An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle #1) (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 3) (2 page)

Damn.

Desire blazes through me, my dick swelling, and she hasn’t even started dancing yet. It’s not like me to want to screw a woman’s brains out at first sight. Clearly, I need to get laid soon. I’m not a romantic…or dumb enough to believe she’s one of a kind. All women—except of course my sainted half-sister Elizabeth—are pretty much alike.

The music starts. The other women move like snakes around their poles, and men watch them with lust smoldering in their eyes. I sit back, shifting to adjust my cock, and wait for her to bare it all, even as a part of me wishes she wouldn’t and that she’d just flee the damn scene.

Sadly, this girl is the worst stripper I’ve ever seen…and I’ve seen more than a few. At first she’s tense, which is understandable, but as the music goes on and swells to a climax…she doesn’t let go. Unbelievably stiff—she looks like she’d shatter if somebody tapped her on the shoulder.

What the hell was the manager thinking, hiring a girl like this? Doesn’t he audition the talent?

Maybe she was better one-on-one. Maybe she blew him. The latter idea pisses me off, but it really shouldn’t. Women have no problem falling to their knees and servicing a man if it’ll get them what they want. I should know.

I really should let her go home without a tip. That should tell her she has no talent for this kind of work.

But the unhappiness in her gaze says she knows she didn’t do well. And despite my less than sterling reputation, I’m not into kicking puppies.

When she comes close enough, I pull out two hundred-dollar bills and tuck them under her G-string, careful not to touch her skin. Her eyes widen, then instead of being grateful or offering to do me later on, fire erupts in their green depths.

So. She isn’t entirely dumb.

A mixture of amusement and new appreciation for the girl blossoms inside me. “You really ought to try something else. This isn’t your calling,” I say.

Her hands curl into fists; I hold her furious gaze, wondering if she’ll try to slap me. That would actually turn this unbearably dull night into something else.

Five heartbeats pass as I wait, my body hot with anticipation.

Her lips tight, she spins around and walks away without bothering to work the rest of the men along the stage. I watch her hip action, the switching bunch and fall of each ass cheek.

A sigh escapes, and my shoulders lower.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m actually disappointed that she didn’t try to slap me.

Annabelle

My hands shake as I walk away. It’s impossible to ignore the feel of the crisp bills rubbing against my skin, but it’s the insult that scrapes me raw. I need a pity tip about as much as I need a pity fuck.

If anybody had asked me a couple of years ago if I could imagine myself stripping, I would’ve laughed in their face. Yet…

Here I am.

I duck behind the curtains for the girls’ staging area, then yank the money out. The amount makes me gape.
Two hundred dollars?
I was expecting maybe forty.

The dim light, my nerves and the man’s closeness made it hard for me to see how much he was giving me. My hand clenches around the money. I hate the insult it represents, but I can’t hurl it back in his face like I want to. It’s almost a month’s worth of groceries for me and my sister. Pride won’t put food on the table.

I take a peek at the man from a distance. It can’t be called “safe” since there is nothing safe about the response he elicits in me.

An odd ache pulses between my legs, and not from the waxing I got a couple of days ago. My nipples bead, and it has nothing to do with the cool temperature in the club. The air in my lungs thickens, and my tongue darts out and wets my lips. What
is
it about this guy?

And he perused me from head to toe with a thoroughness that was almost indecent. I can’t stand it when men just check me out like that. My skin crawls, and it makes me feel dirty and unsafe.

But when
he
looks at me, well…maybe I still feel a little dirty. But in a good way.

Damn it. Damn it. Why now? Why
this
man?

Chuck is annoyed with me, although probably less annoyed than he would’ve been if I hadn’t gotten anything. He’s the manager, and he oversees the “talent.” He waves me toward him. Dirty blond with ash-gray eyes, he’s clean-cut, clean shaven, and wears a nice button-down shirt and dark slacks. In a different setting, he could pass for a bank manager.

“You sucked,” he says without preamble.

Until he opens his mouth
. “Thanks,” I mumble.

