Page 16 of Wreck Me

It’s a far cry from the manor house where I was raised, but it’s all mine, as long as I keep paying the rent. Which won’t be a problem now.

Eleanor is right. I’m on the home run.

I heat up some leftover stir-fry and spend two hours with my nose buried in my textbooks. At nine o’clock, a sleek black SUV pulls up outside my apartment building to transportme to the club. It’s an unbelievable service. I wouldn't get it working in McDonalds.

My contract stipulates I work four nights a week, but on my second night, Christopher asked if I’d consider doing five.

My answer?

Hell, yes.

I’ve got five months until graduation to make as much money as I can. I’ll work seven nights a week if he wants. If there’s a chance I can pay off some of my credit card debt this decade, I’ll take it. The scholarship only covers tuition fees and living in Dublin is expensive.

I grab the coat Avery gifted me for my audition, a knee-length fitted black cashmere, which covers the simple black dress I’m wearing underneath. I need to buy more ‘work dresses’. Not that I wear them for long, but I can’t travel to and from the club in my lingerie.

Thankfully, the driver doesn’t want to make small talk. At the club, I head straight to the changing rooms and greet several of the other dancers with a smile before heading to my allocated vanity station to get ready.

I spot the flowers as soon as I round the corner. It would be impossible to miss them. What looks like three hundred scarlet, velvety roses wrapped with a red velvet bow dominate my make-up station.

‘Someone has an admirer,’ Layla, one of the friendlier dancers comments, firing me a knowing wink as she passes.

It’s not uncommon. Avery is regularly showered with gifts, but this is the first time I’ve received any. Unless you count the copious amounts of cash thrown my way each night.

My fingers search the stems until I locate a small white envelope; meanwhile my heart beats double time in my chest. The stupid, foolish, hopeful romantic in me is silently squealing, praying they’re from James, but why would they be?

I tear the paper open and gasp.

Not many things shock me. You, Scarlett, are shocking in the best possible way.

James

He’s not the only one who’s shocked.

I bite back the grin tugging my lips and try to restrain the millions of butterflies soaring through my stomach.

It’s just flowers. He probably got his secretary’s secretary to send them.

They don’t mean anything.

Tell that to those pesky butterflies though.

I stuff the card in my coat pocket for safekeeping and begin to get ready. Tonight’s wig is a pastel pink affair that flows down my back in soft bouncing curls. It’s the same shade as the silk scrap between my legs and over my nipples. I’m lashing mascara on to synthetic eyelashes when Avery bounces in. ‘Oh, gorgeous flowers. Who are they from?’ She fumbles through the roses for the card.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ I whisper, not wanting to draw the attention of the other dancers. Why, I don’t know.

Avery looks at me quizzically, then her eyes fall to my ensemble. ‘Nice outfit,’ she exhales a low whistle. ‘I must see if Belle de Nuit stocks that in my size.’

Where I’m tall and lean, Avery has curves to kill for.

‘Thanks. Shopping for lingerie has become my new favourite lunchtime pastime.’ I swivel on the stool, crossing one long thigh over the other.

‘I hear you.’ Avery motions over her own lingerie, an electric blue lace corset and a tiny lace thong. ‘There’s a bigcrowd out there tonight.’ She nods towards the double doors leading to the main lounge.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask ifhe’sthere. But I don’t.

Owen and Tristan, the two security guards from my first night, appear in the doorway. ‘Next set please.’

I stand, along with six other women, and stride across to the door.

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