Page 20 of Pink Poison

“You’d be right.” She flashes me a Vogue worthy smile. On the surface it’s perfect, meticulously crafted. I imagine it’s the smile she dons for photoopportunities with her husband, like someReal Housewivesshit. As radiant as her smile is, it doesn’t reach her eyes. If anything…it dulled them. “If you could follow me, I’ll show you around and assign you a locker.”

Climbing the remaining stairs, I fall in step behind her. Curiosity draws me in towards the back of her thighs where a peek of deep red and purple bruising is revealed with each step she takes. “Ouch,” I hiss. I’m no stranger to bruising—especially on nights we go harder than usual on the pole. But I haven’t seen somethingthatbad since a girl took a tumble off the stage while I was in Florida. “That looks rough.”

Her steps briefly falter before she can recover. Cautiously, she pulls down the hem of her dress, concealing the markings. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Mae Lennon is a terrible liar. If she were anyone else, I’d call her out on it. But since she is who she is, I let it slide. Besides, a bad liar is a liar who tells more truths than they realize.

“If you say so,” I dismiss, opting to take in the vast space of this floor.

“This over here is the main stage.” She points ahead.

Eyes wide, I stare at the sheening sea of black that covers the elongated platform.Opera. Curtains.Offuckingcourse a pretentious asshole like Atticus Lennon would have piles of black silk as gaudy performative curtains. Shaking my head, I focus on theonlything that really matters. Several alternating colored poles,black, silver, medium teal blue,are spread evenly across the stage. Unsurprisingly, fitting the color theme of the entire establishment.

Damnit. I hate, and I mean,trulyhate to admit it—but it’s classy as hell. This place is the upgrade of all upgrades given the clientele that comes here per bougie Atticus’ contract.

“Most of the attraction is here, and it’s where you’ll be,” Mae continues. “Clients know the rules, but for your sake, I’ll explain them briefly. Le Papillon is far more than a gentleman’s club. While entertainment on thisfloor is untouchable, the clients are encouraged to mingle with each other. You will see just about anything while on stage. Your job is simple: ignore them and keep dancing.”

Swallowing, I fight to keep my nerves under control. It’s one thing to read that an establishment is a sex club, but to hear it and know that there’s a risk someone could mistake me as an available service is…uncomfortable.

“What if—”

“There are no what ifs here. Not anymore,” she interrupts. “Atticus has made many changes recently tobenefitthe people in his employ.”

There’s no mistaking the grating change in her tone, as if it pained her to say her husband’s name andbenefitin the same sentence. I tuck that bit of information in the back of my mind as we reach a narrow spiral staircase that overlooks the entire floor. She leads me towards a dimly lit secluded area, blocked by a thick, velvet rope. Mae unclips the hook without a second thought, maintaining her previously set pace. Quickly, she pushes the doors open, releasing an overwhelming scent of perfume from the room.

“Jesus, that’s toxic.” I cough, wafting my hand in front of my face.

“You get used to it,” she says as her finger brushes over a light switch. “You can pick whichever one doesn’t have a lock on it.”

I walk past the threshold and find the locker room much bigger than I anticipated. Rows of sleek, black lockers line the walls, while a dozen vanities sit in the center of the room. They practically sparkle with how clean they are—which is both impressive and somehow unnerving. Looking over my shoulder, I lift my brow at Mae. “Where’s your locker?”

“At the end of the back wall.” She shrugs with an air of nonchalance. “I like the privacy back there.”

“Is there an open locker next to yours?” I ask.

The sound of boots scuffing across the floor catches my attention as she walks further into the room. Taking that as an invitation to join her,I follow her lead until we reach what I assume is her locker. The space back here doesn’t smell as strong as the entrance.Thank fuck.My nostrils needed a break.

“It looks like it’s your lucky day.” She pats her hand over the brass placard with a number fourteen on it. “This one is available.”

“I’ll take it.” I smile. “Where are we headed next?”

Her shoulders slump a fraction. It was barely enough to notice, and yet I caught it. “Atticus told me to bring you to his office after you’ve picked your locker.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I lift an eyebrow at her response. “I’d rather sit in here and talk with you than see him.”

Fear. Her haunted eyes have the ability to light, but not with humor or joy.Unadulterated fear.“We should—”

“Tell me about yourself, Mrs. Lennon,” I interrupt.

Iknowthat I shouldn’t push her. But, Ineedto know if this woman is trustworthy—or if she’s just a pretty snake like her husband.

Her hand touches just below her collarbone, where a sliver of blue and black ink is visible. “There’s not much to know about me.” She sighs, dropping the fake smile from her face. “I started working here five and a half years ago and married Atticus six months later. I have a—” Tears gather along the inner corners of her eyes, cutting what she had planned to say short.

My heart struggles to keep its pace as a weight settles over my chest. Whatever is on her mind must be heavy for her mask to crack like this.Fuck me.“Ah, hell.” Gently, I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just being a nosy bitch.”

She snorts, breaking the tension between us. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Pulling away, I flash her a genuine smile. “I would, because it’s true. I, Stevie Waters, am a nosy bitch with zero shame.”

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