Chapter 12 Levi
Levi
A week of auditions, and I was already hating every fucking second of it. Lucas was always better at handling the casting calls than I was. I never had the patience to sit there and watch women shake their asses for hours on end, all for the sake of attention.
That’s not to say that I didn’t want a wife who could dance—hell, that’d be the best-case scenario. But every applicant ended up being the same story on repeat. There was no drive, passion, or emotion in their movements. It was all just for show.
I only hoped that Lucas was having better luck on his hunt for our future bride-to-be, because I’ve found myself at an impasse with only a handful of resumes left to audition, and not one of them was standing out as our future bride.
I took out my phone and called Dane, needing to talk to someone who wasn’t my brother or a woman begging for my dick for once.
“So, how’s the hunt going?” He answered straight away.
“If you have to ask, clearly, not in my favor.” I sighed, relaxing back in my chair as I stared up at the ceiling while we spoke.
“That bad, huh? Ever think that maybe you just have your expectations set too high?” He crooned in a mocking tone.
“Easy for you to say, your ability to marry doesn’t come accompanied with an expiration date. You can take your sweet ass time finding someone. I’d give anything for that kind of freewill right about now.”
“True, and I’d also prefer not to tie my ass down to just any woman, considering the test requirement.”
“See? That right there is exactly my point. So don’t tell me I have too high expectations when you have the same attitude toward the situation. We have to be picky or we’re just setting these women up for failure.”
“Alright, touché. You make a valid point… How many interviews do you have left?”
“Tonight? I don’t know, two? Maybe?” I hadn’t even taken a second to check, my list seeming like it had no end in sight.
“Wanna grab a drink after? Talk more about some of your prospective candidates?”
“First off, there are no prospects. They all suck. And secondly, you only want to grab a drink and talk because you want my short list to fulfill your personal needs.”
“Hey, can’t blame a guy for trying.” Dane laughed, and I could hear his smile through the phone. “So that’s a…”
“No and Fuck no. I’m just going to head home right after my last interview and disconnect for the rest of the evening. Clear my head and take a break from work… life.”
“Well, don’t rest too hard, boss, we’ve got a scheduled workout session before the show tomorrow.”
“Ugh, don’t fucking remind me…” I groaned, almost forgetting the obligation altogether.
“You make the schedules, I just follow them. Talk to you tomorrow, Levi.”
After Dane hung up, I dropped my phone on the table and dragged my palms along my face, rubbing my eyes with the pads of my fingers before taking a second glance at my clipboard, listing every dancer set to audition for the day.
I had one more left, and then I was free to get the fuck out of here and go home to a much-needed quiet night alone. The mental exhaustion of balancing the club, auditions, and the revue on my own without my brother’s help was draining me faster than usual.
I could handle two of the three tasks with ease, but that third being thrown in was fucking killing me, and the lack of sleep was making me irritable.
Trading the clipboard for my phone, I stood from the cocktail table, checking the time on the screen as I stepped out into the alley for some fresh air.
The last dancer was supposed to arrive by six for her interview, but she was late, and my stomach was turning tight with hunger.
I had skipped lunch to get this last round in before the week’s end, and the only reason I’ve stuck around until now is because her resume was surprisingly impressive; a prestigious dancer from California who had worked several years on The Strip.
Why someone with a background like hers was applying to our club to be a run-of-the-mill cage dancer is beyond me. But then again, that would explain the no-show and why I’m still fucking here at… seven-ten.
My best guess is that she applied to Pulse on a whim, changed her mind at the last second, and then accepted an offer elsewhere, realizing she didn’t want or need the job after all.
I pressed my back against the warm brick of our building, keeping under the shelter of the back door awning. It had just started raining, the first droplets steaming on the pavement as they cooled the hot asphalt. The refreshing scent helped calm my busy mind—its aroma soothing and comforting.
After letting a few more minutes pass, I ran a hand through my hair and returned inside, more than ready to wrap up the rest of my audition notes and head home, where a glass of bourbon and a misty skyline view were patiently waiting for me.
Quietly pulling the door closed behind me, I turned to find a woman wandering the main level of the club, her clothes and hair soaked, clinging to her like a second skin as she admired the interior with beads of water dripping onto the dance floor along her path.
With another glance at the time before stuffing my phone into my back pocket, I could only assume this was my last audition of the evening—an hour and a half late, and yet, a small fraction of me was glad that she’d shown up at all.
I chewed my cheek as my brows knitted together, questioning my sudden shift in mood, the way my heart rate accelerated at the sight of her, curious as to how—even from a distance—this mysterious woman had managed to affect me, however subtle it may have been.
Pushing my unwarranted reaction aside, I picked up my clipboard and scanned my schedule to the last name on the list, my eyes flicking over to her as she freely twirled across the dance floor, the lights reflecting off her damp baby pink hair.
Evie Sinclair. You have my attention.