chapter 30
Remi
BACKSTAGE AT CALIBER, THE MUSIC is muffled through the walls; the deep vibrations thump through my chest as I open my locker and reach for my water bottle.
I take a long drink, then go to put the bottle back, but my eyes catch on my cell, and I’m reminded yet again of the unanswered text waiting for me.
It’s a selfie of Sebastian, a half-eaten foil-wrapped burrito held in one hand, his brown eyes illuminated by the setting sun. And under the photo is the text I still don’t know how I’m going to respond to.
We’ve got a show next week. Wanna come? D
It sounds innocent enough, but it means so much more than the words can communicate.
Seb is asking me to come to his home, to step into his world. He’s asking me to leave Vegas and venture into something unknown.
And usually, I’m not afraid of the unknown. I’ve done some ballsy shit in my life, not least of all stepping onto a stage to strip for the very first time. Boarding a plane and flying an hour to Cali shouldn’t scare me this much.
But it’s what will be waiting there when I land that has my stomach all twisted in knots.
Seb. His place in Malibu. Maybe even a life I’m going to want to spend more time in—which I really can’t do right now.
I love my life here, love my job and my condo and everything I’ve built for myself.
And I still have the goal of getting Riley’s tuition covered for her freshman year at Caltech, which is barreling toward us at the speed of a shiny new Bugatti.
I can’t allow myself to lose focus. And besides, I work next week—like I do every week—so it’s not going to matter anyway. I won’t be able to go to his show.
Heart feeling heavy, I sigh and close my locker.
I really need to stop thinking about this and focus on my job.
It’s a Friday night, so James will be here soon.
Usually, I’m excited to see him, knowing I always get a cash bonus when he’s here for private dance time with me.
But ever since his observation that I was distracted during the lap dance, I’ve felt like there’s an extra weight on my shoulders.
I need to show him tonight that I’m fully engaged, or else he might determine that he’d rather start booking private rooms with one of the other girls, like Fantasique or Bunny or Shania.
And then I’d be out a few hundred dollars a week, which definitely isn’t going to help me hit my financial goals.
Trying to get my head in the game, I go to the big mirror with the lights shining down and touch up my hair and makeup, then adjust the skimpy royal blue lingerie set I’m wearing and wipe a scuff from my platform heel before pushing my shoulders back and striding out onto the floor.
James watches me through lazy eyes, sipping his gin slowly, like he’s not in any rush. I’m trying hard to make this dance super fucking good, mostly to make up for my distraction last time he was in and ensure I’m the dancer he keeps paying when he comes to Caliber.
I hold his pale blue gaze as I reach back and unhook my top, then make a show of slowly letting the material fall away, exposing my breasts in the dim red light.
His eyes slide down, and he follows my movement as I run my hands over my tits, squeezing and massaging them, then tease my pierced nipples, just enough to get them hard.
I can tell he’s not hard though. He’s lounging on the couch, legs open, and there’s no pressure pushing against his zipper, no bulging hard-on straining for me.
Maybe that means I need to work harder.
For a split second, I consider letting him cross one of my boundaries tonight, put his hands or his mouth where I typically don’t allow them to go.
But then I see Sebastian’s dimpled smile, and I remember how he held me in bed after we slept together for the first time, then how he laughed while getting his toenails done at the salon.
And there’s no way I can let any other man touch me in that way—even if I could charge good money for it.
Lingerie top now lying in a tiny lump of glittery fabric on the floor, I cross the room to James, moving languidly, touching my breasts and my hips as I walk, letting him see every inch of me.
When I reach him, I take the glass of gin from his hand, finish what’s left of it, then sink onto his lap, smiling as his hands find my waist—right where I’ve taught him they can go.
“You look sleepy tonight,” I whisper to him as I start to writhe in his lap, moving my body sensuously to the slow music. “Maybe I can help wake you up.”
James lets out a small sound, like a mix between a laugh and a scoff, and something about it puts me on edge. “I’m not tired. Just observing.”
“Oh?” I run a hand through my long hair, then settle my weight more firmly into his lap and tip my head at him. “Well, what do you think?”
His eyes narrow slightly, and his tongue wets his bottom lip. “I think you’re trying too hard.”
I try not to physically react to his words, try not to let him see any shift in the expression on my face. But it feels like a slap. Because I am trying hard. It’s supposed to look effortless though.
