by Nikki Chase
Over the years, Katie has tried to convince me to get matching tattoos, TP the house of the ex who cheated on her, and join a few other students in streaking across the campus.
I said no to all those things because I didn’t want to get sent to jail. I mean, if I have money problems now, how much more difficult would life be with a criminal record?
I have to admit that my life would’ve been a lot less interesting without Katie’s crazy ideas, though. Not all of them are completely stupid or downright dangerous.
I enjoyed crashing house parties and getting black-out drunk for free multiple times. I also joined some guys Katie knew on their road trip to Tijuana—for free, again.
Katie always has way more friends than I do, both because I’m always busy working and because it takes time for me to warm up to someone. I’d have no social life without her.
I brace myself.
“Okay. You know how I’m saving up for the Europe trip?” Katie adjusts her position and leans closer conspiratorially
“You only talk about it, like, seven times a day.”
“Okay. Good. So. Um, I'm just going to say it.” Katie takes a deep breath. This is not a good sign. A sane person about to deliver a sane idea doesn't get that nervous. “Lingerie waitress.”
“What?” I can't believe what I’m hearing. Even by Katie's standards, this is crazy.
“Lingerie waitress,” she repeats.
“I heard you the first time. I just can't believe you're actually considering this. Isn't that, like, illegal or something?”
“It's not prostitution, Daisy.” Katie rolls her eyes. “It's just like any of your other waitressing jobs, only you do it while wearing lingerie.”
“I can be a waitress elsewhere.”
“Sure you can, but do any of those other jobs pay $5,000 per night?”
My eyes widen in shock—and greed, too, I suppose. I raise my hand and hold up my palm, all five fingers outstretched. “$5,000? Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.” Katie’s eyes shine with excitement. She knows she’s caught my interest.
I mentally make calculations in my head. I think about the bills, the debts, the due dates, and the portion of my pay check that will be left after taking care of the essentials like rent and food.
I could really use the money.
“Don't think about it too much. This is a no-brainer. That's a crazy amount of money for one night’s work. If you think about it, it's just like working at Hooters, except you wear a little less clothing.”
I turn to look at Katie like she’s a genius. “You're right. I didn't see it that way. Yeah, it is just like working at Hooters. What's wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” Katie says.
“Nothing,” I parrot. Is this starting to sound not-crazy or have I gone crazy?
“We're really lucky with the timing. They don't usually have vacancies because the job pays so well, but they just had a bunch of girls quit and now that it's party season, they're overwhelmed and understaffed. An opportunity like this doesn't come often.” Katie levels her gaze at me. “So, you're in, right?”
“No, wait. I mean, give me some time to think.”
“The party's tomorrow night. I know you're not working tomorrow, so it's perfect.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah. That's why they urgently need girls,” Katie says.
“Are you sure there won't be anything...weird?”
“Well, depends on what you consider weird. Knowing you, you’re probably worried about safeguarding your precious virginity.” Katie rolls her eyes.
“It’s not precious, Katie. It just hasn’t happened yet. That’s all.”
“Okay. Whatever. Since we’ll basically be walking around in our underwear, talking to men, some of them are probably going to try something. Like, you might get offers. But there’s security.
“To be honest, I do know a couple of girls who have actually taken the men up on their offers. They did it out of their own free will and they got paid really well. These men are super rich. If you’re interested, you may be able to charge a premium for your virginity.” Katie grins and raises one eyebrow.
I frown. That seems seedy as hell.
“Don't worry, it's a high-class event at some swanky private house. Important people will be there, people who don't want to risk their reputations over some scandal with regular girls like us. Why bother when they can date supermodels?”
“That doesn't sound too dangerous,” I admit.
“Of course not. I wouldn't drag you into dangerous situations.” Katie pauses when she sees the look I’m giving her. “Okay, maybe once or twice I’ve tried, but you're too smart to get involved in something dangerous. I can tell you already think it's worth trying. Believe in yourself,” Katie says, emphasizing the last sentence like she’s some motivational speaker.
I smile, but I still have some doubts. “How did you even hear about this?”
“A girl I know used to work for the company.” Katie often comes to me with outlandish stories and opportunities from her many friends, so her answer doesn't surprise me.
“And you trust her?”
“Yes. A-hundred percent. She's a sweet girl. She said she'd do it herself if her boyfriend wasn't getting all insecure about it. I’ve always wondered how she could afford all her designer bags and shoes without rich parents or a well-paying job. It all made sense when she told me about this job.” Katie speaks with confidence.
She may be spontaneous to the point of recklessness, but she's a good judge of character. I know I can trust whoever she trusts.
“Okay, let's do this.” My heart pounds in my chest. I feel like I’m watching my own body from the outside as the words slide out of my mouth.
I never thought I'd get this desperate. The idea of parading my half-naked body in front of strange men sends a shiver down my spine, although, to my surprise, I also feel some pleasant flutters in my stomach.
I can't afford to overanalyze anything. I just have to keep trucking, do whatever I have to do to keep Jack and myself safe and healthy.
