1. Waverly
CHAPTER ONE
WAVERLY
T EN YEARS LATER
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Every slap of my thrifted black heels on the pavement is more labored than the last, but I can’t slow down. I can’t afford to lose this job before I’ve even started.
Well, I don’t actually have the job yet.
Tonight is a trial.
But I can’t afford to fuck it up. Which is how I find myself sprinting through the streets of New York in the tiniest black dress I could find in the charity store down the street from my shithole of an apartment.
Today has been a comedy of errors. Or maybe I shouldn’t call it that, seeing as not a single part of my day has been funny.
It all started when my alarm failed to go off because my power was shut off at some point through the night because I couldn’t pay the bill.
Then I was late for work at the diner down the street, which earned me a serving from Denise, my boss, and a threat that if I’m late one more time, I’ll be out on my ass.
It’s not that I like working there, because I really don’t, but if the lack of power wasn’t a dead giveaway, I need the money.
And then, as if the universe felt like I could handle one more shitty thing being thrown at me, my subway line was shut down, meaning I’ve had to sprint through the trash-lined streets in the middle of summer.
I must look a sight, but I’ve stopped caring what people think about me. Or at least I try not to. It’s hard when I see the way people look at me. How they judge me for how I look. But they haven’t seen my struggle. They haven’t seen how fucking hard the last ten years have been. Not that the time that came before that was a walk in the park either, now that I think about it.
Shaking off the thought as I round the corner, I set my sights on the Scarlet Lounge for the first time.
When the woman at the soup kitchen I frequent offered to get me a trial at this place, I thought she was joking. But her eyes were genuine, and although I’ve always struggled to trust people, I found myself doing just that.
And hell, what could she possibly gain from giving a poor woman a chance?
I slow to a walk and try to get my erratic breathing under control. Fuck. When was the last time I ran? Actually, have I ever?
I’m sweaty and disgusting as I stop just short of the building that I know holds the illustrious adult club, taking a second to gather myself.
I need this job.
The diner doesn’t pay enough to make ends meet, and the regulars that frequent certainly don’t tip well. But in a place like this, I could finally make enough to buy my own food instead of relying on the one meal I get from the diner during my shifts and the soup kitchen. I could maybe even move to a safer neighborhood.
I shake the thought from my mind. I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m allowing hope to creep in when I know better than that. I know that this probably won’t work out, because nothing ever does.
Taking a deep breath, I move toward the hulking security guard standing beside the door. His presence is intimidating as hell, and I swallow heavily, shoving back my fear.
When you’ve spent your whole life alone as a five-foot-nothing woman, you know better than to underestimate any man, but especially ones that could overpower you without even breaking a sweat.
“Hi,” I choke out the greeting and internally cringe, but he doesn’t seem to notice my awkwardness, or maybe he’s just polite enough not to show it.
“You Waverly?” he grunts, his eyes flicking to the darkening street behind me.
I nod, my words caught in my throat. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Maybe I should just stick with the diner and the cash jobs I’ve been barely surviving on.
“I’m Brodie,” he tells me, his dark eyes settling on me for the first time since I walked up. “I’m the head of security. If anyone gives you any trouble, you let me know.”
“Okay,” I squeak.
He gives me one last appraising look before he opens the door for me. “Head to the front bar and let them know who you are. Wyatt is on his way down.”
“Wyatt?”
“One of the owners.”
I nod my understanding, but my chest constricts. When the woman at the soup kitchen told me about the position, she mentioned her husband owned the place, but I didn’t realize he’d be the one I’d be meeting tonight.
“Thank you,” I say quietly as I slip past him and into the air-conditioned front bar, breathing a sigh of relief as the cool air moves over my overheated skin.
Now that I’ve stopped, my legs are weak from the run, and I’m beginning to question my own decision-making skills.
You’d think after so many years on my own, on the run, that I’d be able to trust my instincts. But there have been too many times I’ve been wrong for me to ever trust them above all reason.
It takes too long to realize I’m standing just inside the entrance with every set of eyes on the front bar staring at me, and my stomach clenches under their attention. Fuck. This is a bad idea.
The thing about the diner is that no one of note is ever going to stumble into the place for a cup of shitty coffee and a meal that will clog their arteries. The likelihood of me being discovered there is so low I’ve allowed myself to let my guard down.
But here? In the exclusive adults-only club with a clientele that pay top dollar to play out their wildest fantasies, there’s every possibility someone could recognize me.
I’m about to turn on my heel when I notice a man approaching me. His dirty blond hair is pushed back messily, and his button-down shirt sleeves are shoved up to his elbows, uncovering his tattooed forearms.
The smile he wears is easy and non-threatening, but I don’t trust him.
I don’t trust anyone.
“Waverly?” he asks, stopping a few feet in front of me.
I nod, unable to find my voice as my mind wars with the rest of my body. I need the money, but I also have to stay off the radar, and that’s going to be really fucking hard in a place like this.
“Perfect. We’re so excited to have you here! I’m Wyatt,” he beams, his blue eyes sparkling with genuine emotion. “Leighton said you have experience behind a bar?”
“I do,” I say softly. “Mostly under-the-counter stuff.” I cringe at the admission, but Wyatt barely blinks.
“More common than you’d think,” he tells me. “We’ve been struggling to keep staff in the club bars recently. I’m not sure if Leighton mentioned it, but with the position, you automatically receive a membership to the Scarlet Lounge, which means if you meet someone, they may not like the idea of their partner being ogled by the patrons.” He rolls his eyes.
“You think you’d like it if our wife started working behind the bar in there?” another man asks, and I take a step back instinctually. Their wife?
My brows tug together at the thought as I take in the other man. His dark eyes are intense, but there’s a gentle smirk tugging at his lips as he looks at Wyatt, who looks horrified at the thought.
“Absolutely not,” he snaps.
“Exactly.” He chuckles before turning his attention back to me. “I’m Elias, I’m the other owner of the Scarlet Lounge.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” I force a smile to my lips, but it’s unsteady.
“Leighton isn’t here tonight, but she told us to say hi.” Elias flicks his eyes over his shoulder. “Should we start the tour?”
I open my mouth to tell him I think this is a mistake, but then they both turn away from me, and I have no choice but to follow them.
This is definitely a mistake.