snack.”
“And an asshole,” I quip.
“A rich asshole,” he sing-songs before Dutton opens the door and slides into the driver’s seat.
“Do I want to know what you two are giggling about?” Dutton asks as he starts the engine.
I drop my head back against the seat and smile. “I was just saying this car is fancy, and I wonder if you’d hate me if I spilled something in it.”
He doesn’t reply, which I take to mean he regrets asking me. He shoots a glance down at the bags at my feet.
There’s barely any traffic at this time of night, and we start our drive to Mike’s house after he tells Dutton the address. Mike giggles in the back as he shows me a profile of an attractive man, then whispers, “It’s actually his address I’m going to, but who cares.”
I smirk, envious of his freedom to bounce through men. Prioritizing myself and my needs has been long forgotten since having Bentley. And the thought of bringing anyone around Bentley horrifies me. Then again, maybe having a fuckbuddy with no strings attached isn’t a bad idea. It’s been a while since I’ve seriously thought about it.
I know Dutton intentionally asked Mike his address so he could drop him off first. He already knows my address, but Mike doesn’t need to know that. It will only give him more fuel for his speculation that something is going on between me and our boss.
I side-eye Dutton as Mike makes small talk with him about cars and motorcycles. Neither of which I have any interest in.
I take the time to study Dutton’s face. It’s truly cruel how beautiful he is. Even his shirts, which are likely made to fit so tightly, effortlessly show off the lean muscle underneath. And those eyes? Even in the dark, with only flashes of the streetlights, they look like a brewing storm. The shadow of growth around his jaw looks like it’ll leave some serious beard burn, and those fucking lips look like they could do some damage.
He glances my way, and I immediately avert my gaze, realizing I was staring for too long.
I mean, I can’t imagine he’d be that bad of a lay. I think back on when I danced for him, and the size of the dick I felt pressing against his fly felt more than adequate. A heat begins to pound between my legs, and I try my hardest to ignore it. There’s something about this man that puts me on edge. Most likely because he’s, without a doubt, dangerous, and that’s never gotten me into good situations. I should be running the other way, and yet, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit he’s attractive.
When we park in front of the address Mike gave, he stops singing whatever was on the radio and jumps out of the car. Coming to my door, he pulls it open, leans in, and kisses my cheek before he starts singing another song as he skips his way to the apartment building for a rendezvous I’m most likely going to hear all about on our next shift together.
Without Mike, a palpable silence and tension fill the car.
It might be the slight buzz of alcohol or the encouragement from Mike, or maybe the frustrating pounding between my legs that has me deadpanning, “So, I know you said you don’t fuck your employees, but what about giving and receiving head?”