6. The Fired
SIX
THE FIRED
CAM
“W
hat the hell did you do?” An older fella shrieks, charging toward us. He’s about a foot shorter than I am, and must have an entire bottle of greasy stuff in his dark hair slicking it back. “That was Max Largente.”
“I don’t care who he was. How dare he touch me.” Becca snaps and removes her hand from me, planting her hands on her hips. “And if you were a better boss, you’d have more security around here to protect the women that work for you.”
Yep. She’s back. This is the girl I knew way back when.
“Better b—I gave you this job because Calista begged me to.” He thumbs at a woman who appears by Becca’s side, Calista I presume. Then he raises his hand and counts off finger by finger as he speaks. “But you’ve been nothing but trouble from the start. You won’t dance because you refuse to take your clothes off. You come in late all the time. And the customers complain you’re not nice to them. And now you’ve driven away one of the most wealthy and important clients we’ve had.”
“What? I am so nice to everyone.” She retorts, and Calista tries to hold her back to no avail. “Okay, so there was that one time before you hired Bernie when those Marines were here and they kept grabbing my ass. You wouldn’t do anything about it so I took matters into my own hands.”
“Let me tell you something, honey. This is a money-making enterprise.” The bossman attempts to educate her. “When you dump beer on the heads of military guys and they walk out and don’t pay their hefty bill, that means no money. Let the men grab your ass until they pay the bill.”
“Huh? I refuse to be man-handled here.” She crosses her arms. Good for her.
“Then that’s it. You’re fired.” The man throws his hands up into the air as if signaling he’s done with this conversation and he rushes away.
“You can’t do that. I need this job,” Becca shouts after him. What the hell? Her parents are wealthy as fuck. None of this makes any sense to me.
“Look, go home. When he cools off I’ll talk to him, okay? I’m sure he didn’t mean it. You know how quick-tempered he can be without thinking first.” Calista gives her arm a squeeze and follows the boss to a black door on the other side of the bar.
Becca deflates, like all the air whooshes from her body. Her shoulders droop, then her chin drops to her chest. I think she’s forgotten I’m here.
“You’re a long way from home, Princess.” I step up beside her with my hands shoved deep in my pockets. For whatever reason I want to bring her into my arms and console her. That wouldn’t end well. She’d probably clobber me. I don’t know why, but that turns me the fuck on.
Her head snaps up. “Cam? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Playing hockey? And you?”
“Trying to survive.” Her eyes return to the door her boss went through.
“Sin City will eat a woman like you alive, Princess.”
“Don’t call me that,” she blurts.
“Damn. Becca Brooks. Never thought I’d see you again.” I stand way too close to her, enough to see the gooseflesh rise across her shoulders and cleavage, her nipples hard and perky. Did I have that effect on her?
The skimpy uniform she wears leaves little to the imagination—then again, the dance wear of leotards and tights she often wore in our younger days left little as well. Years have passed. Before me stands a woman with a smoking body and a fierceness in her hazel eyes, like a fighter, determined to make it to the fifth round.
“What do you want?” She enunciates every word and her arms cross, shielding her chest from me. I step a couple of feet back, hands up in surrender.
“An old friend can’t say hello?”
“You were never my friend. You were Jared’s.”
I laugh about my old buddy, my best friend in high school. Her brother.
“Yeah, old Jared. Good times. How is he anyway? I haven’t kept in touch since we graduated. I’ll bet he’s married with three kids by now.”
“You don’t know?” Her face falls and turns white, a shadow crossing her eyes.
My brows knit together. “Know what?”
Someone from security comes up, interrupting us. “The boss wants me to escort you to the lockers to get your things, Chiffon,” the dude says.
“No! I mean… Just give me a minute.”
The guy nods and moves to the right and waits.
“Chiffon?” I ask. Running into her like this is all a little surreal.
“You think I’m going to use my real name here?”
“Smart that you don’t.” I agree. “And I’ll bet there’s quite the story behind you working in a place like this, too, not to mention how you ended up in Vegas. It’s a far cry from your uppity neighborhood in New York, isn’t it? We should catch up.”
She chews her cheek squinting at me, judging me, just like her mother always did. She was a real piece of work, too, going around like she was the queen of New York. Their parents hated that Jared and I hung out together from the start, all because my house sat a few blocks away from them, and my zip code landed in a less than desirable location of the city.
Location shouldn’t be the measure of a man. I’ve risen up, worked hard to be where I am today. Hell, my financial portfolio probably exceeds theirs these days, thanks to hustling my ass off on the ice and the best agent getting me sweet sponsorship deals.
My handsome mug is on a Canadian brand of whiskey ads in magazines, on a Montreal craft brew named after me—the Cam Crew Brewski—and I even cut a deal with a prophylactics company in Canada. Yep. That’s right. There’s a commercial out there of me on a bed next to a beautiful model holding up the box and saying “Don’t be a hoser. Use Winning Protection with Cam’s Condoms.”
Now that I’m here in Vegas, the goal is to attract U.S. brands. My agent is hard at work on it.
She shakes her head. “I don’t have time for this. I have to go fight for my job back.” She runs from me. My eyes follow her ass all the way to the black door as those long and lean dancer’s legs carry her quickly away like she’s exiting stage left.
Screw these people and this place. I should carry her the hell out because she doesn’t belong in a place like this. Bet she wouldn’t like it if I did that though. Her mouth would twist up at me and chew me out for it. Then I’d have to hike her up and angry-fuck her hard against the wall with those legs wrapped around me—Fuck. I snap out of it before I get too far into that fantasy.