Page 7 of Worth the Risk

Job hopping every few weeks didn’t look good on a resume, so she lied. Fortunately, the greasy spoon managers and seedy bar owners didn’t ask many questions.

But all that had changed when she dragged her tired butt into San Antonio, about as far from her father and his thugs as she could get while remaining in the continental US, three months ago. After checking into a $39/night fleabag motel, she grabbed a shower then her next stop was where she was now, an employment agency.

She peered through her bug-splattered windshield at the sign—Just Hired.

“The name sounds optimistic, if nothing else,” Bella uttered, wincing at the loud shriek the hinges made when she opened her door. “I hope they have something. I can barely afford lunch, let alone a can of WD40.”

The elegant woman behind the counter had looked from her application listing Motel 6 as her address to her thrift store dress and shoes, and immediately put two and two together.

“Times are hard, I see. Miss...” She glanced down at her application.

“Bella Rinaldi,” she supplied, giving her one of the many aliases she’d used since leaving New Jersey. “Times have been better, I’ll admit, but I’m a hard worker, and I’m willing to do anything. Just please tell me you have something that pays more than $2 per hour plus tips.”

“Anything, you say?”

Bella blinked. She’d used the turn of phrase to show her flexibility. Now she was leery about what the woman had in mind.

“I have something that pays well, but it’s rather, um...unconventional.”

“I don’t strip, if that’s what you mean,” she declared. “I’ve come close to it in some of the skimpy outfits the club owners make the waitresses wear. But I’ve drawn the line at dancing on a pole, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“For this, you’ll get to keep your clothes on. The people around you might not, however. Is that a problem?”

She shrugged. “It hasn’t been before.”

“Excellent. The position is at a private club, and the management requires employees to exercise the utmost discretion. You’ll have to undergo a background check and sign a confidentiality agreement.”

Being discreet wasn’t a problem. She knew no one in town. Who would she tell?

The background check made her nervous, although the $500 she’d dished out for a new identity had held up so far. Bella Rinaldi had no criminal record. The worst that could happen is they’d become suspicious of her previous employers all going out of business and not being able to provide references.

“How long will that take?”

The woman had kind eyes, and seemed sympathetic to her plight, but her answer wasn’t what Bella needed to hear. “It can take up to two weeks.”

Paying for the motel room by the week, in advance and with only $52.34 left in her wallet, she didn’t have two weeks. She needed gas and had to eat. Not to mention, where would she shower and sleep on days eight to fourteen? Even then, there was no guarantee they would hire her.

“Do you have anything else?”

“For someone unskilled? Not at the moment.”

Feeling defeated, Bella stood. “I need something right away, I’m afraid. Thank you for your time.”

“Wait,” the woman said as she turned to leave. “I pride myself on being an exceptional judge of character. And, to be honest, I’ve been where you are once or twice. Let me expedite the criminal background check, which should only take a day or two, and I’ll see if that will satisfy the managers, since you’ll only be working the front of the house.”

“Oh, would you? That’s so kind. Do you think they will agree?”

“We won’t know until I ask.” She reached for the phone. “Let me get the background check started and go from there.”

***

SINCE BELLA HADN’Thad a drop of luck since a ladder materialized on the side of a building a year ago, and the jump off the roof the same night hadn’t killed her, she didn’t count on the lady at Just Hired coming through for her and applied for three other waitressing jobs.

The call came in on her burner phone only two days later; she got the job, pending final approval by club management, of course.

The next day, Bella spent her last $10 on a half tank of gas and followed the detailed directions the agency had provided. It was a forty-minute drive from her crappy hotel, which she would have to move out of soon because the commute would be pricey. When she parked, her dinged and scratched Toyota stood out like a sore thumb amid the top-dollar luxury cars and massive SUVs. But what really made her feel out of place, literally, like she was at the wrong address, was seeing the three-story Spanish-style mansion when she got out.

She checked her notes once more before climbing the front steps and breathed a sigh of relief seeing the carved wooden sign that read “Club Decadence” and below it “members only.” Taking a deep breath to bolster her courage, she opened the door and walked in.

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