Page 84

“You’re wasting your money.”

“Oh, Duchess. For you I’d pay double.” He winks.

I purse my lips, breaking eye contact in an attempt to school my expression.

“I bought you for the night.”

I stalk toward him, lifting his chin to me. “You didn’t buy me,” I correct.

He holds up his hands. “You’re right. I paid for your time.”

“For as long as I consent to it.”

He can’t keep doing this; it looks bad. If my boss were to find out he and I had something on the side, it wouldn’t go over well. He gave me a warning when I was hired: no boyfriends. I’m not sure if that’s what Casper is, but he sure acts like it.

He pulls out his wallet, handing me a substantial stack of twenties. “Go cash out, we’re leaving.”

“I’ll get fined if I leave early. I could get fired.”

Casper shrugs. “Let them. You want to strip for extra cash? I’ve got money to spend. But I don’t want to do it here.” He quickly scans the room, undoubtedly clocking the hot pink paint chipping off the walls and the clouded mirror that’s warped just enough to make the whole room feel off. The condition of the space adds an extra layer of shame. The cheap wig is hot and itchy; I rub it against my scalp, attempting to soothe the spot without messing up my hair. Eventually I give up and drop my hand, putting up with the irritation. “It doesn’t work that way.”

He tried to talk me into leaving last night but folded when I said no. Tonight he’s not backing down.

“Why not? As long as the house gets paid, does it matter if you’re on the premises? I’ve booked the room for the night.” He leans forward, his gaze searching mine. “Who’s going to come looking for you, Duchess?”

I draw in a slow breath. He’s right . . . Probably no one. The last time a customer was handsy with me, the only person to step in was Diamond. Certainly not the floor manager, I’m already on his shit list—the less he sees of me the better.

“Casper.” I place my hands on my hips.

“Duchess.”

He holds the paper bills out to me and cocks his chin toward the doorway. “Go on. I’ll talk to the bouncers and meet you out back.”

I don’t know what he said to security, but Neil gave me a tight nod as I passed and glanced away as if there was nothing for him to see.

I leave the cash for the house fee in an envelope and gather my belongings in the dressing room as quickly as I can. There’s only a couple minutes before one of my coworkers will be in here to freshen up. I don’t bother changing out of my skimpy costume and opt to throw my jeans and sweatshirt overtop, then grab my bag and sneak out the back.

The bouncer working security at the back door behaves the same as the previous one and I wonder how much he paid them to keep their mouths shut.

“Leave your car here,” Casper says, bending his elbow to lead me to his vintage car parked in the corner of the lot.

My anxiety grows. “I’m going to get fired.”

“Relax. Let’s get you fed, we can talk afterward.”

Now what? I think we said everything that needed to be said last night, but I need to address him taking me from work.

I’m still not ready to tell him about Steve or my plans for his blackmail; he needs to respect that boundary.

He ignores my objection. “How do gyros sound?”

I roll my eyes. But they do sound pretty damn good right about now.

The water of Lady Lake isn’t as slow and thick as it usually is in November, just before the freeze. It gently laps at the sandy edge, the cool breeze blowing off the lake and causing my hair to fly around. I gather it in my hand and tuck it into the collar of my thick hooded sweatshirt. Leaves scrape against the bike path as they skitter across on the breeze, the last stubborn leaves still clinging to bare trees.

The picnic table wobbles when I shift my weight on the bench. In the nearby parking lot, a few food trucks are set up, the delicious smells carrying into the open air. The foot traffic is less busy considering it’s Sunday evening, but there are enough people still enjoying the last bits of fall before the long winter sets in.

A mom calls for her two kids to wrap up their swinging at the nearby playground. I chuckle at the way they’ve both been stuffed into puffy coats. Growing up in Maine, Rhys and I used to hate how many layers our parents made us wear; they’d have us in snowpants before the snow even fell.