Chapter 5 Ember
EMBER
Natasha nearly chokes on her drink as she laughs. The mix of vodka and cranberry comes splattering out of her mouth before she covers it with her hand.
“Jeez,” I say as I grab the tea towel from the coffee table and hand it to her.
The night’s over and we’re sitting on the couch in my humble little apartment having a few drinks.
Lucky for me, she lives in the apartment down the hall from me because after tonight and that sizzling conversation with Roman Orlov, I haven’t been able to sleep.
She gets herself together, wiping the drink off her faded, oversized metal band T-shirt. “Wow,” she says, a residual cough emitting from her mouth.
“What? Did he call me a bitch or something? What’s so funny?”
“It’s not funny, it’s just…” She takes a moment and sips her drink again. “Milaya means sweetheart or darling, but not, like, in a friend way, you know?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know, actually. Is it in a threatening way?”
“No, no. It’s like a term of endearment. You know. Like how you might refer to a boyfriend or a lover.”
I bristle at that thought. Not that Roman is unattractive.
As men go, he’s incredibly gorgeous. The way he was giving me a smoldering stare as he looked me over with eyes so blue they remind me of the ocean…
That moment between us, I felt like I was falling.
It’s like he’d cast a spell over me with just a few words.
All at once, I found myself wanting him to take me in his arms and…
Oh, boy. I really have to get a grip.
“It’s nice,” Natasha goes on. “Clearly, he’s into you.”
I pull my legs up under me as I sit on my side of the couch. “Lots of men are into me. That’s nothing new.”
Natasha raises an eyebrow. “So, what does that mean? You’re not interested in him? Seriously? He’s so your type. Tall, dark, muscley, kind of imposing. He’s actually the opposite of Ricky, you know.”
“He’s also a criminal, Tash. Do you seriously think I could be with somebody like him?
And all that talk about teaching me the business…
I don’t want to get caught up in something illegal.
Especially after everything that happened with Ricky.
I didn’t get out of that mess just to volunteer for another one. ”
“Okay, first of all, you don’t know that he’s Bratva.”
“I looked him up, Tash. After that one day he came looking for Omar.” I take a drink from my own glass, welcoming the alcohol to calm my nerves.
“You know, he’s got a rap sheet as long as my arm.
Racketeering, grand larceny, multiple assault charges…
The FBI is probably building a RICO case on him right now.
He’s, like, seven feet of bad news, Tasha. ”
“So, he’s been in some trouble. None of that means he’s connected,” she says. “I mean, lots of guys out here get into it with the law every now and then. It’s more common than you think.”
“That’s probably the most hopeless thing you’ve ever said.
” I snicker and sip my wine. “Whether or not I want to fuck him isn’t the point, though.
The point is that he’s ready to pull the rug out from under me.
You know how long I looked for work after Ricky took off.
I really can’t just go out and find another job. ”
“I know. And you’ve really done some good as manager at the club. Omar and Jorge never gave a fuck about us girls. We were always having problems with the customers, with each other—”
I wave her off. “I know, I know. It’s a better place since I signed on. Right.”
I drink my wine as the wheels turn. She leans into me. “You’re not really thinking about leaving, though, are you?”
“I don’t want to, Tash. But look at my options. I either work for a criminal boss or keep my soul and leave. And be out of work again for God knows how long. Get evicted, live on the street…” I shake my head. “And I was just getting caught up on my bills.”
She bites her lip as she gazes at me with worried eyes. “You think he’s really gonna burn the place down if you leave?”
“He was pretty clear about that.” I rub my finger against the glass, making a soft thrumming noise that vibrates.
It’s a soothing sensation. “He’s done his research on the revenue increase at the club.
He knows all the work I put into that place.
I don’t think it matters to him one way or the other, really.
He makes out like a bandit if I go and he still makes money if I stay.
” I shake my head slowly. “It’s either me or nothing, I guess. ”
Natasha frowns and swirls the pink liquid around in her glass thoughtfully. “Your dad would be proud of you if you left,” she says.
My dad served on the police force my entire life until some random nut killed him when I was fifteen.
I’ve done my absolute best to stay on the right road when it came to my life.