If I don't come up with the $40,000 I owe Chad Murray soon, he’s going to hurt me—or worse, Jack. And I can't let that happen, not even if I have to whore myself out.
Caine
I take a swig of the whiskey and feel the liquid blaze down my throat. This thing fucking burns. It's just what I need tonight.
With Pop in the hospital, I have to do all his work, including the kind that blurs the line between business and pleasure.
When Sasha told me I had to attend a party, at the mansion of a supplier for one of our companies, I knew I was in for a boring evening. Not that I spend my time doing anything more exciting—the opposite, in fact. I prefer to stay back at the office and get some actual work done. But I know Pop would tell me social functions are important work as well, so here I am.
It's been one week since Pop had that mean angina attack. He’s going home soon. I’ve hired someone to look after him—remind him to take his medication at the right times, advise him on his diet, maybe even get him to exercise a little, that kind of thing.
He's getting better, which is good, but I wish he’d get better more quickly so I could go back to visiting our out-of-state and international partners in person, rather than being stuck with video calls that lag and freeze every few seconds.
Without close supervision, they gain the power to screw us over behind our backs. Sure, they may continue to behave out of the goodness of their hearts, but why risk it?
I nod and wave back at a man who's now approaching the bar. Todd Graham, the son of my Uncle Nathan. Todd’s not a cousin, though; he’s just an acquaintance because we're not actually related. Uncle Nathan used to work for my grandfather and has continued to stay with the family after my grandfather’s death.
“How about the girls, huh?” Todd grins as he takes a seat beside me at the bar. “Barkeep! One glass of whatever you have on tap!” Todd snaps his fin
gers.
The bartender scowls, but Todd doesn’t notice. He’s already busy ogling the waitresses passing by in their little lingerie. They all wear ridiculously high heels that push their tits and ass out.
One of the girls smiles when she notices Todd staring. She saunters over and holds out her tray, while also pushing her tits forward. Giving Todd a flirty smile, she asks, “See anything you want, Sir?”
“Yes, but it's not anything on the tray.” Todd smiles back at the waitress and raises his eyebrows once.
The waitress giggles and slaps Todd lightly on the arm. “Oh, you,” she says.
Jesus, this is painful to watch.
I down the remaining whiskey and slam the crystal glass down on the bar, making both Todd and the girl jump from the sudden noise.
“I have to go.” Without waiting for a reply, I walk away.
Fucking Todd. I had a perfectly nice spot where I was relatively safe from the crowd, and he had to invade it. That's just like him. There's more than one bar in this big mansion, but of course he had to seek me out and take over my bar.
I can't sit there and watch him awkwardly flirt with a girl. Todd has no game, but he doesn't know it. Girls are only with him because of his family's money.
I can tell because I know the signs of a gold digger. I’ve been dealing with them since I was old enough to notice girls. They’re always throwing themselves at me but I'm not interested in being their chump, so I steer clear of them.
If they want my money, then they have to be my employees. I’m their boss and they have to do as I say or get fired. I have to protect myself, so I want things spelled out in legal documents, signed by all parties involved.
This has narrowed down my options to women who expect some form of payment for their services, women who want something other than just the pleasure of my companionship.
But I don't mind. I actually prefer it this way, so everyone knows exactly what to expect from each other. It's better than the alternative.
I wouldn't want to be Todd when the waitress is done with him. I don't particularly like Todd, but I can tell he thinks that girl actually likes him. It’s never a pleasant thing to discover the truth, to find out you're just being used as a tool for buying designer stuff and climbing up the social ranks.
I wander the hallways aimlessly, letting the alcohol seep into my system, keeping a brisk pace to avoid being stopped for pointless conversations. My shoes sink into the plush carpet underfoot. The paintings hanging on the walls blur past.
That's when I see her.
She has her back to me, but she feels familiar. That honey-brown ponytail that's just asking to be wrapped around my hand and pulled. That full ass that begs to be spanked until it's red hot. I knew she'd look good out of her scrubs.
She's holding her tray of canapés for two young jocks who are taking way more time than necessary to pick out their appetizers. I can't tell what they're saying, but I can see them openly ogling her, like Todd did to the waitress from before. They're staring at her tits, slowly moving closer until she's backed away, flush against the wall. She's trapped now and probably won't escape without suffering a grope or two.
Many of the men are doing the exact same thing to other waitresses. That's the whole point of having scantily clad young girls strut their stuff at a party like this.
But for some reason, seeing her being treated like one of those girls—which she is—makes my blood boil.
I clear my throat to get their attention. “Waitress,” I call out. “Come here.”
The jocks turn around to glare at me. One of them looks like he's about to fight me, but his friend pulls him back and says something in a low voice. He probably knows who I am. Getting on my bad side is not a good idea for anyone who does business in this city.
The two guys walk away, leaving me alone with the nurse from St. Peter’s Hospital I met last week.
She's looking at me now, apprehension flashing in her green eyes, which look unnaturally intense tonight from the heavy make-up. She recognizes me, and she realizes she has just escaped the frying pan only to fall into the fire.
