Chapter 10—Payton
“Stop fidgeting,” he growls next to me as he shifts gears again. He keeps doing that. Growling. Not sure why.
I’ve never driven a car before, let alone learned how to drive a stick.
My parents didn’t even own a car. We did everything in Manhattan by either walking there, taking a cab, or riding the subway.
I only got a driver’s license because that’s what my friends did at sixteen.
We all said we would learn to drive after this showcase or that, so we could go touring and be free to get to a location on our own, but that never happened.
I stuff my hands under my legs and force them not to bounce.
When Tommy said I was going to a private event, I didn’t even have time to freak out before he grabbed my arm and escorted me out the back—on working stairs, I might add—and into his car.
Well, I assume it’s his since he had the keys.
He put me in and then took a call while standing outside.
I have no idea what kind of car this is. It’s nice. The seats are leather, and it smells good. All I really know is that it’s airtight inside, and with the windows up, I couldn’t hear anything he said to the person on the phone, leaving me with no clue what to prepare for.
I have my costume in my bag, a black one, but it’s nothing fancy.
There are a few makeup supplies in there, too, but I doubt anything will cover whatever’s on my face.
I didn’t even see much of it. I can feel it, though, so I know it’s bad.
And from the look on Tommy’s face, it’s not a pretty thing to look at right now.
I can only hope that wherever this place is, it’s dark.
And hopefully whoever’s there is drunk, because my dancing skills haven’t improved since the last time.
I haven’t had time to really work on them.
When I’m not at the club, I’m either sleeping or watching my neighbor’s girls.
She’s gone through hell with her divorce, and trying to find a job isn’t easy.
And since I don’t want her to wind up being a stripper, or even close to being like me, I shave off a few hours of sleep daily to give her the edge she needs to go out job hunting.
The drive doesn’t take us over the bridge to Manhattan like I expect, so I’m even more surprised when we’re soon pulling inside some type of industrial building.
At least that’s what it looks like from the outside.
But the second we pull through, I almost feel transported.
It might be classified as a garage by anyone’s standards looking at it from outside, but there are four cars along one wall and a closed-off pool on the other side.
An indoor ground-level pool. I don’t know why that’s what I’m focused on, but it is.
This is New York. Most pools are on top of buildings to get views of things, not inside a building, unless it’s the YMCA or something.
But based on the shine of the cars we pass after we exit, I know there’s nothing but money in this place.
I can only hope that those cars aren’t filled with people who have high expectations for tonight.
I follow close to Tommy. Not only because he seems to know where to go, but the shadows are freaking me out.
Truthfully, everything is freaking me out.
I should probably be scared to be alone with him after everything that happened today.
I follow him anyway. The changes he’s made to the club for everyone’s safety prove he cares.
Definitely more than Carl ever did. Not sure why I feel at ease in his space alone other than that, but I don’t question following him into a small elevator and turning my back to him.
If he were going to do something to me, he probably already would have.
But from what I’ve seen, he’s about the money.
If something is going to affect his bottom line, he gets rid of it.
He was willing to immediately drop me from the schedule tonight to not affect the other dancers and his cut.
If he wants his full money, then it makes sense that he’ll make sure I do a job tonight and leave here well enough to go back to work tomorrow.
When the doors open, I hold my breath, expecting anything and everything, but I’m greeted by nothing.
Tommy moves past me quickly, and I hesitantly follow, poking my head out first, then taking a few steps off the elevator. The door chimes a second before it closes behind me.
The elevator opened to a small hallway, with a wall to my left and the length of the hall to my right.
I listen closely but hear nothing. Walking on the tips of my toes, mostly out of habit and not to keep the noise down, I make my way down the hall and stop at the mouth of it, looking over the vast open floor plan of what appears to be a loft.
Multiple industrial windows across from me cover the entire wall down from the living space, with a huge low-back sectional and a six-seat dining room table next to a huge island and kitchen on the back wall.
