Chapter 17 Nelly #3
"And that's the best they can offer?" his voice was loud now, angry. "We're prepared to walk away if they can't meet us halfway."
Finally, I stopped dancing for him. I moved mechanically, because I had to. I hated when this kind of thing happened, zapping every ounce of my confidence.
"Yes, I understand the timeline," he said sharply, “but quality can't be rushed."
The song was nearing its end. I had perhaps forty-five seconds of this torture left.
I returned to the pole for my finale, my heart not in it.
I mounted the pole, the elaborate spin lifeless.
As the music faded, I descended, finishing in a kneeling position, my knees spread apart.
The fantasy of offering more to the client.
The Alpha was finishing his call. He checked his watch in annoyance. "We'll continue this tomorrow. Send me the revised figures before noon."
He hung up, slipped the phone into his jacket pocket, then stood in one quick motion.
I rose as well, prepared for the usual exchange. Compliments, maybe a request for a second dance or he’d ask what night I worked next.
Instead, he reached into his wallet, extracted two crisp hundred-dollar bills, and placed them on the small table beside his chair. His eyes met mine briefly, unreadable but not unkind.
"Thank you.” Was all he said to me before striding past me out of the room.
I stood alone in the private room, surrounded by the lingering scent of his cologne. The money sat on the table. It was more than the standard rate, despite his apparent disinterest.
A hollow feeling spread in my chest, familiar and unwelcome. Had I lost my touch?
I shook my head, pushing away the spiral of self-doubt before it could take hold.
I picked up the bills, folding them carefully before tucking them into my garter. Two hundred dollars for fifteen minutes of dancing that went unappreciated. In my ballet days, I'd rehearsed six hours for performances that paid less.
At least the money was real, even if the connection wasn't.
I stepped out of the private room, closing the door on my disappointment and sliding back into the character of Lucky—confident, unaffected, always in control. There would be other clients tonight. Other chances to prove I hadn't lost whatever indefinable quality had once made me special.
I zipped my hoodie back into place.
My muscles ached pleasantly—the satisfying fatigue that came from a night of good work. I'd made decent money despite the distracted Alpha. Those frat boys had been too drunk to count their cash. They’d just kept pushing bills at me.
As I wiped away the layers of makeup and glitter, I caught Crystal's eye in the mirror.
She mouthed "Waffle House?" and I nodded, though I knew I’d end up sitting around the table with the other girls, their plates laden with delicious pancakes and bacon, and I’d feel a little sad to eat the scrambled egg whites and turkey sausage.
But Post-shift breakfast had become our ritual, a way to come down from the adrenaline high of performing before heading home to sleep through most of the daylight hours.
"Did Mr. Black Suit come through?" Crystal asked, sliding onto the seat beside me. I scooted over so our asses both fit. She was in ripped jeans and an oversized sweater that made her look younger than her thirty-two years.
"Two hundred for fifteen minutes of being completely ignored," I replied, running a brush through my tangled hair. "He was on his phone the entire time."
"Ouch." She winced sympathetically. "Still, two hundred's not bad for being invisible."
"I guess." I shrugged, trying to shake off the lingering disappointment. "Makes me miss having an actual audience though."
"Honey, you had plenty of audience tonight," Jade called from across the room. She was counting a thick stack of bills, her lips moving silently as she tallied. We’d all already tipped out the bartenders and bouncers. "Those college boys were drooling.”
"Those college boys were obscenely drunk,” I laughed. “I almost felt bad taking their money.”
“Do not ever feel bad for taking advantage of drunk men,” Crystal paused counting, her eyes popping up to stare at me. “Drunk men never feel bad about taking advantage of us.”
I gathered my things; earnings tucked safely into an inner zip pocket of my bag.
Six of us still lingered after our shift, all part of our regular breakfast crew.
Their companionship outside work, even for a few hours at a greasy dinner, was something I hadn't expected to find when I'd first taken this job out of desperation.
As Crystal and I started leaving the changing room, three coworkers ahead of us and one still taking her sweet time, an annoyed voice stopped everyone in their tracks.
