Page 8 of R Is For Revenge: Part One
“I know, I know,” I mutter, swiping mascara on my lashes with quick precision. “The clock hates me, I swear. I was supposed to have an extra hour, but Billy’s nurse called and?—”
Shells’ tone softens. “How’s he doing? Does he like the new place?”
I pause, biting my lip. “He’s doing great. The new facility has everything he needs you know? It makes all this other shit worth it. I just wish it wasn’t so fucking expensive.”
My brother needs special care. He was in Europe a few years back and he took out his motorcycle. He didn’t make the bend in the road. He hit a tree and for a while I didn’t think he’d make it. But he’s strong and he lived thought his brain isn’t what it used to be, and he needs special care and medication and rehab therapy. Every bill, every delivery of medication, every hour of care—it’s like pouring water into a bucket with a hole in the bottom. No matter how hard I work, I can’t fill it fast enough.But I do it for him because he’s my brother. For the longest time he was the only family I had that cared. The only one I could count on and now I’m all he’s got.
Shells sighs. “I wish I could help. You know I would.”
“I know,” I say, softer now. “This job’s just… it has to work out. It’s the only thing standing between us and another panic month where I’m pulling out my hair trying to find that extra hundred bucks.”
“Then make them love you,” Shells says, her voice snapping back to determined mode. “Smile, hustle, and pretend you’re not terrified, even if you are. Guys with money love confidence. Especially when that confidence comes packaged in long hair, great tits and lips any porn star would want.”
“Jesus, Shelli.” I shake my head and stare at my reflection.
“What? We both know you’re fucking hot so use it. Your tips are your lifeline. Especially at a place like that. Private clubs pay out huge. Just… don’t get wrapped up in any of them, okay? The men I mean.”
I know what she means. I pout at my reflection, blotting on a neutral lipstick. “I’m going there to work, not to fall in love with some guy in a suit, Shells. Promise.”
“You better. Call me when your shift’s done so I know you survived.”
“I will.”
I hang up, stuff my phone in my bag, and scoop Bob off the toilet lid so I can grab my jacket—then remember I don’t own one decent enough for where I’m going. It’s late Fall and warmer than ever, but still. I jog to the closet and pull out a favorite faded denim jacket. It’s not built for warmth, but it will have to do.
Bob meows once as I lock the door behind me, his half-tail twitching like he doesn’t approve.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “Let’s hope they like me.”
My first shift at the most intimidating private club in Manhattan is about to start.
And I can only hope I’m not walking into something I can’t walk back out of. Because that would suck.
An attractive blonde gives me the onceover the second I step through the employee entrance, her expression a mix of curiosity and appraisal.
“You must be the new girl,” she says, her voice smooth and easy as she hands me a black half-apron. “I’m Cassidy. Brent said you’d be shadowing me tonight. Training shift—so watch, listen, and don’t screw up.”
Her tone isn’t unkind, just brisk and all business. She’s tall with legs that seem to go on forever and a confidence I can only hope to fake by the end of the night. Her uniform fits like a glove, and I get the distinct impression she doesn’t justworkhere, sheownsevery room she walks into. She is the woman I’ve always wanted to be.
“Got it,” I say, tying the apron around my waist, my fingers fumbling slightly.
She looks at me again, one perfectly shaped brow lifting. “You ever work a place like this before?”
“No,” I admit. “Diners, cafés… nothing likethis.” I’m too embarrassed to admit, that up until a few years ago I’d never worked a day in my life.
She sighs, like she already knew. “It’s not hard if you pay attention. The members are… particular. They pay a lot of money for the right to privacy so they like discretion. You’ll see a lot of faces you know from like, TV or the news or celebrity types. A lot of athletes. The men like pretty faces and the women, for the most part, will ignore you because of that pretty face. Just keep that smile bright, and don’t engage unless you’re asked a question or something. Do that, and you’ll make more in tips inone night than girls working down the street at Empire make in an entire month.”
I nod, my heart hammering harder than I want to admit. It’s not fun wanting something so bad that it makes your stomach hurt.
Cassidy gives me a quick tour of the floor, pointing out sections, the bar, the VIP tables tucked away in the back and the enclosed private balconies. “We rotate tables and sections, but your first few shifts you’ll shadow me. Watch how I handle our clients. We have a lot of help, extra runners for when it’s super busy. But us, you and me, we’re first line of contact. We’re about image and experience as much as food and drink. This is a classy place but our customers aren’t always classy if you know what I mean.” She offers a smile. “You’ll be fine and we’re on balcony duty. We’ll make bank, trust me.”
We stop near the edge of the bar, where Brent is already pouring drinks with effortless speed. He gives me a wink as I pass, like he knows I’m one deep breath away from panicking.
Cassidy leans in slightly. “Rule one—don’t ever gossip. Not about members, not about staff, not aboutanything. Everyone signs NDAs, but it’s easier to never repeat what you hear or see. Not even in passing. Trust me, it will keep your job safe.”
“Noted,” I murmur, forcing myself to match her easy pace as we weave through the tables.
The club feels even bigger tonight. The low lighting, the ever present hum of music, jazz tonight, the soft murmur of expensive conversation—it’s all designed to make people forget the outside world exists. To forget rules exist.