I see another hallway across from the dining room, mirroring the one I just stepped out of, and figure there are more rooms down that way.
“Where are we?”
I glance around again, as if a shadow will turn into a person at any moment, before I look back to Tommy. He’s in the kitchen pulling something out of the fridge.
“My place.”
“Your place,” I repeat, but even still, it doesn’t make sense. “Why?”
He glances at me, then back to the fridge before shutting it and heading down the other hallway without a look at me.
I take a step in his direction, as if to follow, but correct myself.
He didn’t tell me to come with him, and if this is his place, I really don’t want to follow him to what I can only assume is his bedroom.
The area below my stomach pulses at the thought, and I squeeze my legs tightly together.
It makes no sense that I would think like that about a person, especially my boss, after the day I had. I honestly should have called in sick, but staying at home wasn’t an option. How sad is it that I found work to be the safest choice out of everything? Pretty pathetic if you think about it.
His footsteps alert me to his return, and I turn to him, then jump almost a mile high at the sound of a buzzer.
“That’s the doorbell.”
I nod because I can’t speak; my voice has somehow left me in my moment of fright.
“Put this on.” He hands me clothes as he moves past me to the hallway I just left.
“I… I brought one of my costumes.” I spin as I speak, keeping him in my line of sight.
He turns his head, pausing before continuing to the elevator. “Bathroom is down that hall.” He nods to the other one and then continues to the elevator. He pushes the button and then steps in, leaving me alone.
With no other thoughts of what I should be doing, I take what he gave me, along with the bag I still have over my shoulder, and move down the other hall.
The first door I come to is open, and it’s the bathroom. I put my stuff on the sink, then hesitantly take a step out of the room. I glance back at the living space, confirming I’m still alone, before I look down the hall and see three more doors, all closed.
Curiosity riding high, I go across from the bathroom to the first one and turn the handle slowly, pushing the door open. No lights, but the shine from the New York life outside the windows shows me outlines of an office setting with a desk and a tall wingback chair behind it.
Hearing the chime of the elevator, I shut the door and hurry back to the bathroom. Stupid curiosity. I shut the door too quickly and put my back to it, cringing that it was probably really loud, and he’ll know that I’m only just now doing as he asked.
Not wanting to waste any more time, I grab my makeup out of my bag and spend a good five minutes on my face to hide what I can.
It’s not working. With a sigh, I give up and just grab the mask I sometimes use for performances that I forgot to take out of my bag last week.
It’s only a half face mask, but I hope that if I keep my hair down and look down a lot, no one will suspect anything.
I look at the clothes in my bag, then shake my head. Tommy wanted me to wear something else. Since this is a private event, there might be a dress code.
I unfold what he gave me and then pause. It’s a shirt and what appear to be boxers. I suck my lower lip in, only to wince at the forgotten cut on it.
I pull the boxers on first, but they slide off.
I roll them, but with the number of times I have to do so, I can feel the breeze on my ass.
The panties I have on are great to wear under a costume to keep them high on the thigh, but they offer very little in the butt-covering department.
The shirt is a soft dark blue that I carefully pull over my mask and face.
Unable to resist, I breathe in the fabric.
It’s clean, and I mostly smell the laundry detergent, but there’s a hint of him.
A male scent I can’t describe with an undertone of a fragrance that lingers.
As if he wore the same cologne daily, and no matter how many times he washes, it will never fully dissipate.
The shirt doesn’t hit my knees, but it goes below the boxers, leaving it as if I have nothing underneath. Maybe that’s his plan. I just hope that he’s not really hoping for much in tonight’s performance and that my mask is something he’ll ignore due to what happened to my face.
The bathroom is bigger than mine, but most things are.
To include my old closet at home. This one is three times the size, big enough for me to stretch in.
Something I seriously need to do, as things are aching with more time ticking by.
It was bad when it happened, but I swear I either grew numb to it or was just too much in shock before this moment to really feel everything that’s going on with my body.