Braelynn: I could be better. I think I’m in over my head.
My thoughts don’t stop. It’s like my mind is running faster than I can process. The whole situation escalated before I could stop it. And the waitresses have sex with people in those rooms on the lower floor. It’s not just one warning sign, it’s a big row of red flags. They scream at me to run away.
Braelynn: I could not have anticipated tonight.
Staring down at my phone, I wonder how that’s all I have to say. Maybe I’m still overwhelmed by everything.
Scarlet: It’s a lot but it’s worth it. Really. It might be rough at first, but I think you pretty much got the full gist of everything all at once.
I’m dumbstruck at Scarlet’s response. That shit isn’t normal. Rubbing my eyes, I let my head fall back as I cringe at the thought. What happened today does not exist in the world I live in.
Fistfights. Paid sex. Declan Cross.
I think about telling her I’m done. I even type out the text. Thanks so much for getting me the job, but I can’t go back. I’m in the process of deleting it when Scarlet sends another message.
Scarlet: I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the red dresses. It’s not always a hard and fast rule and I didn’t want to freak you out!
With everything that took place, I can’t even be mad about the red dress. Nothing happened.
Braelynn: It’s okay, it just caught me by surprise. A heads-up would have been nice though.
Scarlet: I really am sorry. Are you okay? Feeling good about your next shift?
Maybe I’m overreacting because of the stress and the adrenaline.
Braelynn: Tonight was a lot.
I expected a busy night learning the ropes at a new place. I didn’t expect Declan Cross. I didn’t expect him to get in a fistfight over me. And I definitely didn’t expect the red dresses and what comes with them.
Scarlet: The Club is a lot but … it pays well. I forgot to ask you how you made out?
My gaze drifts to my purse, hanging over the staircase to my right. There’s at least a grand in cash. I haven’t counted yet, but it’s far more than I anticipated. It’s more than I could have even dreamed, I know that.
The side pocket of my purse is bulging with all the bills inside.
Braelynn: You were right about the money. I don’t think I could get better tips anywhere else in the city.
Scarlet: See! I told you! So it’s all good? Forgive me for the red dress and let’s become rich bitches together!
Although I huff a small laugh and feel the first touch of relief since I left, I just can’t shake how Declan made me feel. I felt sorry for him. Curious about how he’d become that man. And if I’m honest with myself, I felt scared too. Power bows around him in his office and in The Club, and every time he looked at me, he made it clear that I had none.
Braelynn: I’m good. Declan is intense.
Scarlet: Did he hurt you??
Her question takes me aback, I even flinch at it. Until I remember the punch. Maybe he’s … maybe he’s just like that.
Braelynn: No. Should I be worried that he would?
Scarlet: I’ve never heard of any woman getting hurt. Not in the club and not by him. But what do you mean by intense? That guy? He should have listened when you said no the first time.
I type then delete. Type then delete. It’s frustrating because so much of it is simply how I feel. How do I explain this to her? This overwhelming feeling like something bad is going to happen. Something that leaves me powerless and at the mercy of a man who doesn’t seem to know what that word means.
Braelynn: He didn’t hurt me. I just … I used to know him. Sort of.
Scarlet: How?
Braelynn: Long story, too much to text.
I unfold myself from the couch and make my way to the small kitchen. My bare feet pad on the laminate floor.
The layout for the first floor is simple enough. I could walk circles in the townhouse. There’s a bathroom and coat closet in the center with their doors on the right. Dining room in the back, hallway on the right with a staircase, living room in the front, and kitchen on the left.
Boxes are lined up in every room. As I wait for leftover pasta to heat in the microwave, I walk through the dining room that doesn’t even have a table yet, down the hallway, trailing my fingers along the wall and running over the closet door and then the bathroom door, past the staircase, into the living room as my phone pings. I ignore it and circle back to the kitchen.
My new place is simple, just like the leftover pasta. It’s hardly enough to appease my appetite, but it’ll be enough to sleep at least. Opening the fridge door offers a stream of light, and the sight of an empty fridge apart from a bottle of creamer for my coffee.