I don’t want him to know he’s caught me. So I lift my lips in a small smile and say, “Of course I try hard for you.”
“Hmm.”
He leans back on the couch, draping his arms along the back, and looks up at me where I’m seated in his lap. And even though I’m the one on top and am supposed to be the one in control of this situation, something about the look on his face makes me think he doesn’t see it that way at all.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that boy-band boyfriend of yours, then?”
This time, I’m quite sure his words have the desired effect, because his lips turn upward in the corners, but his smile appears sharp rather than kind, and there’s a look in his eyes that’s different than usual, like something unsettling is simmering just under their blue surface.
“Thought so.”
How does he even know about Seb?
I think back to that photo of us laughing and smiling in the nail salon. It went viral, and I got thousands of new followers before I set my profile to private. Was he one of them? Is he lurking somewhere in my follower list now, hiding from me in plain sight?
That realization sends a curl of cold dread through me.
I share snippets from my life on there: where I like to go boarding, places I go out to eat, gym days with Riley.
None of that is meant to be consumed by clients from Caliber; I keep Remi and Mirage carefully controlled, both for my safety and my sanity.
In one moment, it feels like the two worlds I’ve fought so hard to keep separate have suddenly collided, and it leaves me feeling short of breath.
But I don’t want James to see just how deeply he’s rattled me. I can’t give him that power. So I take a steadying breath, put on my best Mirage smile, and say, “You sound jealous.”
His sharp smile flickers, and I think I’ve successfully surprised him.
He probably expected me to deny it or demand to know how he knew that information.
But that would just be pouring fuel onto his fire, showing him he can get under my skin.
What he doesn’t know is that my Mirage armor is a lot thicker than that, and he’s going to have to try a hell of a lot harder if he wants to see me crack.
Even if deep down, I already feel like I’m starting to fracture.
After James pays me and we leave the private room, I head toward the backstage door, though I move slowly through Caliber on my way there, just in case James is watching.
I don’t want him thinking I’m running off to hide; I want him to think I don’t give a fuck that he knows way more than he should—even if I do.
So I move leisurely through the club, which is starting to wind down now that it’s early Saturday morning. And when I see James leave from the corner of my eye, I breathe a sigh of relief, then immediately go backstage.
My heart is thumping hard, and my hands curl into fists at my sides. Dolly asks me if everything’s okay, and I tell her I’m fine—even though the anxiety prickling in my chest says otherwise.
I waste no time in the dressing room, opting not to talk with the other girls or linger to remove my makeup. Instead, I pull on a baggy sweatshirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, shove my feet into my beat-up Ugg boots, then grab my shit and leave.
When I walk out the employee door, where one of our security guys is posted, I pause, standing under the floodlight that illuminates this entrance. My eyes sweep the employee parking lot, but I don’t see any movement, don’t see any figures lurking in the dark.
“Something wrong?” the security guy, Logan, asks me.
I shake my head. “No. But thanks.” I give him a smile, then move quickly to my Jeep, and I lock the doors as soon as I’m seated inside.
Every so often, we get creeps at the club, guys who try to follow the dancers to their cars or catch them alone in the dark. But I’ve never had an issue with that; I’ve always felt safe here.
Tonight is the first time I feel on edge, with a tingling sensation on my skin, like I’m being watched in the darkness.
It’s okay, I tell myself, taking a deep breath and letting it out slow. Nothing happened.
It’s not like James threatened me. And he followed all my rules during the dance, without needing to be reminded where he could and couldn’t put his hands. So it’s probably unnecessary for me to feel like this right now.
But I’m still struggling to shake the unease even as I drive home. Only when I’m in my condo with the doors locked and an old Studio Ghibli film playing on the TV in my living room do I finally feel the anxiety fall away from my shoulders.
I’m okay. Nothing bad happened. It’s fine.
But when I sit down on the couch with one of my meal-prep dinners and grab my phone, Sebastian’s silly burrito photo is the first thing I see.
And something about it makes me yearn for him, yearn for the comfort and rightness that I feel being with him, whether we’re grocery shopping or laughing together in my pole room.
And a small voice inside me says, You haven’t taken a break in years. You deserve this.
I glance up at the movie playing, watching the witch flying around on her broom with her little black cat, but I can’t focus. My gaze keeps being drawn to my cell, and I keep wanting to text back, even if I’m not sure yet what to say.
But maybe . . .
Maybe spending some time in Cali would be good for me.