by T L Swan
The stylist turns his attention to me. “It’s okay, calm down. We can work wonders in here.” He sits me down in a chair and opens a large cupboard door revealing drawers. He bends and pulls out the second from the bottom. “Brunette?” he asks the girls.
“Yes, and long,” replies Ebony.
He takes out a long, dark chocolate wig and places it on the chair, and then he ties my hair back in a tight bun and puts the wig on my head. Long, dark, luscious thick hair hangs just below my breast.
I stifle a smile. “This wig is…” It’s kind of cool to be honest.
“It’s high quality,” he replies, distracted as he straightens and pins it on. “If you come in here every shift, I will wig you up.”
I nod gratefully. “Okay. Thank you”
One of the other girls disappears and comes back with a sexy pink sailor cap, placing it on my head as Ebony hands me a pair of pink-tinted glasses.
“There.” She smiles as she puts her hands on her hips and stands back to admire her handy work. “No one would ever know it’s you.”
“You need lipstick,” the stylist says as he fluffs around with my wig.
One of the other girls shuffles around in the drawer in front of where she is sitting and pulls out hot pink lipstick, passing it to me.
I screw up my face. “Really?” I frown. That looks very clowny.
“Really,” they all reply in unison.
I put on the hot pink lipstick and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’m wearing a tight leather skirt and a skimpy tie around leather top, gold high heels, long dark hair with a sailor’s cap, pink glasses and pink lipstick. I do hate to admit it, but I don’t even recognize myself.
“Thank you.” I smile. “Shall I just go back out?” I ask.
“Yes, go and find a job where he won’t see you,” Ebony replies.
Find a job. What job? “Should I go back to the bar?”
“Maybe collect glasses from the tables until you see where he is and then decide where he will least likely see you.”
I nod. “Good idea.” I think on it for a minute. “Will I get into trouble for not going back to the bar, though?”
“No, it’s cool. The glasses need collecting from the table anyways.” She gives me a smile and runs her fingers through my long dark hair. “You make a pretty hot brunette, Viv.”
I look at her over the top of my rose-colored glasses and smirk. “Thanks.” I turn and walk back out into the club feeling a little braver. My eyes roam the club at the hundreds of well-dressed men in suits. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack
Right. Cameron Stanton?
Where are you?
* * *
It’s been over an hour and I have walked what feels like five thousand miles around this club in the search of my Dr. Vegas. Where is he? My eyes scan the bottom level as I walk along with my tray, picking up empty glasses from the tables. Group after group of gorgeous men surround me, but I can’t seem to find mine. Well, he’s not mine, but you know what I mean. The music comes to a crescendo and the lights dim. Shit. The fashion show is starting. The spotlight comes on the catwalk and I stand still for a moment as I watch the first model glide down the runway. Gosh, she’s breathtaking. A natural redhead with porcelain skin—she has this confident, sexy walk going on, and to be honest, I think she is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in real life. Wearing a cream sequin dress that is backless, her hair is down and set in Hollywood curls. She has sky-high, strappy gold stilettos on. I stand still for a moment as I watch her command the room with her beauty. The men on the bottom level all watch her, captivated, and they exchange looks with a smirk.
What must it be like to be her? She gets to pick from these men.
Who will she choose?
Transfixed, I watch her make eye contact with some of the men in the front row as she comes to the end of the runway and puts her hand on her hip, throwing them a sexy wink. I bite my bottom lip to stifle my smile. She’s playing with them.
The men all glance at each other and size each other up. Suddenly the penny drops. These are powerful men… they could have any woman they want on their own merits in the real world, but in here they are just a number… and she gets to choose.
It’s the powerful man’s ultimate game.
Suddenly I’m frantic to find Cameron Stanton. What if she wants him?