“I said come here. You work here, don't you? The customer is king. Haven't you heard that?” I could step closer to close the gap between us, but that wouldn't be any fun. She knows she has to do as I say, and I want to watch the fight die within her, see the moment when she gives up and follows my order.
She hesitates. She's lost her balance from having tried to back away from the two jocks, and it doesn't look as if she's used to the high heels either, or the lack of actual clothes.
Like the other girls, she's wearing a black bra, a pair of lacy panties, and black garters that hold up her sheer black stockings. Unlike the other girls, she looks uncomfortable in them.
She's out of her element, just like she was at the hospital when she had to obey me instead of the hospital rules. This means I’ve got her right where I want her.
“Did you hear me, or do I have to tell the host you can't do your job?” I give her a sharp stare, and she glowers at me in response, even though her full lips, which are painted red tonight, remain tightly zipped.
She regains her composure. She starts to walk closer, teetering on her shoes, which exaggerate the sway of her full hips.
She has cute, perky tits, but it’s the way her slender waist flares out into those hips and ass that gets me. I could just imagine my fingers digging into her waist as I bend her over and pull her back against me, impaling her on me again and again. My cock stirs in my pants.
I don't know what it is about her, but every little move she makes amuses me. Maybe it's just refreshing to see a girl not kissing my ass. She puts up a bit of a fight, which makes it more satisfying when her resolve crumbles, when she inevitably has to do my bidding.
She stops a couple of feet away from me and shoves the tray full of the usual party finger foods between us without a word.
“Aren't you going to ask if I want some canapés?” I trap her gaze and watch as the fire burns within.
“You already asked me to come here. You obviously want them,” she says in a clipped tone. She's trying to stay polite, despite her anger.
“Maybe all I want is for you to come closer.”
“I’m already close enough. Now, if there's nothing else, I have other guests to serve.”
“I don't see anyone else around here.” I look around to emphasize my point. This is a large mansion, and most of the guests are lounging by the swimming pool. This hallway is deserted. “And aren't you supposed to address me more politely?”
“If there's nothing else, I’d like to go where the other guests are, Sir,” she repeats herself, adding the honorific at the end begrudgingly.
Interesting.
When faced with the choice between obeying me and losing her job, she chooses the option that makes her money, even if she has to sacrifice a little dignity doing so. This girl has a price, just like everybody else.
What makes her interesting is how much she seems to resent that, and how openly she displays that resentment. She's transparent.
I’d love to see her genuine reactions to my hands all over her, my fingers inside her. Fuck, I’d love to spread her legs and plunge balls deep inside her. I’d watch her face as I do, her lips parting in lust to let a breathy moan escape, her eyes begging for more even if she doesn't want to say it.
“Oh, but there is something else. I'm sure you'll want to hear this,” I say.
She continues to look back into my eyes with defiance, not knowing I’m going to crush that disobedience out of her.
I'm not done with her. Far from it. She's wrong if she thinks she's going to walk away just like that.
Daisy
“Daisy, right?” He takes one step closer, fixing his piercing gaze on me like he’s a lion stalking his prey. Confident, unhurried, dangerous.
I want to step back away from him, but there's something about him that freezes me in place. He's looking at me like he's a
bout to pounce on me if I so much as make a move in the wrong direction.
“Yes, Sir,” I say with as much fight as I can muster. My heart hammers in my rib cage. My eyes follow his movements as he inspects me like he's about to eat me alive. My insides grow warmer from his intense attention. I feel funny, like there's something stirring in my core, reacting to his presence.
I’ve never felt like this before; it's terrifying.
It doesn't help that I'm practically naked. It makes me feel vulnerable, especially when he looks so put together in his navy-blue designer suit that shows off his tall, lean physique perfectly.
I thought I was already feeling self-conscious before, walking around in skimpy lingerie while all around me, high-society ladies swish by in their dazzling gowns, their hair perfectly styled and their bodies adorned with bright, shiny gemstones. But Caine is much more intimidating than all the guests at this party combined.
There's an easy, casual grace to his every move. His gestures are so fluid they're hypnotizing. He's refined, almost feline-like. He's in his element here in this ritzy mansion, while I’m completely out of my depth.
Now I know why people keep deadly exotic animals as pets. There's something magnetic about them, something about that deadliness itself that makes you want to see if you can get close and survive, like some kind of a suicidal teenager’s idea of a bravery challenge.
“Do you know who I am?” He smirks like he already knows the answer.
A part of me wants to say no just to spite him, maybe make him see he’s not as important as he thinks he is. At the same time, I feel like he’d see right through me. I can't hurt his vanity when he’s fully aware of what a big deal he is.
“Yes, Sir,” I say without breaking eye contact.
“Who am I, then?”
“You're Caine Foster, Sir.”
“I see you’ve learned how to properly address me. Don't you think this is better, when I don't have to use a loud voice or harsh words to get you to do the things you're supposed to do anyway?”
I glare at him for a split second, forgetting that I’m potentially risking $5,000 by getting drawn into an argument with him.
