by Rissa Brahm
But she stepped away from him and went to sit. Had she read his thoughts, his face? God, was he that transparent? His infatuation had been buried for years, and having her come knocking at his door in such desperation, he really couldn’t expect his passion for her to stay completely in check.
But fucking put it in check, damn it! He needed to stay conscious of it to keep from scaring her away. It would take time to bring her around, organically, naturally. And he had three months. Plenty of time. But could his lusting-fucking-cock wait that long? Not a fucking chance.
Wednesday. Wednesday he’d get her alone, out of this context, this neon-lit tease-of-a-whorehouse that he ran. He’d make her know what she could have. With him.
“Listen, if he needs home care, I can take care of that for y—”
“Please don’t. Don’t even say it. I can’t take your money, not without working for it. The advance was as far as my pride will let me go. God, you’re too generous, Johnnie.”
“Absolutely. No, I understand. Let’s just see what happens then. Wait for him to be released from the hospital.”
“Yes, right.” She shifted in her chair and held her purse close to her, tight to her chest, her perfectly pert breasts.
He came around his desk and sat next to her in the other armchair. Time to change the subject. He smiled at her and said, “So, how did the training and hiring go?”
She angled her body toward him, relaxing into the new topic. “Good. Really good. The girls that are left are working hard. Some have even started choreographing combo routines.”
“Terrific. How many left of the thirty?”
“Fourteen.”
“Wow. So you’ve lined up a bunch more to vet?”
“Well, that’s been a slower process, just haven’t loved the choices in the pile.”
“Just have the remaining girls bring in their friends.” It wasn’t hard. They all had slutty, sexy, hard-up losers they associated with. The only hurdle with that route was that the catty little bitches didn’t always want to help bring in more competition. They’d love to work every shift. But then he’d be at their mercy. And what if one got hurt or drugged up and tripped out? The key to getting their little whore friends is to incentivize; free drinks or drugs, and they’ll bring dozens of ’em.
God, had Jana been out of the business so long she didn’t remember the ways of the industry? Because he couldn’t run a busy weekend—that should get exponentially busier, fast—with only fourteen girls.
“What do you think?” he asked, getting no response from her.
But Jana only looked down, like she had some reservation. She kept silent.
“Or hey, you can steal a few girls from the competition; the entire avenue is fair game.”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll do that.” She perked up. “And I do have a couple of girls coming in from the stack today, but I’ll hit a few of the spots down the avenue on Sunday night.”
“Best to get on it tonight in preparation for tomorrow night’s volume. I’ve never run under twenty girls on a Saturday. Don’t you remember how crazy it got last weekend? And it only stands to get busier after they see what you’ve done with them.” He smiled, taking care to keep a soft tone and intentionally padding her ego.
But it worried him. Had she really planned to lead him into a weekend—busy, busier, or slow as hell—with only fourteen strippers on? He couldn’t fill the stage and the lap dance demand with that. He should have checked in with her earlier in the week about the number of dancers. It was his own fault.
She nodded at him, her eyes slightly morose, but she gave him a subtle smile.
“Good. Let’s grab our table in the mezzanine and watch from up there for a while before you head to the clubs down the way. I can’t wait to see the changes in the girls we have left.”
They walked down from his office and made a beeline to the upper loft. He got her talking about the week to lift her mood. She told him about the dancers who’d stayed and the push back they still gave, but that it was lightening up.
“If they get a bump in their money tonight, I guarantee they’ll be kissing your ass tomorrow.”
“We’ll see about that. Between the training schedule and the new rules I had them sign off on—”
“What? Sign off? New rules for the club?”
“Yeah, a no-tolerance policy for drug possession—so far. As far as use, I know giving UIs is a whole legal issue, not something I could touch without talking to you first. But I do need them clean and healthy, punctual, and on it, you know? I need them to keep away from that shit.”
He checked himself to be sure he was breathing evenly and shoved his hand into his front pocket to be sure his bag of coke was flat against his leg. She’d implemented what? He damn supplied and used with all the girls in the club.
“Yeah, of course. They need to be focused. I’m, uh, just not sure how well it can be enforced, you know? They’re independent contractors, and we can’t really legally or logistically check what’s in their purses or bags each shift. Plus, they relax up there on stage when they’re—”
“Johnnie, you know you can get in some serious shit if you look the other way. And for the girls, it’s better for them. Staying clean…they stay healthy, they dance better, longer.”
“Their health?” Fuck their health! But he caught himself. Breathe. “God, you’re right, of course. And that’s better for business.” For his father’s fucking business, that is. Not his underground coke ring, for fuck’s sake. “I know it is. Like I know my investment in you was the best move I could’ve made.”
She was facing him now, eyes searching him, for sincerity.
He put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re right, Jana.”
“Good, I’m so glad you see it the same way. And I had them all sign a statement, so you’re covered, the club is covered, no worries.” She’d had these W9s sign a statement? Jesus Christ. His dad would fucking flip if he found out. No records were kept on the strippers. None. Because no taxes were paid on them. Really, none. The girls did their own taxes and that was the industry’s way. Only bouncers and bartenders were on the payroll. No fucking dancers! That’s what was reported by the club. And that was all.
