I gave him my first. “Emilia.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Emilia, but this is a private club. The only way you’re getting inside is if you’re a guest of a member.” His gaze settled on a spaghetti stain on my T-shirt. “Considering the unlikelihood of that ever happening, do us both a favor and leave.”
I inhaled a deep breath for patience. Although, patience was a virtue, and I’d lost most of those years ago.
“Listen, Alfred. I worked a double shift today, and then I walked twelve blocks to get here. I’m tired. I’m so tired I’m considering curling up on your nice floor, shedding a few tears, and making a big scene. See this envelope?” I waved it in his face. “I don’t get paid unless I personally put it in the recipient’s hand. Now are you going to let me do that, or do I need to make a scene?”
Alfred stared at me for a long second before he picked up his phone and said, “Security.”
Ugh.
I shouldn’t have touched his stupid desk.
I could sit outside and chance getting struck by lightning until Mr. Brown exited. Although, soaking wet in a chauvinistic strip club, it was clear I’d already gambled with luck tonight and lost. Not to mention, my bed was calling my name, and I needed the two hundred dollars this job would bring in—plus, hopefully, a decent tip.
I glanced from the envelope in my hand to the black curtain concealing the room beyond.
Alfred’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare—”
Pushing the curtain aside, I waltzed in. The sensual smell of perfumed skin, illegal blowjobs, and cigar smoke hit me in the face.
The lighting sat at a low romantic glow, and the booths were
red, occupied by a few men in expensive suits sipping even more expensive liquor. A couple of women in lingerie served drinks, while a naked brunette danced on a pole in the center of the room.
While this club was the furthest thing from the one I remembered as a child, the carnal atmosphere still coated my skin with slimy déjà vu.
I searched for Mr. Brown from the ridiculously vague description Lucas had given me: white, early thirties, black hair. I examined each man as I passed, receiving interested glances and even a proposition to sit down from a middle-aged man with a gold band on his ring finger.
I put a hand on my chest as if I was surprised and would be deeply honored to. He smiled a toothy grin and patted the spot beside him. Resting a palm on the table, I leaned in provocatively and whispered, “Not if you were the last man on Earth.”
I didn’t stick around to see the smile fall off his face.
Alfred seethed from across the room. His accusing eyes followed my movements as if I was a wild animal who’d been released inside his precious den of iniquity.
Security must be at lunch, I thought with amusement. The club didn’t even have a bouncer to snap at the patrons when they got handsy with the strippers. I guessed that wouldn’t be very classy.
“Mr. Brown?” I asked the only one in the room who fit the description and who happened to have a woman’s bare ass in his face while she danced in front of him.
He glanced at me, and a devilish smile appeared. “Well, well. Are you new here?”
“What about this outfit says ‘stripper’ to you?” I asked.
“What’s under it?”
A throbbing headache was imminent.
“Lucas sent me.”
Mr. Brown’s gaze filled with understanding, growing heated as it traveled down my body. Unwanted nostalgia, lingering eyes, and wet clothes chafed my skin.
“Damn, that’s unfortunate,” he drawled.
The dancer stilled with a huff, placed her hands on her naked hips, and glared at me. I rolled my eyes and handed Mr. Brown the envelope. He slipped it into his jacket pocket.
“Thanks, babe.”
I held out my hand. He glanced at it, then pulled his gaze to mine, and raised a brow in question. I wiggled my fingers.