Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
“And I’m Pepper,” the other girl says, tired of waiting for her turn. She sticks her hand out like a used car salesman out to rob me of my last dollar. But she’s direct, which I appreciate. Her grip’s firm and quick. “I’m the spicy one,” she says with a bright smile.
“I see that.” I take in her neon red hair, a shade of red only found on fire engines. It makes me think of Emily telling me that her red hair comes from a salon.
Christ almighty. Work now. Pine later.
The girls make an interesting duo. Pepper’s shorter, curvier, and has the quick, jerky movements of a street hustler. More plain than pretty. But what she lacks in beauty she makes up for in curves and personality. Confidence earns more than looks here. She’ll do just fine.
They’re smart to team up together. Porsche looks like a stoner’s version of an angel while Pepper favors a brazen little devil. They’ll rake in money by the truckload.
I shift my gaze to Swan who stares up at me with eager, wide eyes. As if she’s seeking my approval. I nod once but she still seems to be waiting for something. What else does she expect? A pat on the head?
The girls step aside and I unlock the door, motioning for them to go in ahead of me.
Lights in the hallway blink on, brightening our path.
I pull out my phone and check my texts. Nothing.
“Jasper should be here soon,” I say. “Let’s go over what you’re looking for.”
Porsche clasps her hands together under her chin and sways from side to side. A noise somewhere between a sigh and a squee passes her full lips. “Thank you for considering this for us, Mr. Watts.” She drags out my last name in a lower, seductive tone. “I understand it makes things complicated.”
Damn, why can’t I place that accent? Not that I’m an expert but I’ve spent time in different areas of the country. Definitely something southern. For a performer, she’s an interesting package. Her strange, whispery rasp, full lips that tilt down at the corners, and half-closed eyes give the impression she just woke up from a nap. Or she could be stoned. Doesn’t matter. The sleepy thing will probably work in her favor. Customers can fantasize about waking up next to her. They’ll happily empty their wallets at her feet.
“Dex is fine,” I answer in a clipped tone meant to cut off any more of her fawning.
She lifts one shoulder and ducks her head, like she’s suddenly a shy little girl. “Dex,” she breathes out in that strange, sleepy voice.
I give her a stone-faced, not interested stare in return. Fuck the stupid accent. The dancers who think they need to flirt with me are always the most annoying.
Her friend watches our exchange with narrowed eyes.
“Go ahead.” I motion for them to continue into the club, then stop in my office to turn on my laptop and do a few other morning tasks.
“They’re great, right?” Swan says from my doorway.
“Haven’t seen them dance, yet,” I answer without looking up from the computer.
“I mean their aesthetic.”
God, I’m starting to hate that word. All the twenty-somethings I encounter lately are either raving about everything from their eyebrows to their outfits being snatched or bastardizing the word aesthetic.
“Yeah, I think customers will dig their vibe.” I glance up and catch Swan laughing.
“Porsche’s all about the vibes and wavelengths. And Pepper’s outfits are always snatched,” she whispers, familiar with all the little things that irritate the shit out of me.
My mouth tilts into a smirk. “I’m shocked to my core.”
“You are turning into a grumpy old man, Dex,” she teases.
“Turning?” I clutch my chest and pretend to be insulted. “I thought I was already there.”
She laughs softly and takes a few steps closer. “Not at all.”
“Let me get an idea of what they want while we’re waiting for Jasper.”
Swan scurries ahead of me and into the hallway. I close the door and follow her into the main part of the club.
Music thumps out of a small, round, bright red speaker the girls have set on the side of the stage. I recognize the lyrics and beat but not the voice. Shit, am I so old now, they’re remaking songs I remember from high school?
Shaking that off, I shift my gaze to the stage. Porsche and Pepper have stripped down to pole outfits—high-waisted short-shorts and cropped tops. They’re working the poles like every seat in the house has an ass in it.
“Are their practice sessions always this intense?” I ask Swan.
“They want to impress you.”
I grunt in acknowledgment. It’s not me they need to impress to work here. It’s the customers. Swan should’ve told them that by now.
The two girls must’ve danced together for a long time. Every movement seems to be perfectly in sync. Some of their tricks require absolute trust—the way they balance, catch, and hold each other high in the air.