He took a deep breath and kept his smile plastered on his face, and he infused as much calm into his expression as he could muster. “Let’s grab a seat, and we can talk more. The place is already filling up. That’s awesome, right?” He ended on as light a note as he could to mask his worry for Jana’s t-crossing and i-dotting frenzy in week one.
But as he followed her up the stairs, watching her firm ass cheeks wag and tease him with each step, he was immediately hypnotized. So goddamn fine, right in his face. He could pound the fuck out of her right then and there. He wanted to pull her down on his lap and he didn’t care who saw, who watched. Actually, the more fantasizing assholes who watched him fuck her to heaven, the better. Because, fuck them, they couldn’t have her. She was all his. Or would be.
And you know what? Fuck his father too. Fuck the right paperwork and the wrong rules. His family had so much money they didn’t know what to do with it all. Now it was a matter of showing his father up, making that cocksucker see how he could bring in bigger cash, more than Jake Demonte, king of the clubs, ever could. So what if Johnnie’s cocaine sales wouldn’t be easy and flowing at The Wet Spot now? He’d hit the other clubs’ dancers, which was even better, smarter.
Jana’s way might really be the best way.
*
He pulled Jana’s chair out then sat down across from her. “I trust you, Jana. I know your intentions and your methods are right, businesswise. It’s just my father, and the industry in general…. There has only been one way of doing things, you know? I know you know. But I’m with you, though. I hired you, after all. I’m glad you’ve been making the changes you have been. Keep me posted, but I’ve got your back. I do.”
She looked at him, head cocked to the side, grinning from ear to ear. “I know you have m
y back, Johnnie.” She let out a giggle like she didn’t have a clue what he was going on about.
God, had he shown no worry, expressed no issue with any of the shit she’d unloaded on him about club business? Had he really thought it all in his head and hid his frustration? Not a sign of it showed through?
Damn, he was good. Better than he thought.
“Good, just making sure. I know your father doesn’t always have your back, so I wanted to make sure you know that I do.” He smiled and took her hand in his. “I really do.”
*
She’d never mentioned how her family treated her to Johnnie. She was super conscious of not discussing her parents, her brother, any of it, only the state of her dad’s health. But maybe she had? Her mind had been all over the place, so who knows? She watched Johnnie head to the bar since the bartender and waitresses were obviously slammed, and she turned her attention to the girls on stage. Laynie and Didi were on the poles, and the guys were eating them up. She smiled and looked up at Johnnie as he returned with drinks.
“Should we? I’m supposed to head out to find more girls.”
“Have one or two with me before you head out. I’m going to Merrick again for the week. It’s nice to sit with you when I can.”
Johnnie slammed a double and then another an instant later. He had turned absolutely pale when she mentioned the signed drug statements. She thought he’d be psyched that the girls wouldn’t be putting the business in jeopardy and that they’d be more professional, dance better, and, well, bring in more money for the club. He’d tried to hide his sudden concern, but she could see right through it. Now, after his ‘got your back’ speech, she felt better, like he’d thought it out.
He was more similar to her than she’d thought. He seemed to be living under his father’s shadow, just never good enough. She hardly agreed with her own father’s ways but was torn by loyalty. Johnnie Demonte seemed to have the exact same issue, and now he was taking the risk, going with his gut, going with Jana.
She took one of the two shots, then excused herself, saying she had to use the restroom, but she only wanted to escape the second shot with him. Again, cleaner lines, although the liquid relaxation could have been helpful with her next task. She hated the idea of scouting for girls, let alone stealing them from other clubs. But she’d at least not be roping new ones into the business.
She made her way back to the table a few minutes later, and Johnnie was on the phone. He was speaking in a low voice, his eyes seemed defeated like he was being chastised, a boy in trouble. She stayed back, pretending to take a call herself, then walked away, downstairs, her escape from embarrassing him and from taking that second drink. She wanted to check on the girls anyway and then get out of there. The quicker she hit the other clubs, the quicker she’d be done for the night. The quicker she’d get to sleep.
Chastity, one of the oldest dancers to stay, came up to Jana with a name and number of a friend of hers who’d professionally danced and needed real money. “I’ve made more tonight than over the entire last month.” And then she walked away.
Jana smiled at the passive thank you, then made eye contact with Laynie, who was upside down in an Inverted ‘V’ on the pole, stage left. The girl was glowing, green bills hanging from her G-string the whole way around her tight little waist.
Jana didn’t feel the same kinetic energy flow she got when she saved a life in her ER, not by any means, but she did feel a small wave of something good rise up to her cheeks, that the training, that she, was making a difference.
She pulled out the phone Johnnie had given her and texted him that she’d see him tomorrow night, that she was heading out to scout for, and to steal, more girls.
CHAPTER 28
Jana felt good Sunday morning. It had been a late night, so she was definitely sleeping in.
She reviewed the weekend in her sleepy mind. The girls rocked it on Friday night and were all well-funded for their efforts. And last night was further proof positive. All the girls had left the club ecstatic and exhausted. Gloriously, happily, wiped.