Even when my friends called me ‘Goody-two-shoes’.
Even when it meant missing out on parties when I knew there would be underage drinking.
I’ve done my father’s memory good so far. Even in a place where Omar and Jorge would turn a blind eye to the extracurricular activities of their employees, I’ve been straight this whole time.
It’s not fair. I deserve some kind of reward for all the right things I did. As hard as I try to deny it, this whole situation feels like a punishment for spending my life as a good girl. No good deed and all that bullshit.
“My dad,” I say out loud, “would have disapproved of my taking this job in the first place. He’d have told me to find a job as a secretary or a waitress before managing a strip club.
I can actually hear him in my head. ‘Sure, it doesn’t pay as much as the last job, but it’s honest work.
And you can’t put a price on that.’” I snicker and shake my head.
“Well, surprise, Dad. Turns out you can put a price on it.”
Natasha sets her drink down and turns to me, crisscrossing her legs under her. “So, then, what do you do? I mean, I’m going to support you no matter what you decide.”
“Even if I leave? You’ve been at the Kitten’s Paw for the last five years. You’ll have to find work again too.”
“Tits and ass are recession-proof,” she says with a little smile.
“I mean, I’m almost thirty, but I still look around twenty-two.
Especially if I put my hair up in pigtails.
I’ll still be able to find work if the Kitten’s Paw goes up.
” She pauses, looking down at her drink thoughtfully.
“Won’t be as good as it was, though. All things considered, Em, you’ve been a great manager.
All of us appreciate everything you’ve done for the club and for us. ”
“Thanks. That means a lot.”
She reaches out and touches my hand. “I meant what I said, though. Whatever you decide, I’ve got your back.”
We go on drinking and talking. Natasha starts to tell me about this new guy she’s dating.
Someone she met online who has no idea what she does for a living.
They’ve been dating now for almost a month and she’s managed not to tell him.
I keep telling her that she needs to figure that out before he ‘accidentally’ finds out about it at one of his friends’ bachelor party or something.
I’m a little jealous of Natasha. Her life ran almost the exact opposite of mine.
Neglectful, borderline abusive parents fostered her morally gray attitude toward life.
In high school, Natasha was popular in a way that felt more genuine than the cheerleaders.
She surrounded herself with people who liked her because of her personality, not because she was pretty or wore fashion-forward clothes, though that stuff didn’t hurt.
For me, I’ve always been in awe at how she just didn’t give a fuck what people thought of her.
She generally did whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted.
And when she turned eighteen and decided that she couldn’t live in her parents' house anymore, she started making money as a stripper. The problem that I ran into with a man stealing my money is something that has never happened and would probably never happen to her. In a lot of ways, she was freer than I’ve ever been.
She downs the last of her drink and looks at the time on her phone. “I’d better get going,” she says. “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in the morning and I want to hit the gym early.” She stands up and looks back at me. “Want to come with? Maybe sweating out some of your anxiety will help.”
“Check with me before you go,” I tell her as I stand up. I hug her goodbye and see her out. After she’s gone, I look at the clock over my door. It’s almost four in the morning. It is late.
While I get ready for bed, I can’t shake this feeling that leaving the club is the wrong move.
Maybe it’s the fact that I’m making enough money to live on and as the months go on, I’ll stand to make much more than that.
I’ll be able to rebuild my savings and maybe get back on track to having my own club one day.
And if I stay, he’ll teach me how to be an owner. If I could believe him.
I imagine him leaning over my shoulder, his warm breath on the back of my neck as he shows me some boring paperwork…
I can resist fucking him. Surely. If I can, it’ll be worth it to get a leg up in having my own club one day.
Wash my face, brush my teeth, get into my nightclothes and get into bed. Tomorrow, things will be clearer. I’ll get up and go work out with Natasha and in the light of day, the right decision will prevail. I’ll leave and it’ll be fine.
Or it won’t. God, is leaving the right thing? Can I stand to be out of work again? And this time, how long would it be before I find something else? I lay in my bed looking up at the ceiling, these worries running and running through my mind.
I don’t have to stay forever. The thought sweeps in like a rescue helicopter.
I need to rebuild my savings. And if Roman is good on his word, then I’ll have a new skillset too in the end.
