“Not yet,” she says with a dramatic sigh. “But a girl can dream. Anyway, I’m taking a quick break because Mr. Hot Sexy Biker VP Bossman is on a call, and I’m bored out of my mind.”
“Bored? What have you been doing all day?”
“That’s the thing. I’ve hardly done anything all day. I’ve basically been his glorified shadow all day. He sat me in a chairnext to his desk and had me watch him do paperwork. Oh, and I got him a Coke when he asked. And he did take me to lunch. But that’s literally it.”
I raise an eyebrow even though she can’t see it. “And he’s paying you for this?”
“Two hundred bucks a day to sit and look pretty. Can you believe it? At this rate, I’ll have my tuition in no time.”
“That’s awesome, Kenny,” I admit, pulling a faded pair of jeans from my closet and tossing them onto the bed.
“Right? I’ll fetch Coca-Cola for the sexiest man alive. Sign me up for that gig all day long.”
I snort, surveying the sad collection of tops I’ve laid out. Nothing seems right. “Speaking of the gigs, I have no idea what to wear tonight.”
“Oh! Wear that black dress I got you last year. You know the one. It’s still got the tags on it.”
I groan, knowing exactly which dress she’s talking about. “Kenny, that thing barely covers my ass.”
“That’s the point! Listen, you want tips, right? Well, all these horny bikers aren’t going to be tipping you for your sparkling personality.”
“Thanks,” I mutter dryly.
“You know what I mean. Just wear the dress. Trust me.”
I walk to the far corner of my closet and pull out the LBD—little black dress. I wasn’t really into dresses but my amiga had put her foot down last year, declaring every girl needed a black dress in her arsenal. Looking at the strapless, form-fitting black mini-dress, I frown.
“I don’t know, Kenny. It’s really short. Don’t you think it might be a bit much for serving drinks?”
“Demi,” she says, her voice suddenly serious. “You need to make ten grand in two weeks. I don’t even know if that’s possible but what I do know is you gotta pull out the big guns.”
“But–”
“Dems! Wear the damn dress.”
I stare at the tiny scrap of black fabric and sigh. She’s right. This isn’t the time for modesty. My dad needs me.
A deep, gruff voice booms in the background. “Yo! Bring your little ass back inside.”
“Oops, the boss beckons,” Kenny giggles. “I’ve got to go. See you tonight!”
She hangs up before I can respond, and I toss my phone back on the bed.
With a resigned sigh, I tear open the clear plastic and hold the dress up against me, frowning at my reflection in the mirror. It’s everything I hate—too short, too tight, too... everything. But Kenny’s right. I need the money, and if this helps, so be it.
I slip the dress over my head and shimmy it down over my hips. The fabric clings to my body like a glove.
Glancing down I groan at the hem. It barely reaches the middle of my thighs. I turn sideways and grimace at my reflection. This is so not me. I don’t wear skimpy dresses.
Then again, I’m not the girl who takes a job at an underground fight club either, yet here I am.
I blow out a heavy breath. “Fake it until you make it.”
It’s two hours later when I finally step off the city bus and wonder, not for the first time, if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. I tug on the hem of my dress for the hundredth time as I survey the area. Why in the hell did I listen to McKenna? This dress is way too short for me. My eyes fall to the purple Converse on my feet and I almost laugh. Not only do I hate wearing dresses, I’m not a girl who can walk in heels either.
I start down the block when the sound of motorcycles coming my way has me glancing over my shoulder. Two bikes are roaring up the road behind me, their headlights glowing in the dusk.
My heart picks up speed when one of the riders slows as the other accelerates past me. Suddenly the rider pulls onto the sidewalk right in front of me, blocking my path.