No, she can’t have him. I want him. I begin to look around nervously. Of course she’ll want him. Any woman would pick him over the rest of these idiots. The models all start to file out in their fashion parade, but I’m focused on my task. I continue to pick up the glasses and weave in between the men. I bend over a table and I feel a hand on my behind and then slide down to the back of my thigh. I look over my shoulder to see a distinguished looking man with dark hair standing behind me.
He’s in his late thirties and handsome in a sophisticated, naughty way.
“Hello.” He smiles sexily as he raises his brow.
I smile nervously, relieved that it isn’t Dr. Stanton. Or maybe I do wish it was him. No, I don’t! He can’t find out that I work here. Oh jeez, I’m confusing myself here.
“Hello.” I smirk.
His eyes drop to my feet and back up to meet my eyes. I can feel the heat from his gaze. This man is hot. “What’s your name?” he asks.
“Vivienne.”
He holds out his hand and I stare down at it. He wants to shake my hand. Even in a place like this, his manners overrule his desire.
I nervously shake his hand.
“You’re new?”
I smile softly. “Yes.”
His eyes drop back to my feet and then back up as he licks his bottom lip. “Are you going to be working in the Escape Lounge?”
I glance down at the models floating up and down the catwalk and shake my head. “No.” I glance around nervously. “I’m just behind the bar.”
His dark eyes hold mine. “Pity.” His hand drops to my hipbone and he gives it a dominant squeeze. “Do you give lap dances?”
The heat from his hand is burning hot. I feel arousal begin to swirl between us. It’s been way too long since I’ve been touched by a man—nearly two years, to be exact.
“No.” I look around nervously. “I wouldn’t know how to give a lap dance,” I murmur
He bends and puts his lips to my ear. “I could teach you,” he whispers so close that I feel his breath on my skin. Goosebumps scatter, and he gently runs his hand up my forearm to feel them.
My scared eyes hold his and he smirks triumphantly.
He bends to my ear again. “I could turn you into my Escape girl.” He gently kisses my ear.
I frown and step back from him abruptly. Okay, this guy is freaking me out. He is gorgeous and tempting and fucking dangerous to my morals.
“I don’t think so,” I murmur.
“Could be fun.” He smirks.
A smile crosses my face. “I have no doubt, but I’m nobody’s Escape girl.”
“Maybe I could be your Escape man?” He raises a sexy brow.
Now… there’s a proposition worth thinking about. I smile and grab his hand and squeeze it in mine. “Keep dreaming.” I pick up my tray and turn and walk off through the crowd. I hate to admit it, but I feel ten-feet tall. He was gorgeous and he wanted me. I can hardly wipe the stupid smile from my face. My tray is full and I have to return it to the kitchen, which is in the restaurant at the back of the club. I walk up the three steps into the industrial trendy looking bar. The floor is polished cement and the furnishings are all recycled expensive timber. The chairs are all a funky tan leather, and the dropped light fittings are huge copper pendants. The music is different in here. It’s more of a relaxed vibe. This place must have cost an absolute fortune to furnish. I’ve never been up here before and I glance around as I look for the door into the kitchen. There it is at the back. As I walk through, I hear a familiar laugh, and I glance up at a table of six men sitting in the corner having dinner.
Cameron.
He’s with five other men and they are all around a table eating and laughing, paying no attention at all to the women in the fashion parade. I drop my head and continue walking into the kitchen to place the tray in the line up for the dishwasher. A waitress is in the kitchen running the food.
“Hi.” I smile as I watch him through the peephole.
“Hello.” She smiles. “God, it’s hectic tonight.”
“I know.” I grin as an idea runs through my mind. “Hey, see that table of men up the back?”
She glances over at them. “Yes.”
“How long have they been here?”
“A few hours.”
I nod. “Okay...” I hesitate. “Thank you.”
I drop my head and walk back out of the restaurant. Please don’t see me, please don’t see me. I pick up another tray and begin to collect my empty glasses again. After another hour of restaurant door stalking, I glance up and see Cameron and his group of friends walking out of the restaurant.
