Fake It Till You Make It
“How’s the job hunting going?”
Kate’s voice is filled with hope, but I shake my head. It’s not that I hadn’t tried, but my resume was a disaster. A train wreck of short-lived jobs and dead-end positions.
“I can help—”
“Kate, no.” I cut her off before she could finish. “I’m not taking your money.”
“I’m not offering it.”
I narrow my eyes. “Then what are you offering?”
“There’s a job opening.”
That gets my attention.
“It’s not much—” she hedges.
“Well, it’s more than I have right now.”
“Of course, you’d have to do an interview. The owner is… particular about who he hires.”
And just like that, my hopes deflate.
Kate gives me that look—the one that’s all soft encouragement and unwavering faith. “I’m sure he’ll love you, babe. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
“Well, do you blame me?”
She sighs. “I know you’ve had it rough, but maybe—maybe—your luck is about to change.”
I almost laugh. Lucky? I’ve been called many things, but lucky has never been one of them.
“If you’re interested, you need to be at Euphoria by ten sharp.”
My brows shoot up. “A club?”
“What? Punctuality is important.”
“Obviously,” I mutter, shaking my head. A job is a job, but Euphoria doesn’t sound like the type of place that requires a cover letter and a strong handshake.
Kate leans in with a wicked grin. “Oh, Brooklyn—”
I brace myself.
“Wear something sexy.”
“For a job interview?”
“Oh, trust me, you’ve never had a job interview like this before.”
“Ominous, but okay. Define sexy.”
“Nothing outrageous, just… the more skin they can see, the better.”
I groan. “I think I’m gonna have to stop you right there—”
“Brook, it’s a club. You dress for the job you want.”
“And what if I don’t want the job?”
“Then you can sit at home and lick your wounds like you have for the past three weeks. Or you can go into my closet, find something suitable, and knock their socks off.”
I hesitate.
Kate sees her opening and goes for the kill. “If that doesn’t sweeten the deal—the pay is good.”
“How good?”
“One thousand—”
“A month?”
“A night.” She smirks.
Shit.
One thousand a night? What the hell kind of job was this?
But Kate wouldn’t send me somewhere shady—not after she spent months trying to get me out of that hellhole salon.
Screw it. What do I have to lose? It’s not like they’ll hire me, anyway.
Right?
So here I am.
Standing outside Euphoria.
I got here early—Kate said punctuality was important, and I didn’t want to screw this up before I even stepped through the doors.
The building looms before me, sleek, black and gold, its lights casting an intoxicating glow across the sidewalk.
It’s classy, expensive. The kind of place that promises indulgence behind velvet ropes.
I, however, do not look expensive. Gone are the sharp suits I usually wear to get rejected by prospective employers.
Instead, I’m wrapped in Kate’s version of interview attire—a slinky black dress that clings in places I’ve spent years trying to ignore.
If this goes the same way as every other interview, at least there’s a bar inside to drown my sorrows.
Taking a slow breath, I walk up the stairs. The two doormen size me up before exchanging a subtle nod. Approval. Well, what do you know—Kate was right. The outfit got me through the door.
Inside, the black and gold carpet muffles the sound of my heels. The rest of the flooring is polished dark wood, gleaming under the dim golden glow of overhead chandeliers. The whole place drips with opulence, like I’ve stepped into a high-end hotel rather than a club.
The woman at the front desk greets me with a professional smile, her grey silk suit pristine, her expression unreadable.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m here for an interview.”
She scans me quickly—eyes trailing over my dress, my posture. Whatever she’s looking for, she seems to find it, because she nods once before gesturing to a side door.
I’m ushered into a plush lounge where other women are seated on blush-coloured futons edged in—you guessed it—gold.
Their dresses are tight, their heels high, their lips painted in sultry shades of red.
Kate really should have given me more details, because I still have no idea what kind of job I’m interviewing for.
“Okay, ladies.”
A tall man in a black and white pinstripe suit claps his hands together, the sharp sound making me jump. His eyes sweep the room before landing on mine.
“You.”
I blink. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Name?”
“Brooklyn Lane.”
His chestnut-coloured eyes glint with recognition. “Ah, yes.” He taps his chin, like he’s heard my name before. “You’re up first, darling.”
I sit frozen.
“Well, come on. Can’t keep the boss waiting.”
I move on autopilot as he links his arm through mine, guiding me through yet another side door. This place is a maze, an endless series of dimly lit hallways that swallow us whole. My palms are sweating, heat creeping up my chest as my pulse thrums in my ears.
We stop in front of a massive black door edged in gold, mirroring the ones at the club’s entrance.
“You don’t have to look so scared,” he murmurs, his lips twitching. “He won’t bite. Unless you ask him to.”
My eyes widen.
He chuckles. “I’m joking, of course. Paint on a smile and go wow him.”
There’s that word again. Wow. And I still have no clue what the hell I’m supposed to be doing.
“I—” I swallow. “Kate never said what this interview entails.”
His mouth falls open in mock shock. “Oh, that sneaky little minx.” His grin sharpens. “You’re here to dance, darling.”
My stomach plummets. “Dance?”
He nods.
“But I don’t know how to dance.”
He shrugs. “Then you’d better learn fast. The boss doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
I stare at him, willing him to say something reassuring, but his expression tells me everything—I’m going to bomb this. I know I’m going to bomb this.
But it’s a grand a night.
I have to at least try.
Before I can think too hard about it, he gives me a wink and a light slap on the ass, then pushes me through the doors.
The moment I step inside, I know I’m out of my element.
