Page 16 of Ravaged and Ruined
A massive black desk dominates the room, and behind it, floor-to-ceiling windows offer a view of the ocean on one half and the city’s jagged skyline on the other.
Garett moves around to the desk, unbuttons his jacket, and leans back against the edge. “Have a seat.”
I lower myself into the leather chair across from him, crossing one leg over the other, trying not to fidget.
“You want a drink?” he asks, gesturing to a cart stocked full of expensive bottles with names I can’t pronounce on the labels. On the far wall, a massive screen displays every camera feed on the property in real time.
“I’m good.”
He nods and crosses his arms over his chest, locking his eyes on me.
“You know,” he says, his voice smooth, “when you called earlier, I was thinking cocktail waitress. Easy money, good tips, nothing too demanding.”
I nod, trying to keep my posture confident even though my nerves are tightening.
“But then,” he continues, “as luck, or timing would have it” he pauses for a brief moment like he’s choosing his words, “Well, we are now short a dancer in our VIP Lounge and it got me thinking…”
He lets the sentence dangle again. I don’t bite, but I feel my spine straighten.
He smiles, “You are an experienced dancer, are you not?”
I blink, caught off guard. “How do you know that?”
“I do my homework, Lacey.” His voice lowers, “Especially on people I’m interested in.”
There’s a charge in the air, subtle but undeniable. I cross my arms, more for protection than defiance.
“So what, you’re offering me a pole?”
Garett chuckles. “No poles. This is a VIP lounge, not amateur hour. Elevated platforms, curated playlists, custom-designed costumes. Think high-class fantasy, not sleaze.” He tilts his head, eyes scanning me in a way that makes my skin heat. “And with the way you move, I have no doubt you’d own the room. The tips alone will make it worth it, but I’ll put you on payroll as well, of course.”
“What’s the catch?” I ask, quieter now.
“No catch. You need a job. I need someone who knows how to command a room without losing herself in it.” He pushes off the desk and steps closer, but not too close. “I’m offering you the chance to be seen. Really seen. I can give you that and more.”
My throat tightens. Damn him for saying the thing I needed to hear like he’s inside my head.
I look at him, trying to see past the charm, past the expensive suit and the smirk that says he always gets what he wants. I know men like him. I’ve danced for them, waited tables for them, turned them down more times than I can count. But right now? I need this job so I can move on.
“Alright,” I say. “I’ll dance for you.”
Garett’s smile spreads, slow and knowing. “You start tonight.”
All I can do is nod, that flicker of unease twisting low in my gut. I’ve just struck a deal with the devil, and God, I hope it’s worth it.
“Come with me and we’ll get you ready,” Garett says, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
I rise slowly, my legs moving before my mind catches up, and follow him down the hallway. We step into the private elevator and descend past the main casino floor in awkward silence. When the doors slide open, we’re met with a long corridor of concrete and steel. The bare bones beneath the glittering facade. Upstairs might be dressed up like a fantasy, but down here, it’s all business.
We stop outside a set of double doors. Behind them, there’s a flurry of motion, bright fabric, low voices, the rhythmic snip of scissors. Inside, three women stand on pedestals in varying states of undress, costumed and posed like living mannequins while seamstresses flit around them, adjusting hemlines and pinning straps. The scent of perfume and steam from irons fills the air.
Garett doesn’t hesitate. He moves straight to a row of oversized cabinets along the far wall, and opens one with a quick flick of his wrist.
“I know the perfect outfit for you,” he says, voice low and gleaming with satisfaction. And then he pulls it out.
It’s crimson, the color of temptation, of warnings and stop signs, only this one dares you to keep going. The bodice is corseted, detailed with black lace so delicate it looks painted on. The skirt is slit high enough to make my throat tighten. From the hanger dangles a clear bag filled with accessories that look like long black gloves, a choker dripping with beads, and heels that would make anyone with a pulse sit up and stare.
“I can already see the chaos you’ll cause in this,” he murmurs, holding it out like an offering.
