Chapter 2 #2
Lala steers me away before I can think too much about it. “So,” she says lightly, “are you in school? What are you studying?” The question lands like a tripwire.
“Just… basic classes,” I splutter. “Online. Nothing exciting.”
She hums, unconvinced, but lets it drop. “Most of us are in school. Well, except Fern and Candice. It’s fishing season for them.”
My brows pinch.
“They’re trying to catch a rich husband.” She snorts. “I’m in nursing school. I’m hoping eventually to get my nurse practitioner degree. I’d like to work in forensic nursing.”
My heart jumps despite myself. “Wow. Really?”
“Yeah. I want to be able to help people after the worst has happened.”
I almost tell her. Almost. Instead, I simply nod. “That’s really important work.”
Her eyes linger on me a beat longer than necessary.
Lala slows her pace as we move away from the noise of the main floor, guiding me into a quieter corridor near the service stations.
The music fades enough that I can hear my own breathing again.
“Okay,” she says gently, stopping and turning to face me.
“This is the most important part of the handbook.” Her tone shifts.
It’s still kind, but serious enough that my spine straightens.
I nod. “Okay.”
She studies my face for a moment, her expression stern. “You’re here to serve drinks. That’s it. Not attention. Not yourself.”
I swallow. “I understand.”
Good grief, did I give her that vibe?
“I need this to be clear. There are no relationships with members or staff. Ever. Not flirting that turns into something else. Not private conversations that feel harmless. Not ‘he’s different.’”
My shoulders tighten at her delivery, but not her words. I try to keep my expression neutral. I have absolutely no interest in pursuing anyone who attends a gentleman’s club. Not that I’m judging what they do. But a relationship is the farthest thing from my mind.
“Obviously, flirting is encouraged. We want our members to feel special when they’re here.
They know where the line is. It has been made clear during their introduction to the club, but thinking that it could turn into more isn’t worth pursuing.
It may only cause you to lose the object of your affection and your job. ”
I nod vigorously. “I completely understand, Lala. I have no plans to do anything of the sort. I’m here to work.”
“Good. It’s not to say it’s never happened. If a member does show interest,” she continues, “it goes through Gianni. Always. No exceptions. Even if he’s charming. Even if they make you feel safe.”
Safe. The word lands heavier than the rest.
“And if Gianni says no?” Why I’m asking? I have no idea.
“Then it’s no,” she says simply. “And if someone pushes anyway, you come to me or Anthony. Immediately.”
Has something happened to one of the girls? The fine hairs on my skin start to prickle. Have I really thought this through, working in a place like this? I nod again, slower this time. “Has that… happened?”
She exhales quietly, glancing down the hallway before meeting my eyes again.
“More than I’d like to admit. The rules are in place to protect us.
But safeguards only work if we don’t blur the lines.
” There’s a careful tone to her voice now.
“There are more than enough girls here who try to skirt the line. It’s exhausting watching them like a hawk.
And one wrong move on the wrong day, and it could be their last. I just want to make this clear from the beginning. ”
Again, I nod like a bobblehead doll.
“Look. You seem like a sharp girl. I’m hoping to reduce the need to constantly watch over everyone here. I have my hands full with two of your dimwitted co-workers.” She rolls her eyes. “I personally like knowing where the boundaries are. It keeps things controlled.”
I feel myself relax a fraction. “I don’t plan on crossing any lines, Lala. I need this job. Not a husband.”
Lala’s expression softens. “That’s what most of us say at first.” She reaches out and adjusts the spaghetti strap of my little silver cocktail dress, in an almost maternal gesture.
“You don’t owe anyone here anything but professionalism.
Not your story. Not your past. And definitely not your heart. ”
My throat tightens unexpectedly. “Thank you.”
She smiles. It’s small but sincere. “Good. Because you strike me as someone who gives too much without realizing it.”
I force a light tone. “You just met me.”
She arches a brow. “Like I said. I notice things.”
The music swells again as we step back toward the main floor. “One more thing,” she adds quietly. “If Gianni does approve a relationship with a club member or someone from the staff, and that’s rare, it’s because he believes it won’t put you in danger. He doesn’t play with people’s lives.”
“Got it, Lala.” I salute playfully. “Never going to have to worry about that with me.”
She grins. “Good. Now let’s get you trained before Fern starts telling members you’re her long-lost cousin and starts following you around everywhere.”
From across the room, Fern waves enthusiastically at us, already proving Lala is probably right.
I follow Lala back into the noise, her words settling into me like rules etched in stone. No relationships. No exceptions. Protect yourself at all costs. Sounds like the story of my life. And I’d planned to do just that before I even knew rules to that extent existed.
I simply don’t know yet how quickly those plans are going to unravel.
I tie my long, light pink hair back before my shift starts. I know it would look prettier down, more seductive, and fitting the vibe of this place. Yet I’m already a nervous wreck. I need to be able to have an unobstructed view of my surroundings at all times.
I silently coax my fingers to remain steady despite the tremble in my limbs, repeating my well-honed steps, the inner monologue I use for stressful situations like these.
Name five things you can see.
Four you can touch.
Three you can hear.
My therapist had drilled the popular grounding technique into me. Her favorite mindfulness method to reduce anxiety and stress by focusing on the present moment. It helps shift your attention from distressing thoughts to one’s current environment.
Suddenly the music swells and the lights dim. “You ready?” Lala asks, her eyes encouraging.
“Yes.” I step onto the floor for my first shift, nerves buzzing under my skin. Tray steady in my grasp. My smile isn’t genuine, but well-practiced. My eyes are always moving, scanning the room.
The bar fills gradually. There’s no mistaking the wealth of the members here. If the bespoke clothing, shoes, and cologne aren’t a giveaway, the way they carry themselves is.
Jeez, what was I thinking deciding to work here? I’m way outside my comfort zone with these muckety-mucks.
Music pulses low and steady. Laughter rises. I move between tables, careful and alert. My body always angled so I can see the room. Then I feel it. An unavoidable shift in the air.
I don’t look right away. Attempting instead to get my nerves under control. Wouldn’t want to give away how unhinged I feel. So I repeat my mantra.
Name five things you can see: Expensive, leather lounge chairs. Cigar smoke. Red-soled stilettos I never imagined wearing in a million years. Polished men in tailored suits with more money than God. And sweet Lala, never out of earshot.
Name four things you can touch. A beautiful, shiny silver cocktail dress. A serving tray that is likely to be my constant companion for the length of my employment. The floor thumping beneath my feet. And my hands, clammy and shaking with anxiety.
Name three things you can hear. Chatter. Over-the-top giggling girls. My heartbeat in my ears.
When I finally glance up, my gaze catches on him.
Holy hell, he’s incredibly handsome. My pulse skips a beat just looking at him.
He’s sitting with a group of men who look like they belong here.
Each of them wearing expensive suits and effortless confidence.
They exude money simply by the way they take up space.
Natural. Completely unaffected. Yet he’s different. Quieter. Watching everything.
Watching me.
Not in a way that makes my skin crawl. It’s not predatory. Just… laser-focused. Like he’s clocking details without realizing it.
Our eyes meet. My face heats. Yet it’s not in the usual way. When I’ve become anxious at someone’s unwanted attention.
But that’s crazy.
I look away first. Why am I so hyper-aware of his presence, even when he isn’t looking in my direction any longer? After a year of rebuilding my life around avoiding attention, this moment… no, this man makes me feel seen in a way I’ve never felt before.
And that’s the very last thing I need right now.