Shit. I drop my head and scurry into the darkness between the crowd. I watch on as he and his friends head down to the front of the club where the Escape girls are.
Oh no…
I follow him through the crowd as I pick up glasses. He and his friends stand in a group and begin to talk again, and it’s all I can do not to run up and scream get out of here before you scar me for life.
I continue to pick up my glasses in the shadows as I watch on and one of the Escape girls walks up the stairs, over to their group of men. She has long black hair and a body to die for. She’s wearing a skimpy orange dress that leaves nothing to the imagination. I frown in horror. Oh no...
“Hey,” a man yells. “That glass is still full.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I quickly put his glass back down on the table. God, this is multitasking at its absolute worst. How the hell can I concentrate on glasses when this shit is gong on? The girl walks straight over to Cameron and says something to him. He gives her a smirk as his hand drops to her behind. I watch him squeeze her cheek in his hand and then pat her ass.
My stomach rolls.
He says something else through that cheeky grin and she laughs out loud.
Fuck, he knows her. He’s been in the Escape lounge with her.
How many nights has he spent with her?
Stop it. It doesn’t fucking matter anyway.
I watch on for another thirty minutes as he and his friends talk, drink, and check out the occasional girl who walks past them.
He’s a player. His friends are players, and even though I knew this all along, it kind of sucks to have proof. He shakes everyone’s hand and heads toward the door.
Is he meeting her out the front?
Shit.
Unable to stop myself, I put my tray down on the nearest table and follow him out. Luckily, the bouncers are talking to a group of men and are distracted, leaving me to walk around the corner and into the shadows without being noticed.
I stand in the silence and watch him walk across the road alone. The lights flash on his luxury car as he unlocks it and hops in.
I stand in the silence as I watch his Aston Martin pull out of the parking lot and drive away down the deserted, dark street.
I look down at myself in shame. I’m dressed in next to nothing, wearing a wig and pink sunglasses. Reality sets in. There will never be anything between us. He lives the fast life and I live the life of a married woman… only, there is no husband.
Who was I kidding?
“Cameron,” I whisper softly into the darkness. “I wanted you to be my escape man.”
* * *
I sit with my elbows on the kitchen table as I try to focus my eyes. I’m so tired after only four hours sleep. To make matters worse, I’m in surgery all morning. Well, I’m not actually in surgery. I’m in the watch room, which is boring because you can’t actually see anything.
Owie sits on my lap as he eats his breakfast. I’m missing my little man, working all these hours. I have to keep reminding myself that this is for him and his future. Jenna is up, dressed, and acting all perky. She even has makeup on and her hair done. I frown as I watch her flit merrily around the kitchen.
“What’s wrong with you?”
She smirks. “What?”
I glance at the clock. “It’s 7am and you are up.” I frown as I try to articulate my thoughts. “And you’re ready.”
She smiles. “So?”
I frown. “It’s weird, isn’t it Owie?” I kiss the top of his little head.
He nods as he keeps eating.
She stands on her tiptoes to look through the kitchen window, out to the house next door. I rub my eyes as I try to wake up, and put Owie down on the chair. I go and stand next to her at the window and look out to see what, exactly, she is looking at.
A handsome blonde man is working on the fence.
I look at her and raise my eyebrows. “And who is he?”
“He’s our new neighbor.”
“Is he?”
We both watch him through the window.
“And what is our new neighbor’s name?” I ask.
“Elliot.”
“Elliot,” I repeat. “And where did you meet Elliot?”
“At the park,” Owie interrupts.
“Owie, eat your breakfast,” Jenna replies.
My mouth drops open. “You’re going to the park to meet neighbors now?”
She shakes her head. “No, he was just there with his niece. It was a coincidence.”
I smile as I turn my attention back to him sitting on top of the fence. He really is kind of hot.
“How convenient,” I mutter.
Jenna sips her coffee as she watches him. “It was a bit.”