“I’m only letting you work today because I got paid to, but for fuck’s sake. You don’t do another set, got it? We don’t want to drive customers away with that kind of…” He pauses for a quick inhale. “What the hell
was
that anyway? I’ve seen robots with better moves.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I was bad. Can I go home now?”

“Please. Go home. And don’t come back.”

“Okay, fine,” I mutter under my breath. I’m not going to beg him to keep me or anything ridiculous like that. It isn’t like this is my dream job. Mr. Grayson will just have to get a little more creative about convincing Mystery Guy that he really wants to marry me.

I take off my stage makeup, put on my street clothes and climb into the used Honda that my parents bought me when I got my driver’s license. Someone back home keyed the sides. Since I never bothered to patch them up, the lines have rusted over. I didn’t report the vandalism to the police either, since they weren’t going to side with me. They won’t side with anybody related to Dad.

The interior of the car gives me a sense of privacy, and I let myself deflate. Tears bead in the corners of my eyes, and I shove a fist against my mouth and bite on my knuckles until they hurt.

This isn’t how my life was supposed to be. I was supposed to go to college, graduate, get a job with real career prospects…marry a nice guy from the same socioeconomic background. But instead, I only got to do four semesters. Given my lack of education and job skills, I’m never going to find gainful employment…at least, nothing that will lead to a real career. And I’m beholden to Mr. Grayson, whose motives I do not understand.

I can’t give up, no matter how much I want to. My younger sister Nonny depends on me. She’s only fifteen, and she has no one else. I feel shaky with terror, just imagining what Mr. Grayson could ask her to do if she didn’t have me by her side to keep her safe. He showed up a year ago, and he’s been a lifesaver. But we can’t keep accepting his gifts, especially now that I know he can demand anything at any time. At least he hasn’t wanted sex.

Somehow I have to find a way to pay back every penny he’s given us. I may be alone, but I’m not helpless. I can figure things out as long as I keep calm.

I tilt my head back until it hits the seat. I would give anything to be able to talk things over with my best friend—
former
best friend—Traci Burton. She always had great ideas and knew exactly what to say to cheer people up. But after what Dad did to her family, she wants nothing to do with me. The last time I saw her…

I waited until she was home alone before going over to her house—her parents couldn’t stand the sight of me. Traci and I grew up together in Lincoln City, inseparable since kindergarten. She was the only one I could talk to when people started saying all those awful things about my father. She was my best friend. Surely she wouldn’t turn her back on me.

When she saw me on the steps, her face flushed, anger flashing in her eyes. She jutted her sharp chin out, the only thing that kept her face from being as round as the moon.

“I can’t talk to you,” she spat. “I’m too angry and hurt and… Your dad ruined my family! How could he?”

I had no answer because I didn’t know how he could’ve done it either. I still don’t.

Now my eyes in the rearview mirror look tired. It’s more or less a constant condition these days.

Once I compose myself, I drive home. Nonny and I live in a small two-bedroom apartment in a not-so-nice section of the city. But it’s cheap, especially when split two ways. We have a roommate, even though Mr. Grayson offered to provide a nicer unit for just the two of us. I’m glad I never asked for much. Otherwise who knows what he might feel entitled to?

My roommate, Caroline Wiseman, is supposedly a college student, but I’ve never seen her study. I
have
seen her party hard and bring a lot of guys over. I worry about her effect on Nonny, but it is not easy to find someone who doesn’t mind living with an underage sibling of their roommate. And honestly, the parade of men coming to see my roommate is nothing compared to the trauma that Nonny and I both went through at the shelter.

Caroline is still up, sitting on the couch with her feet on the coffee table, a tablet clutched in her manicured hands. She doesn’t go to bed until at least four a.m. Her hair is red—like mine, but hers comes from a bottle. For once she doesn’t have any makeup on, although she’s wearing green contacts that turn her eyes a strange shade of hazel. She bounces up, tablet still in her hands, and gives me a wide grin. “So! How’d your job go?”

“Horribly.”

She cringes. “Oh no! So you’re back to square one?”

“Something like that.” She has no idea.

“Well… That sucks.” She taps her lower lip. “But I may have something for you.”

“What is it?” I say, suppressing a groan. Knowing her, it’s probably really bad.