But with only fourteen girls split between the stage, the semi-private, and private back rooms, she hoped the inflated results the girls were so pumped about didn’t backfire on her when she did find more dancers.
And the ‘finding more dancers’ fun, she learned, would take her more time. Her efforts in scoping out the surrounding clubs didn’t yield a lot. Jana was only able to find three dancers worth stealing, and of them, only two were willing to come over to The Wet Spot, but not until next Thursday.
She had to thank God for Antonio, the only reprieve between each of the dives she had to venture into. Getting back into the limo to his calming presence, which contrasted so sharply with the oozing sleaze of the clubs, she’d felt soothed. And he’d have a cup of coffee for her, or a joke, a news report, or an unimportant weather update at the ready. He made her smile.
She smiled thinking about those small, stupid gestures of his. Until the club cell buzzed from the nightstand. She grabbed it fast, hating the jarring vibration.
“Hey…sleeping in?” Johnnie asked when the phone met her ear.
“Yeah, no. Just, yes. Really late night after you left. How are you?”
“Good. Really good. Fabulous weekend. I would have never thought it would be this quick. You’re magic, woman. Simply magic.”
She smiled with her eyes still shut, wishing sleep would stay, even as she talked to Johnnie for what she hoped would be a quick touch-base. “Awesome. Feels good. I’m really glad. For the club, the girls…”
“For you, Jana! My God. I’m gonna bring last week’s balance and this week’s pay to you on Wednesday, plus a sweet little bonus, just because.”
Although in a haze, she calculated quickly in her head—fifteen grand. That would be a relief. With her bank account receiving the credit card advances on Wednesday or Thursday, she’d have the hospital administrator off her back for at least a few weeks she hoped. “Thank you, Johnnie. I appreciate it.” Then there was silence. She so wanted to go back to her half-sleep.
“Are you in bed?”
“Yeah. I’m totally addicted to these sheets against my skin!” She rolled over and inhaled the fabric softener smell and laughed. “Why, are you?”
He responded with a low, quiet moan. “Yes. I am.”
“Resting up for another long week?”
“Yes, another long one.” A pause, then, “Jana? Do you have clothing on…? I mean, enough clothing? Do you need anything, like sleepwear? For me, in summertime, the heat leaves me wanting nothing on at all, you know?” A muffled laugh followed. Then breathing. Deep, heavy breathing.
She lifted her head off the mattress and placed it back onto the pillow, situating the phone more squarely at her ear. To hear better. To hear correctly. Because his breathing was definitely…thick, sultry. “I’m good with clothes. And the AC in the apartment helps. So, I’m really fine, Johnnie. Thank you, though.”
A long low hum hit her ears, then morphed into words. “Good. Really good. Jana, do you like the apartment?”
Was he kidding her? Seriously.
Now, she’d consensually phone-fucked past boyfriends. Operative word, ‘consensually.’ And had done so enough times to know Johnnie needed her voice, her details, and her reaction. But she’d been clear with him, clear as fucking crystal. “Sorry, Johnnie, it’s the hospital, gotta go. Talk to you later.” And she hung up.
Jesus. If he would’ve asked. Not that she would have said yes, but who knows? Because she sure as hell could’ve used the release too. Maybe her line would have accommodated some innocent—and again, goddamn consensual!—phone sex.
But now she was just skeeved out of her mind.
And hanging up by using a white lie? Asians believed in Karma, and she was definitely brought up shoes-off-in-the-house, incense-burning Asian. She’d also never use sickness as an excuse to get out of something, lest the real thing come to light. That was karmic law. But she wasn’t ab
out to let him use her like that. She felt gross, a little defiled even. And it really could’ve been the hospital calling her about payment or a donation, not necessarily anything to do with her father’s status.
She was now even gladder that Johnnie would be in Merrick again this week so she wouldn’t have to be around him so much. But shit, she’d see him on Wednesday for the damn show. He’d be bringing a chunk of her pay with him. So she had to go. No matter how badly she wanted to get out of it, she had to. It would totally piss him off if she didn’t because he had bought her the dress. What the hell had she gotten herself into?
No, it wasn’t anything as bad as Laynie probably had it, or God, Char or so many of the other girls. But she was under this guy’s thumb, and she couldn’t deny that she’d been warned.
Then her personal phone rang—the hospital.
Karma.
*
A shower. An ice cold shower. That’s what he needed.
Antonio rolled out of bed and shook out the image of her from his head. He felt guilty, fiendish, like she’d had enough men stealing her image for their own sexual fantasies. But he’d gone to sleep thinking about her every night for the last several nights and woke up the same way.
His thoughts, he justified, were different, though. She was singing in his visions, or speaking to him, telling him her thoughts and ideas. Stories. Sometimes in her lulling Spanish. God, that really got him. And sometimes just her giggle would fill his internal mental movie because he was the source of her laughter.
But he couldn’t lie. Her sensual body, her being, her angelic silhouette, she was all there, there in his dreams. And, God, it was as if her form was sent from heaven to torment and torture him. And the more he tried to stay respectfully objective when looking at her stunning figure, the stronger the magnetic pull got, and the more he wanted to connect with her. A deep, locked-in connection.
