Page 17 of Undeniably Corrupt
“Tino is looking for you. He sent me to find you.”
I scowl. I’m not doing any fucking lap dances tonight. No one is safe near me right now.
I don’t say that. Instead, I give her a grateful nod and go in search of my boss because while I don’t want to do any lap dances, the practical side of me knows I don’t have a choice. Not anymore. I’m down a job, and until I find another that willaccommodate my school hours and pay enough for me to afford a decent daycare for Hazel, I’m a bit up shit’s creek without a paddle.
Tino is on the far side of the bar, surveying his land like a king, and I walk over to join him.
“You have a request for the champagne room.”
Seriously?
I open my mouth to argue when he holds his hand up. “They paid two thousand dollars.”
I choke. On nothing. “Two thousand dollars?” I get a grand out of that. Who pays that much… fuck. “No. I can’t.”
“You can and you will, Angel, or I can’t keep you. I need dancers who dance and don’t snub their noses at it.”
And I can’t lose this job. If it’s Vander in that room, he’s a dead man.
“Fine. I’ll go.”
I turn to walk away.
“Room three.”
I throw a hand over my shoulder in acknowledgment and strut in my ridiculous knee-high, laced-up boots toward the room. He’s going to get a heel to the balls before this night is done.
I open the door, and sure enough, Vander Moore is sitting alone along the curved, white leather booth amongst the deep purple lights.
“Do you have a death wish?” I ask as I enter and shut the door behind me.
His lips twitch ever so subtly as he looks me up and down. “I must.”
“This officially counts as stalking.”
He shakes his head and watches as I step onto the round stage in the center of the room. The Weeknd’s “Often” plays through the overhead speakers, and with the pole behind me, I start to sway my hips to the beat.
“I’m not stalking. I came here to talk to you, and I didn’t want to do that with you at the hospital since I know you’re there for school.”
“I believe I told you that I never wanted to see you again. That wasn’t hyperbole. I meant it.”
He sits forward on the bench, his elbows digging into his thighs as he stares down at the floor. “I know that. And I deserve it.” He glances up at me through his dark lashes with his blond hair flopping on his forehead, scruffy, chiseled jawline, and green eyes as piercing and gorgeous as ever. He’s in a T-shirt with a hoodie on the bench beside him, and I can see his arms are covered in colorful ink, even if I can’t quite make out the designs.
“You do.” I take him in for a minute, finally allowing myself to remember the boy I once knew. The boy I was so in love with. “Did you know that I’ve held every man I’ve ever met up to your standard?”
He sits back and blinks at me, shocked by that, but it’s true.
“You were sweet and kind and respectful to me. Despite your bad boy reputation and your zero fucks to give about anyone or anything else, you were always good to me. Protective. Adoring even. Our first time together, you were amazing, and not because the sex was good, because I think we both know it wasn’t for me. All these years, whenever a man would inevitably show his true colors, I’d inwardly tell myself that they weren’t all bad because you were one of the good ones, so I knew they existed. You’ve officially ruined that and any remaining faith I had in your gender, and I have nothing else to say to you.”
“Good. Then you’ll let me do the talking.”
I swirl my body around the pole, annoyed that I’m trapped in here with him for the next fifteen minutes.
My head arches back, the end of my ponytail tickling my lower back as I twirl. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say.I’m here to do a dance. To earn my keep.” I release the bar and spin back around to face him while reaching behind to start undoing the hooks at my back.
His hands shoot out at me. “No. Don’t do that. Please.”
“You don’t want to see me strip?”