“It’s a pretty decent gig. Pays really well.”

My radar’s beeping. “What kind of ‘gig’?”

“It’s actually this Friday thing I have, but my parents said they’re coming over, so I can’t do it. I always tell them not to show up on such short notice, but they just don’t listen. It’s so frustrating. Ugh!”

I manage a pat smile of sympathy for her. I wish I had parents who came over, unannounced or not.

“So anyway, I need somebody who can, you know, sub for me. Madame G. gets furious when her girls don’t show. And the client paid a lot of money.”

“What is this job?” The way Caroline calls her boss “Madame G.” is not reassuring.

“Oh, it’s super easy. Just be a birthday girl.”

“A birthday girl.”

She sighs and looks at me like I’m four. “Okay. It’s this guy’s birthday, right? You basically get inside a big fake cake and jump out when it’s time. And you scream ‘happy birthday’ and maybe even kiss him on the cheek if you want. That’ll get you an extra big tip. And you just put on a good show for everyone at the party. It shouldn’t be that hard. The kind of people who can afford the service tend to be rich, and they pay really well. Totally different from a
club
, with all those annoying drunks.”

After tonight, I don’t ever want to do a strip show, private or otherwise. “Yeah…I don’t think—”

“But the money’s really good! Like, enough for your half of the rent.”

My jaw drops. “One night’s work is going to net me enough to pay the rent?” I put a hand on my chest. “My half?”

“Yup.”

I cross my arms. “Caroline, do you have to…you know…sleep with those men?”

She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Of course not, silly. You don’t
have
to. But you
can
, if you want. They tip
really
well for that. Most of the time they just want a blow job, nothing serious. Really doesn’t take that long, if you know what you’re doing.”

My skin crawls at the casual way she talks about it. I want to turn the work down. I doubt this client’s house has a bouncer who’ll protect me from overeager friends of the birthday boy.

On the other hand, it’s that much more money I’ll be able to sock away. Given how Mr. Grayson basically told me to strip or be tossed out on the streets, I need to have a nest egg saved to be able to stand up to him and take care of myself and Nonny. I’ve been so stupid and complacent, thinking that we’d be okay, not realizing there’s no free lunch. I need to dig myself out of the hole I’m in so nobody can push me around anymore.

“The job is just jumping out of the cake, right? Anything else is up to me?”

“Right.”

“So if I don’t do anything, no one’s going to be mad?”

“Absolutely.” She raises her right hand in a pledge.

I sigh. “All right. I’ll do it.”

Caroline launches herself at me and gives me a tight hug that has nothing to do with affection. “Thanks, babe. You’re really saving my butt.”

“You’re welcome.” I just hope I’m not making a big mistake.

Annabelle

Two days later—on Friday, when I’m supposed to sub for Caroline—I get a call from Chuck at two p.m. I’m tempted to ignore it, but maybe he’s calling to say he owes me some money. I did dance at his club after all.

“Hello?” I say, settling down in my couch.

“Can you get your ass down here tomorrow night?”

My eyebrows shoot up. “I thought you fired me.”

“Yeah, well. One of the regulars asked for you yesterday.”

“You gotta be kidding.”

“Nope.”

“You said I sucked.”

“Hey, what can I say? You did. But he wants to see you anyway.”

I grind my teeth. “What is this? Some kind of pity porn? Let’s see that chick suck on the stage so we can all have a laugh?”

“What’s with the negativity? He’s one of our best clients. Even gave you some money for the robot moves, right?”

Humiliation sears my face. I start to fan myself so I don’t pass out.
That asshole
. He told me to my face I was bad even as he gave me the money. So why the hell is he asking for me again?

“Tell him no.” I don’t care what Mr. Grayson wants me to do. I’m not going back on that stage just because
that man
wants me to, not even for another two-hundred-dollar tip. Then another thing occurs to me. “And you better not give him my name or contact info or I’m going to sue you for breach of privacy and everything else I can think of.”

“Hey, what am I? A pimp?” Chuck actually sounds offended. “You got nothing to worry about. I take care of my girls.”

“Good.” I lean back against the couch. “And Chuck?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell the guy life is full of disappointments.”