Page 12 of Highest Bidder

“Iwantedto,” she cut in. “Also, if you vomit onstage, I’ll have to quit the club and change my name, so this is really for my benefit.”

I snorted and pulled the container from the bag, then grabbed a fork.

She leaned back against the kitchen counter and watched as I took the plastic lid off. “Nervous?”

I nodded as I took a bite.

“On a scale of one to projectile?”

I shrugged as I swallowed, then cheekily replied with a grin, “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Her expression softened, and she grabbed my wrist. “You’ve got this, Viv. You’re the baddest bitch I know.”

Then her thumb pressed against my tattoo. “Seriously. You’re going full-onPretty Womanto keepfucking loan sharksfrom chopping off your mom’s fingers. That’s so badass. And kind of heroic. In a slutty, high-end-escort kind of way.”

I laughed, even as the chicken shawarma felt stuck in my throat. “That’s me. Slutty and heroic.”

“You’re gonna blow them away.” She smirked. “Hopefully not literally, unless they pay for that.”

I rolled my eyes, but the laugh helped. Kit always knew how to pull me back from the edge.

She nudged my shoulder. “Finish eating. Then we’re picking out what you’re wearing tonight. You’re not getting auctioned off looking like a hot mess.”

I took another bite, still nervous as fuck, but steadier than before.

I could do this. Iwoulddo this.

It was my only option.

Chapter Seven

Vivian

The dressing room at Velvet Underground was a flurry of activity when I walked in. Beautiful women in various stages of getting ready—some wielded curling irons or lipstick tubes, while others were busy adjusting tit tape or fluffing their hair. The scents of perfume and hairspray hung in the air.

The energy and smells felt a lot like the dressing room at Club Allure, and I welcomed the familiarity.

There were marked differences from the strip club, however. The couches around the room were plush and inviting instead of being stained, threadbare petri dishes no one wanted to touch. The mirrors lining the back of the room were all sparkling clean and flake-free, and the light bulbs in the mirrors at the makeup stations all worked.

I hung the wardrobe bag with my auction outfit on a rolling garment rack, and dropped my other one, packed for the weekend, onto the floor. Macy had been clear: I wouldn’t be going home until Sunday. Hopefully, I’d come back with my dignity intact and not full of regret I couldn’t scrub off in the shower.

A few of the women looked like they belonged in magazines. One raven-haired beauty lay inverted on a couch while scrolling through her phone. She was clad in a purple silk robe and black thigh-high nylons; her legs stuck in the air like she hadn’t a care in the world. Another dark-haired woman hummed while she applied lip gloss, while a siren with auburn hair was doing a tree pose in her bra and panties next to her makeup table. They all seemed so calm, so used to this.

Me? I was still deciding if my outfit saidelegant and fuckableorgoodwill and desperate.

I unzipped the bag and pulled out the red dress Kit had helped me pick out earlier. With a deep breath, I thought, “Here goes nothing.”

~~~~

I stood in front of the mirror to inspect my appearance and nervously tugged at the hem of the clingy fabric on my dress. It hugged my waist and hips and revealed enough cleavage to be considered scandalous in any other setting than a sex club. Kit had said the thigh slit made the dress, “Elegantly slutty.”

“Is that a nice way to say trashy?”

“Absolutely not. That dress is going to make a statement.”

“What? That I’m trying to ball on a budget?”

“Sweets, the way you’re going to look in that dress, the only balls those men will be thinking about are theirs as you drain them.”

---