Once that’s done and then some, I can buy my own club.
A nice place with a piano bar and maybe a jazz band.
Somewhere with rich and classy people looking for a nice night out, not tits, beer, and trouble.
I can’t let him undermine me, though. The little bit of respect I have at the club, I’ve earned, and I mean to keep it. Maybe I can convince him to keep the bad element out of the club.
And I’ll still be clean at the end of the day. Roman stays away, and nothing changes for me.
I roll over and grab my phone. It’s almost dawn and I should probably wait until later… But I won’t be able to sleep until I’ve said my piece.
The phone trills in my ear three times before he picks up. His sleepy, baritone voice fills my senses, vibrating through my body seductively. “Hello?”
I take a breath. Here I am sitting up in my bed, talking to a gangster. “Hi. Um. Mr. Orlov? This is Ember Lorenzo.”
I hear movement. The image of him bare-chested in bed, his tattoos on display proudly over his muscles, comes to mind. “Ms. Lorenzo,” he says. “It’s very early. Are you all right?”
I pause. “Yes. I’m… I’m fine. Thank you.”
His voice rumbles in that way that can only indicate stretching. “No one calls me at this hour unless someone is dead or dying. So, you’ll have to pardon my surprise. I expect you’re calling me because you’ve considered your situation?”
“I have.” God, what am I doing? Am I really about to do this? “If I’m going to stay on as manager, I have some conditions.”
He clears his throat. “I’m listening.”
“Nothing changes with how I’ve been running the club,” I say. “And I mean nothing. I think we’re both in agreement that I’m the reason the profits have doubled over the last six months. If you want that to keep going, you can’t tie my hands.”
“Fair,” he says. “There is the matter of the money that Rodriguez owed me before his disappearance, however. That loan needs to be repaid.”
That gives me pause. “I don’t know anything about any loan.”
“Be that as it may, I’m still owed it.” He sighs, and it sounds really good. The very sound of his breath tingles between my legs. “Your former boss was about fifty thousand dollars in with me. Not to mention the ten thousand a month he paid me to make sure the police stayed off his back.”
I’m nearly speechless. Fucking Omar. If I ever see him again, I’m going to kill him. “You’re not expecting me to cover that, are you? It’s not my debt.”
“Still needs to be paid. I can get it through the insurance if you'd like.”
“Don’t, okay?” My mind turns. “Look, how about you take it out of what it would cost to teach me how to be a club owner?”
He chuckles. “Shrewd. Don’t think that’ll be quite enough, though.”
“Business classes are thousands of dollars,” I say. “If I were paying someone else for that information, it would probably even out.”
“Hmm.” He goes silent for a moment, and I think maybe I’ve overplayed my hand. Then he says, “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we discuss it over dinner? Tomorrow night.”
I gape, unsure of what my answer should be. “Just business, right?”
“Of course.”
Boy, oh, boy. This is a bad idea. I’m opening myself up to more than I’m bargaining for. But the alternative… Shit. He’s really got me by the short hairs.
“Listen,” I say, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
I’m starting to get a headache from this conversation.
“I don’t think we should go out to dinner, however…
” I am going to regret this. “However, I guess I have to agree to the terms you had with Omar. Ten K a month off the top of whatever you bring in from the club’s profits.
As for the fifty thousand that Omar owes, forget it.
That’s not my debt to pay and I won’t take it on.
The way I see it, he screwed us both. If you do manage to find him, he deserves whatever you do to him for leaving me hanging out to dry like this. ”
I’m picking at the fuzz on my blanket, waiting for his response. I’ve never negotiated with a gangster before. I hope this doesn’t go badly.
“All right,” he says, finally. “I will deal with his debt internally, then.”
“So… so it’s a deal, then? And you’ll work with me on the ins and outs of owning a club?”
He snickers. “I am a man of my word, despite whatever you might think of me. You’ve got a deal.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll even throw in dinner for free.”
I smile in spite of my annoyed feelings for him. “The answer is still no on that.”
“You can’t blame me for trying. Good night, Ms. Lorenzo.”
I hang up and lie back down. Natasha’s going to get a kick out of finding out how right she was about his liking me.