Chapter 6 #2
I look at him, trying to see past the charm, past the expensive suit and the smirk that says he always gets what he wants. I know men like him. I’ve danced for them, waited tables for them, turned them down more times than I can count. But right now? I need this job so I can move on.
“Alright,” I say. “I’ll dance for you.”
Garett’s smile spreads, slow and knowing. “You start tonight.”
All I can do is nod, that flicker of unease twisting low in my gut. I’ve just struck a deal with the devil, and God, I hope it’s worth it.
“Come with me and we’ll get you ready,” Garett says, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
I rise slowly, my legs moving before my mind catches up, and follow him down the hallway.
We step into the private elevator and descend past the main casino floor in awkward silence.
When the doors slide open, we’re met with a long corridor of concrete and steel.
The bare bones beneath the glittering facade.
Upstairs might be dressed up like a fantasy, but down here, it’s all business.
We stop outside a set of double doors. Behind them, there’s a flurry of motion, bright fabric, low voices, the rhythmic snip of scissors.
Inside, three women stand on pedestals in varying states of undress, costumed and posed like living mannequins while seamstresses flit around them, adjusting hemlines and pinning straps.
The scent of perfume and steam from irons fills the air.
Garett doesn’t hesitate. He moves straight to a row of oversized cabinets along the far wall, and opens one with a quick flick of his wrist.
“I know the perfect outfit for you,” he says, voice low and gleaming with satisfaction. And then he pulls it out.
It’s crimson, the color of temptation, of warnings and stop signs, only this one dares you to keep going.
The bodice is corseted, detailed with black lace so delicate it looks painted on.
The skirt is slit high enough to make my throat tighten.
From the hanger dangles a clear bag filled with accessories that look like long black gloves, a choker dripping with beads, and heels that would make anyone with a pulse sit up and stare.
“I can already see the chaos you’ll cause in this,” he murmurs, holding it out like an offering.
My fingers close around it. The fabric is heavier than I expect. Satin and lace, meant to cling and whisper against skin. Every inch of it screams watch me and Garett is doing just that as I study the ensemble.
“The seamstress will adjust it if needed, but I think it’s going to fit like it was made for you.” His gaze lingers.
I glance around and spot a row of dressing rooms tucked in the back. My heels click softly on the concrete as I turn to go.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, half to him, half to myself. But what I’m really thinking is, this is it. The curtain’s rising, and I’m about to step into a role I’m not sure I can ever step out of.
The costume slides over my skin like it was made for me. Not just my size but for my shape, my angles, the way I move. The satin clings in all the right places, and the lace hugs my curves with intimate precision. No gaps. No loose threads. Not a single pin needed.
I smooth my palms down the bodice, trying to ignore the knot twisting in my stomach. Garett couldn’t have known my size and yet… It fits perfectly.
I step out of the dressing room and into the buzz of movement again, the soft swish of the slit skirt brushing against my thigh with every step.
Garett turns at the sound of my heels, and for a second, his expression slips. A low whistle escapes him, long and slow, and his eyes roam over me like he’s savoring the view.
My shoulders tighten. I force a smile, keep my spine straight, even as discomfort coils through me.
He doesn’t look away.
“Damn, Lacey. You’re going to make a killing tonight.” His voice is warm, like melted sugar, but there’s an edge to it, a quiet ownership he hasn’t earned.
“I” I murmur, swallowing past the tightness in my throat. “yeah.”
Garett leans in, his voice low and smooth as velvet.
“When you’re ready, Marco will show you where to go.
” He gestures subtly toward the door, where a man I didn’t notice before is now standing.
He’s wearing a tailored suit that’s not as sharp or expensive as Garett’s, but still sleek.
He stands with his hands clasped in front of him and there’s a tension in his stance, the kind that doesn’t come from waiting. More like watching. Guarding.
Garett snaps his fingers once and waves over one of the women by the makeup mirrors. “Take her in. Hair and makeup. I want her to glow.”
Then he turns back to the room and raises his voice just enough to be heard. “Take good care of my girl.”
His girl?
I blink, stunned for half a second before I find my voice. “I’m not his girl,” I say quickly, glancing at the makeup tech who’s now ushering me to the chair. “Just a new hire.”
The energy in the room shifts the moment he steps out of it. One of the dancers, the redhead in glittering gold who’s getting her thigh pinned, snorts softly. “Right. Just the new girl.”
Another, a tall brunette with sharp cheekbones and a sharper stare, eyes me through the mirror. “Hope she doesn’t vanish like the last one.”
“Or the one before that,” someone else mutters from behind a curtain of hair.
I pause, half lowered into the makeup chair. “Vanished?”
The redhead shrugs, suddenly too focused on her reflection. “Girls come and go. Especially the ones Garett picks out himself.” Her tone is light, but the undercurrent isn’t.
The seamstress glances up from a spool of thread, her mouth a tight line. She doesn’t say anything, but there's a flicker of caution in her eyes.
My fingers tighten on the armrests. Still, I sit back in the chair, and let them start brushing and curling and painting.
Not because I need this job but because it feels like I’m already in too deep to walk away.