Chapter 15 #2
“I don’t answer rude questions. Especially not from strangers.”
Something flashes over his eyes and he chuckles dryly. “Color me curious. I wanna know if you’re eating enough.”
“Excuse me?” My spine straightens. The answer’s probably no, but I’m not telling him that. “That’s not any of your business.”
He rocks back, then his jaw flexes like he’s in pain. “Maybe, but—”
“No ‘buts’ or ‘maybe’s’ about it. It’s not your business. Now what were you doing back here?” I glance around, unable to keep my voice from rising.
Oscar pokes his head out of the kitchen. “Alice? Everything okay?”
“She’s fine,” Hatter answers for me, and I glare at him as I speak to Oscar.
“Tell this man this hall is staff only. He’s not listening to me.”
In my periphery, Oscar gives me a strange look, then shrugs at Hatter.
“Back hallway is staff only. Make sure to keep it that way, got it?”
Hatter gives him a mock salute. “Understood, Oscar.”
“Oscar is for her. It’s Chef to everyone else,” he grumbles, then disappears back into the kitchen.
“Yes, Chef, sorry, sir,” Hatter says seriously to the closed door, but still makes no move to leave.
I prop a hand on my hip. “Look here, mister. I’m going to get my stuff, and by the time I come back out here, you better do what Chef says, got it?”
His lips quirk slightly, and he repeats the same salute as before. “Understood, ma’am.”
I grumble under my breath and turn on my heel to shove through the kitchen door.
“Oscar? Why are all but, like, four men total jerks?”
He scrunches his face while looking over an order from the floor. “What are you going on about, silly girl?”
“That Hatter! He was nice last night, protective, even. But one look at me today and he’s—ugh, never mind.”
I stuff the rest of the tart into my mouth and swipe my hands on my sweats before grabbing my bag and leaving right back through the swinging door.
Only to find Hatter standing there waiting for me.
A smug smile tugs at his mouth as he leans against the wall with his hands shoved into his pockets.
I growl. “I told you—”
“Are you this rude to all your clients?”
That stops me short. “I’m not… I wasn’t—”
“I heard you in there. ‘Total jerk’?” He tsks and kicks off the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “That wasn’t very nice, Alice.”
My cheeks heat as he continues, ticking the offenses off on his fingers.
“First, you offer me a lap dance—which, I might add, you’ve yet to actually give me. Then you steal my medicine—”
“I didn’t mean to take—”
“—run away from me, and now you’re being downright inhospitable.” He sighs dramatically. “What do you think Castle would do if I tattled on you, hm? Word through the grapevine is he’s pret-ty scary.”
His eyes pin me in place behind that steampunk skull mask, jaw hard like he’s genuinely fishing for an answer instead of teasing.
My stomach tightens, because I honestly don’t know what answer to give him. I’ve been Castle’s “best girl” from the beginning. I’ve never seen him be mean to his staff. But I’ve heard rumors about people who fail him. What would Castle do if the client he specifically assigned to me complained?
Would he fire me?
Think, Alice. Think.
Calling on my stage persona helps, and I slip on the smile that usually earns me the biggest tips before stepping forward and pressing my hand lightly against his chest.
His heartbeat pounds hard beneath my palm, almost as fast as mine, and I nearly jerk away.
Is Mr. Antihero nervous too? Or excited?
Why?
I ignore the thought and focus on doing my dang job instead.
“I’m sorry about the lap dance, Hatter.” My voice softens into something more playful. “Let me make it up to you.”
“How?” His eyes flick down to my mouth, and I resist the delicious shiver that threatens to ripple down my spine.
“There’s a VIP room down the hall called the Flower Room…” I trail my fingers lightly down the front of his vest before stepping back again.
“A VIP room?”
I’m confused by the way the question lilts up at the end, until his gaze slowly drags down my body in a way that turns that shiver into something else.
“Do you always wear men’s sweats when you give lap dances?”
“What?” My nose scrunches. “Wear men’s—”
I look down and gasp in horror.
I completely forgot I’m still wearing Nox’s oversized sweats and my Chicago hoodie. My hair’s piled in a messy knot on top of my head, and I probably look less like a seductive dancer and more like a deranged little swamp goblin. Worse, I’m not wearing my mask.
Oh my God.
“I—no—this is—” I gesture vaguely at myself. “I just got here. I haven’t changed yet.”
My cheeks burn hot with panic and embarrassment while I scramble for literally anything to say that might salvage this interaction.
I can’t have him remembering my face. He doesn’t live here, what if he somehow learns who I am and tells someone about me on the mainland.
Is that what this attitude is? Does he recognize me—
“How does your boyfriend feel about the way you looked at me last night, hm?”
Oh. He’s jealous.
Relief floods me, but rage follows right behind as what he said catches up.
How dare he?
“One, there are no boyfriends at The Rabbit Hole.” I jab his chest with my finger. “And two, this is my job. If my partner had a problem with it, I’d tell them the exact same thing I’m telling you right now. Which is don’t be rude and—again—mind. Your. Own. Business.”
I cross my arms and stand as tall as my five-feet-four will allow. “Now, should I go get X to escort you out? Because we don’t tolerate sex work shaming around here, jerk.”
His jaw drops and he blinks rapidly in shock before he shakes his head vigorously.
“No, it’s not… it wasn’t about that. Fuck.” He almost drags a hand over his face but seems to remember the mask just in time and scrubs his five o’clock shadow instead. “I go to clubs all the time. I have the utmost respect for sex workers.”
Something pricks my chest at that, but I inwardly push aside whatever that emotion tried to be, because seriously, hypocrite much?
“Sure could’ve fooled me,” I mutter.
He winces. “Sorry, I got carried away over… Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” He exhales hard and shakes his head. “I guess I’m still confused about what happened in the booth is all.”
The booth…
Oh God. What am I even doing?
Hatter’s right here, just as Castle predicted, and look at me. Am I really trying to pick a fight with the assignment he trusted me with? With the stranger I need to vet to make sure he doesn’t know anything about the Troisgarde before Castle learns from someone else?
Fantastic, Lucy. Great job.
I sigh and uncross my arms.
“Look. I understand I didn’t exactly… perform yesterday.” I grimace. “What do you think about a do-over?”
“No, I… I don’t need a ‘do-over,’ Alice.” His shoulders droop and he shakes his head. “You don’t owe me shit.”
That actually makes me laugh, startling him.
“I literally do, though. Knave slipped my tips from my set into my safe after the show last night. There were definitely several hundred dollars in there that wouldn’t have been without you.
So, in a very literal sense. I do owe you.
” I suck in a breath. “And to be honest, I kind of need the money, so… “
He shifts awkwardly and scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking weirdly shy for a hot guy dressed like a gothic supervillain.
“Well…” He huffs out a quiet laugh. “When you put it that way…”
I wait for him to finish, but he doesn’t.
Huh. He’s leaving it all up to me? That’s… chivalrous, I suppose.
“Well, my proposal is,” I try to sound more confident than I feel, “the Flower Room is down the hall. You can’t miss it. If you’re up for being my first lap dance in the VIP room ever, I’ll see you there?”
The admission had slipped from me, but the hunger in his eyes pools desire in my core. My pulse quickens, and I suddenly really, really want him to say yes, and not just because I need to pump him for information.
“Alright, Alice.” His rough voice drops an octave as he nearly purrs. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”