Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“Private meeting. He wants you serving drinks. You know his favorite lounge. Don’t ask me who’s there, he doesn’t tell me and you know it.” She leans in and holds onto the bars like she might fall over. “He looks kinda nervous.” For a second, her eyes light up and her smile brightens the entire room, and she’s the girl I know and love, my beautiful Serena, my incredible little sister, smarter than all the teachers and prettier than a runway model and a whole lot of fun mixed with even more trouble.
But then it’s gone just as fast, her face drooping, her eyes going blank and dull, and she’s walking away.
I watch her go before unlatching the door and stepping out of the cage. As soon as I’m clear, another one of the girls takes my place.
At Cage, the ambiance is everything. This level is a typical club with a big dance floor made from glass that’s constantly shifting colors based on the music. There’s a vaguely Roman theme going on like we’re in a bacchanal party and everyone should be getting as drunk and as wild as possible. Leather, polished wood, Italian frescoes on the walls, everything dripping with class and money. Pretty girls carry trays piled with expensive drinks in fancy glasses to the various patrons. It’s always packed, even though membership costs an absurd amount of money, not to mention all the background checks, legal documents, and binding agreements involved. And yet Cage has been turning record profits for years and the waitlist is miles long.
Mostly because of the levels above us.
I’m tempted to get changed but I know Tommy would be pissed. I’m walking around in practically nothing, and even though I’ve been at this job for over a year now, I’m still not used to the uniform. It’s the way men look at me, the way their eyes slide up and down my body but never linger on my face, as if I’m nothing more than a pair of tits and long legs. I’m part of the decorations, another pretty light pole, just some body parts and wet holes.
If I had any other choice, I would never work at a place like this.
But I do it every day because of Serena.
In the back, I grab a tray and make a few drinks. Tommy likes gin martinis and Serena’s on a Moscow Mule kick. I don’t know what his guests are having, but I grab a bottle of champagne and some glasses as well, then hurry toward the lounges.
Cage has three sections. The bottom club is the most conventional. The middle floor is a bit more esoteric, basically a series of private spaces where more or less anything goes. Some are as tame as karaoke and movies, while others are practically built for sweaty orgies with lots of comfortable cushions and big cabinets filled with sex toys and lubricants. The vast majority are just lavish meeting rooms though with plush couches and endless bottle service.
I don’t go to the third floor much.
Tommy’s always in the last door on the far left. It’s the cleanest since it’s not used that often and he likes the decorations. It’s fish-themed, like actual aquatic stuff, with an old anchor and one of those ship steering wheels and ocean paintings. The creep loved The Little Mermaid when he was small, or at least, that’s what he says.
I’m smiling to myself a little as I head to the door, thinking about the way Serena’s face came alive when she talked about Tommy getting all nervous, when a man appears at my elbow.
“Need help with something?”
I jump a little and turn to him. I was distracted and he surprised me, and suddenly my tray starts to teeter. But the guy moves quick, grabbing the far side and leveling it out before any of the drinks can slide off, and he even takes the champagne bottle and bucket from under my other arm with a smirk.
For a brief moment, his fingers brush my midriff, just an accidental graze. But the feeling sends a shiver down my spine.
He’s tall and built, muscular to the point that his suit barely fits. He’s got a beard, neatly trimmed, and black hair buzzed close to his scalp. His eyes are light blue and his cheek bones are high, and I’m instantly shocked by how attractive I find him. I see hundreds of men every night and they mostly slide past me like water, but this guy has something else about him, something that draws me in and holds me tight. Like an undersea beast trying to drown me.
Maybe it’s his height or the way he’s staring into my eyes, not at my chest, not at the glittering body chains around my middle, but straight into my face like he’s trying to read my thoughts. As if he can actually see me as a person and not as scenery. Maybe it’s the way he moved like an athlete, quick and sure of himself. Or maybe it’s the smirk on his face, teasing and playful, his full lips tugged up and to the right, slightly lopsided.