“Seriously, someone left a curling iron on again.”
We all turned in synch, finding Stacy brandishing a hair tool in the air, threatening to use it as a sword, like always.
“I don’t worry about it anymore. We all know you’ll check before leaving,” Jade teased her, voice pushing past me and Crystal.
“You’re such a pain in the ass, Jade.” Stacy rolled her eyes.
“Yep. That’s middle name. Jade, Pain in the Ass, Cortez.” Jade blew a kiss.
"You guys ready or are we going to miss the midnight specials again?" Crystal asked, slinging her oversized purse over her shoulder and accidently hitting my arm. She made an ‘oops’ face at me. I shrugged. “I’m making someone else pay if I the food is full price.”
Our favorite diner called the specialty dishes they served between eleven and three midnight specials. I’d never tried any of them, though I’d been tempted. All were fatty, salty, and full of carbs.
"Do you think I should get the chocolate chip waffles?” Stacy mused as she grabbed her purse and heading towards us, apparently already over the curling iron incident.
"You always get chocolate chip waffles," Jade pointed out, rolling her eyes.
"Because they're consistently excellent," Stacy defended. "Why mess with perfection?"
“I always worry about chocolate chips in a cheap diner.” Tanya grimaced. “what if it’s really mouse shit?”
“You may have just ruined chocolate chip waffles,” Stacy groaned.
“You can do blueberry?” Vicky offered.
“Can’t do it. I’m loyal to chocolate.” Stacy shook her head vehemently.
We laughed, moving as a group toward the back exit. The place was truly sleeping now, not even soft music streaming through the overhead speakers. Everyone was gone. Or so we’d thought.
"Ladies! Before you go."
We turned at the sound of Vince's voice. The club manager stood down the hall, maybe a hundred feet away. He was a square-built Beta with thinning hair and perpetually tired eyes, but he ran a tight operation and treated us fairly. There was a waiting list of women wanting to work here, simply because he wasn’t a slimeball.
"Just a quick reminder," he continued, consulting his clipboard. "Health testing tomorrow starting at noon. I need everyone here by 11:45 to process the paperwork before the techs arrive."
A collective groan rose from our group.
Jade sighed. "Didn't we just do this like three months ago?"
"Every quarter like clockwork," Vince replied, unmoved by our reaction. "Club policy, ladies. You all signed the agreements when you started. If you didn’t read the details, not my fault."
"We know, we know," Crystal said, waving her hand dismissively. "Poke us, prod us, make sure we're not diseased. We'll be here."
Vince's expression remained professionally neutral. "You'll all need to do the standard consent forms again. Nothing's changed since last time, but legal requires fresh signatures for each testing session. Paperwork’s already been emailed. Docusign tonight so we don’t have delays tomorrow."
I adjusted my bag on my shoulder, stifling a yawn.
I'd gone through the initial screening when I'd first applied, and a second time since then. The club checked for everything from common STDs to more exotic conditions, which was why it kept an A plus health rating that appealed to wealthy Alphas. Tomorrow would be more of the same. A couple pokes, a few questions. They’d listen to my heart and lungs, then send me on my merry way.
"Will it be the same nurses?" I asked, remembering the efficient woman who'd made the process as painless as possible.
"Same medical group, no idea on the staffing," Vince answered. "Should take no more than an hour, barring any issues." His eyes scanned over us. "Any other questions?"
We shook our heads, eager to be on our way. My stomach grumbled, and the promise of breakfast grew more appealing by the minute.
"Good. See you all tomorrow." He nodded once, then retreated out of sight.
"Every damn quarter," Jade muttered as we pushed through the exit door into the cool night air. "Like we're suddenly going to develop something catastrophic between tests."
"It's for our protection too," I pointed out reasonably as we crossed the parking lot. "And makes the clients comfortable. Can you imagine the lawsuit if someone caught something here?"
"Always the practical one," Crystal said, linking her arm through mine. "But you’re right. Small price to pay for a safe workplace."
The testing didn't fundamentally bother me.