The lights are low, casting a golden haze over the room. Bodies move in the shadows, slow and sinuous, draped in silk and leather, smoke curling in the air. A stage dominates the centre of the room, the spotlight waiting, expectant.
And somewhere in the dark, watching, is him.
The boss.
Shit.
Why the hell did Kate send me here?
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. As I exhale, I force my legs to move, stepping slowly up the podium stairs.
Good start, Brooklyn. Your feet haven’t failed you yet.
All eyes are on me. I’m not used to this. I’m used to being invisible, a blip in the universe. But now? The weight of their attention shivers through me, crawling over my skin like static.
My tiny leather dress inches higher with every step. The urge to tug it down claws at me, but Kate’s voice echoes in my head—the more skin, the better. So I resist, letting it ride up, baring more of me than I ever would by choice.
At the top of the podium, I scan the room, trying to find him. The boss. The one I’m supposed to impress. But the shadows stretch long, and the figures lounging in the darkness are unreadable. The music starts. Lights dance around me. I feel exposed.
My skin prickles, sweat forming at the nape of my neck.
I step toward the pole—big mistake. My heel wobbles, my body pitches sideways, and before I can catch myself.
Crash.
A sharp gasp ripples through the room. My stomach plummets.
Shit.
Shaking my head, I scramble back to my feet, heat burning my cheeks. Way to make a first impression.
But then—applause.
Loud. Encouraging. Not the humiliating jeers I’d braced for.
They’re rooting for me.
Okay. I can do this.
I grip the cool steel pole, its icy bite grounding me. My hips sway to the beat, slowly at first, my body stiff as I fight the nerves strangling me. Then, I let go. Feel the music. Let it move through me, guiding my body.
My arms slide up the pole as I spin, my body curling against the steel. I drop slowly, head tilting, hands trailing. The cheers vibrate through the room.
Then—silence.
The music cuts.
The man who pushed me through the doors steps forward, extending his fingers toward me. Summoning me.
I glide down the steps more elegantly than I went up—until I collide with something solid.
Or someone.
Damn it, Brooklyn. My stupid two left feet.
“Sorry,” I mumble, not daring to look up.
A low chuckle rumbles in my ear. “The pleasure was all mine.” His voice is silk and sin, a whisper that slides down my spine.
I don’t breathe until I step through the doors. A rush of cold air smacks me in the face, and only then do I exhale.
“Oh, girl, you did—”
“Terrible?”
Tom laughs. “Not terrible… just—unexpected.”
I arch a brow. “That’s generous.”
“I’m Tom, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you at last, Tom.” I hold out my hand. He shakes it with a grin.
We head back into the waiting room, but instead of being shown out—like I should be—I’m still here. My stomach twists. Surely, I’m not being hired? I looked just as awkward as I felt.
Tom clears his throat. “The boss wants to see you.”
I blink. “Me?”
He smirks. “I know I’m shocked too.”
My brows knit together.
“Well, you’re beautiful,” he says, shrugging. “But you have… no form.”
I snort. “Agreed. Falling on my ass seems to be my one talent.”
He nods solemnly. “A unique skill set indeed.”
I roll my eyes. “So why does he want to see me?”
He shrugs. “You must have impressed him.”
Doubt lingers in my chest, but I don’t question it. Not when a job like this pays a grand a night.
Tom gestures toward the elevator.
“Take it to the top floor.”
I hesitate, but he gives me a wink.
“Good luck, Brooklyn.”
I’m going to need it.
The elevator doors shut, and suddenly the spacious interior feels smaller.
The walls inch closer.
My palms are sweaty.
My heart slams against my ribs.
Beads of sweat trickle down my spine.
I tug at the hem of my tiny dress, but all it does is push my cleavage higher, threatening to spill me out completely. Great. Now I have to worry about a wardrobe malfunction and whatever the hell I’m walking into.
With a chime, the doors glide open.
I step out into silence.
No music. No voices. Just the muted whisper of my heels against the thick cream carpet. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air, warm and intoxicating.
At the end of a long, dimly lit corridor, one door waits.
Cream and gold.
Tom stands beside it, arms crossed, looking far too amused.
“Tom?” I frown. “How did you get up here so fast? Are you a superhero?”
He grins. “Moi?” He points to himself. “I wish. You move quickly around here.”
I shake my head. “I’d get so lost.”
He chuckles, placing his hand on the ornate gold handle. “He’s waiting for you.”
Nerves twist deep in my gut. I nod.
“Brooklyn—”
I pause.
Tom gives me a knowing smile. “Good luck.”
I swallow hard and step inside.
The room is enormous, stretching into shadows. The only sound is the soft crackle of a fire, embers glowing like molten gold. Thick crimson drapes cloak the towering windows, swallowing the outside world whole.
It’s breathtaking.
Opulent.
But it’s him that steals my breath.
Warmth brushes my skin. His presence is electric, pressing against my back.
“You like it?” His voice is deep, smooth as aged whiskey.
I exhale shakily. “It’s beautiful.”
There’s a pause, a shift in the air. His breath ghosts against my neck, sending a cascade of shivers down my spine.
“Not as beautiful as you.”
I freeze.
Slowly, I turn.
My eyes climb his body—long, powerful legs wrapped in a midnight black three-piece suit. Broad shoulders. A chest that fills his tailored jacket with ease.
My gaze drifts higher. A neatly trimmed beard. Tanned skin.
Then—his eyes.
Oh, fuck.
Swirling ocean blue with a hint of turquoise, sharp and searing as they lock onto mine.
My heart stops.
His lips part. A breath escapes.
And then, he says my name.
“Brooklyn.”