“And what’s Elliot’s story?” I ask as I flick the kettle on. “Apart from being all rugged mountain-man like and a fence fixer.”
“He’s just bought the house next door and is renovating it.”
I dunk my teabag in the cup. “And?”
Her eyes hold mine and she smirks. “And he’s single.”
I smile broadly and raise a brow. “Once again, very convenient.”
She raises her eyebrow. “That’s what I thought.”
We both turn our attention back to him. He’s wearing a red and black flannel shirt, has a few-days growth, and his blonde hair is shaggy. He’s hammering something into the fence. We watch him for a minute.
“You should probably be a good neighbor and take him out a cup of coffee.”
She smiles into her cup. “I really should, shouldn’t I? It would be rude not to.”
“And cookies,” Owie interrupts.
Jenna smiles and I get out another cup.
“How did last night go?” she asks.
I roll my eyes. “Guess who’s a member?”
She frowns. “Who?”
I raise an eyebrow.
Her mouth drops open. “Fuck off,” she mouths.
“Nope.”
“Did he see you?”
I shake my head again and glance at Owie eating his breakfast as he watches the morning cartoons on television.
“Oh my God,” she whispers as she leans in so Owie can’t hear her. “Was he with anyone?”
“Not last night, but obviously he’s been before.”
Jenna’s eyes widen as she bites her bottom lip. “I have no words.”
“I have one,” I whisper, deadpan.
“Hmm.” We both stay silent as I make the cup of coffee for Elliot.
She shrugs. “Maybe he goes there for the articles?”
I look at her, unblinking. “Maybe.”
“What are you going to do?”
I sip my coffee. “I have no idea.” I pause. “Nothing.”
I hand her the coffee and grin. “Go get him, tiger.”
* * *
I stand in the corridor, outside the operating room. Amber and Scott are suited up in scrubs while the rest of us are waiting for Dr. Stanton.
Amber’s eyes light up. “Oh my God. Yes!” She grabs my hand in excitement.
“Ah.” I pause, I don’t really want to leave Owie with Jenna again. She has him all week. It’s just not fair. “Let me see if I can get out of another arrangement,” I reply sadly. I would love to go, but I already know I can’t.
Amber smiles. “You’re coming. We are all going to go—the six of us. It will be so much fun, and we can ask Dr. Stanton and Dr. Jameson is they want to come, too.”
“Go where?” Dr. Stanton asks from behind us. I turn to see him standing behind us wearing navy scrubs, a navy cap and shoe covers. My mouth goes dry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so beautiful in my whole life. My body instantly craves his and I have to bite my lip to stop my mouth from hanging open. His eyes find mine across the group as my stomach starts to swirl with nerves.
“We’re all going out tomorrow night. Do you want to come?” Amber asks.
He smiles politely. “We’ll see.” He turns his attention to the rest of the group. “Good morning, everyone,” he announces in his husky, deep voice, and that hot Australian accent. He sounds like bloody Liam Hemsworth, only ten times better.
“Good morning,” everyone replies. If I could speak, I would, but I’m too busy with my ‘doctor throwing me on the operating table’ fantasy. When that man touched me last night at the club he awakened something that has been dormant for a long, long time.
A fire—a fire with only one effective extinguisher who looks fucking edible in scrubs. His eyes hold mine for a moment longer than they should, only this time I stare back. I want him to see me. I want him to know that he still does it for me. Does he remember me the way I remember him?
The group all make small talk and Cameron goes through the procedure he’s doing today, but his eyes keep coming back to me.
I feel like I’m the only one in the room. Like I’m the only one he is speaking to.
Am I imagining this?
“Okay, Ashley,” he says.
I raise my brows as I’m snapped from my daydream. “Oh. Erm. I’m sorry. I missed that part.”
“I said that we’re all meeting for a welcome coffee in the cafeteria this afternoon at 2pm, if I don’t see you all before then.”