I'd undergone far more invasive examinations during my ballet career—nutritionists monitoring my body fat percentage, physical therapists assessing every muscle and tendon, doctors scrutinizing my injury nonstop.
A simple health screening was nothing by comparison.
But here, the testing came with that little voice that said, ‘you might be found out’.
I touched my beaded bracelet reflexively as I walked, making sure it was secure. The blocker had nothing to do with bloodwork, but it was a security blanket. Last thing I needed was to walk in for testing and have some smart lab tech peg me an Omega.
We reached Jade's car, an aging wagon that fit all six of us when we squeezed inside. I took my usual spot in the back, wedged between Crystal and Tanya.
"I'm still annoyed they make us come in during daylight hours," Tanya said as Jade started the engine and backed out of her spot. "Noon might as well be dawn for us."
"Sleep is for the weak," Crystal declared dramatically. "Which is why it’s waffle time instead of bedtime."
Stacy held up a hand, one finger extended. “I think bedtime and waffle time should be the same time.”
I leaned back against the seat, letting their banter wash over me as the car took us towards the twenty-four-hour diner we frequented after a long shift. Even though tomorrow was routine, nothing new and scary, for some reason I felt a little anxious.
"Lucky, you're quiet back there," Jade called, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror after a few miles. "Did Mr. Sexy in the black suit drain all your energy?"
I smiled. “He was… demanding.” I left it vague, letting their imaginations come up with whatever.
Laughter filled the car as the other five women filled in the blanks.
“Ohhhh, you finally gave in?”
“Ugh, he was HOT. So jealous.”
“Shut up. How was the tip?”
“You. Slut!”
“I call dibs on him next time!”
I forced a laugh, trying to join in, but I found myself fidgeting with the beaded bracelet at my wrist again.
That constant reminder of my secret warmed.
It threatened to burn my skin so I wouldn’t forget.
Why was I suddenly so uneasy? I'd passed every test so far without issue.
Not a single Alpha had reacted to me outside basic arousal and desire.
Management was clueless. Only Crystal knew the truth. Yet…
When the car parked again, and we all poured back outside, the conversation had shifted to the big tech party. Jade’s voice pierced the night as we strolled toward the diner, its many windows pouring golden light and its roof vents sending scents of pancakes and bacon into the air.
“Apparently, the merger is worth, like, billions. And those tech bros just want one hell of a party.”
“We are going to make so much cash,” Stacy crowed, tilting her head so the darkness carried her words higher.
“Maybe one of us will have our Pretty & Slick Woman moment,” Tanya quipped, new enough to the industry that she still romanticized the ‘rich guy rescues beautiful sex worker’ trope.
"Seriously though," as she spoke, Crystal pushed open the diner’s door. “Let’s coordinate. These big groups love when we partner up. Remember how we handled the bachelor party last month?"
“I sort of felt bad for the bride afterwards,” Vicky commented, then grinned. “But not bad enough to change what I did. Six Bennies in one night.” She sang out the last sentence.
As we slid into a booth, three on each side, Tanya locked eyes on me. “I don’t want to partner with you.” She didn’t sound mean, just resolute.
“Okay,” I shrugged. “No biggie.”
“It’s just that…” She bit her lip, looking unsure.
“I really don’t mind, Tanya. Partner with whoever.” I smiled at her. It was hard being the newest dancer.
“It’s just that you’re too good,” she sighed out. “I don’t want to look like a novice.”
"That's our Lucky," Crystal turned in her seat to look at me, her voice affectionate. “She makes all of us look bad.”
I’m not sure why, but her words felt like the kind of praise I didn’t get these days. I cherished the way Madame Belova once commended my technical precision, my stage presence, or even the curve of my fingers as I held my arms high.
“I don’t make you look bad,” I responded, “You guys are amazing dancers.”
“Shut up,” Jade chided. “False humility is just bullshit. Now, let’s go get your pathetic egg whites ordered.”
I felt warm inside, the irrational fear about tomorrow chased away.
It was still weird to think of where I started, versus where I now sat.
In a greasy diner.
With five other exotic dancers.
Concocting a plan to milk the most cash out of a bunch of Alphas.