Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 157032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 785(@200wpm)___ 628(@250wpm)___ 523(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 785(@200wpm)___ 628(@250wpm)___ 523(@300wpm)
I smirk at how different applying for a medical position and a bartender position really is.
Subject: Application
From: Club Exotic
To: Ashley Tucker
Congratulations, Ashley.
You have been successful in securing an interview with Club Exotic. We look forward to meeting you at Club Exotic, 59 Palmer Street, LA at 11am on the 7th of next month.
We pay above average wages, have an excellent career development pathway plan, and we are recruiting ten team members to join our beloved crew.
Please RSVP within seven days of receiving your invitation.
Club Exotic
I frown and scroll to the top of the screen. When was this email sent? The 5th of last month. Hmm, this interview was the reason we had to get here by yesterday. Surely seedy places hire people an hour before their shift, not one month out? I glance back over to the girl sitting across from me. She’s wearing cheetah print lycra tights with sky high stilettos, and the words from that selfie song run through my head.
Who wears cheetah?
Who does fucking wear cheetah?
Her huge, droopy boobs are hanging everywhere, and her black roots on her bottle-blonde hair looks like a landing strip. My stomach rolls and I glance over at the other women waiting for their turn. I feel my run instincts kick in a little harder. One is wearing a crop top and I can see the bottom of her bra sticking out from underneath, while the other is wearing a dress that is so small, it looks like a shirt. Although attractive, they are all faked tanned to the max.
Oh, shit.
I need to go. Fucking hell. I wanted thirty-five dollars an hour. I stand and the office door opens.
“Ashley Tucker?” The kind looking lady smiles.
Oh, a lady? I frown. That’s unexpected. I was picturing a middle aged bad porn actor.
She raises her eyebrows in question. “Ashley?”
I nod nervously. “Yes, I’m Ashley.”
She holds her hand up toward her office. “This way, dear.”
I fake a smile and walk nervously into her office. Oh man, two minutes too late.
“Just take a seat, honey, sorry to keep you. I won’t be long, girls.” She smiles to the others.
“That’s okay,” they all reply in unison.
I fall into the seat and hold my handbag in my lap. Better keep it close in case I need to run.
She closes the door, sits down and smiles warmly. She is a kind looking lady; a kind cougar looking lady, to be honest. In her late forties, sure, but sexy in a glamorous way. My eyes glance around at her office to see luxurious dark navy walls with silver gilded frames, and on the back wall is a huge mirror. Plants and a large black leather lounge add to the ambience.
She folds her hands in front of her as she assesses me.
She has an inner calm about her—an inner confidence—and I feel a little jealousy sweep over me. I would give anything to have that inner calm and confidence.
It’s such a sexy quality to possess.
Her wise eyes scan over my face. “My name is Eliza.” She smiles. “So, Ashley, tell me about yourself?”
I swallow the nervous lump in my throat. “I’m twenty-seven and I’m currently studying medicine.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“Impressive. What year are you in?”
“I’m in my last year.” I smile. It never gets old telling someone that, I’m so freaking proud of myself.
She narrows her eyes. “How long have you lived in LA?”
“I just arrived yesterday… from New York.”
“What brings you here?”
“A surgeon.”
She frowns.
“I mean… I’m going to be a top surgeon’s understudy at LA Memorial hospital. I start in two days.”
“How exciting for you.” I nod. “How many children do you have?” she asks.
I frown, I never get asked that question. People always assume that, because I’m a med student, I won’t have kids. “I have one son.”
“What’s his name?”
“Owen.” I smile. Even saying his name brings out my pride.
She sits back in her chair. “So, you are here for Owen, then?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
She picks up her pen and writes something in her diary. “What are you looking for?”
I frown in question. What does she mean? A job, you fool. “I’m sorry, what do you mean?” I ask.
Her eyes flash up to me from her notes. “What position are you here for?”
I hesitate. “You have more than one job going? I wasn’t aware.”
She puts her pen down and smiles. “Do you know what we do here, Ashley?”
I swallow nervously. “You’re a club?” I fake a smile. Please be just a club.
“Yes, we are a club.”
Oh. I smile broadly.
“We are a gentlemen’s club.”
My face falls.
“We offer men an escape from their mundane lives—a fantasy, if you please.”
I go to say something intelligent, but no words will leave my mouth.
“We have five different positions open at the moment.”
I stay silent.
“There’s bar work, just normal bar work, and that pays thirty-five dollars an hour.”