Page 6 of Dirty Little Secrets
God, that was fucking fun. But I’m exhausted. Leaving the tip collection to the back staff, I get off the stage and rush to the dressing room for a sip of water.
“Did you see him?!” Crystal squeals, swapping out her nipple tassels as I walk into the back room. “I literally thought he was dead.”
“Same!” Ginger giggles, reapplying her lipstick. “Maybe he was secretly in jail or something!”
“That’s fine with me,” Crystal smirks. “I love me a man in uniform.” She notices me lingering by the water cooler. “You see him out there, Luna?”
“Who?” I ask innocently. Oh, I saw him. And he saw me. And he won’t forget me for alongtime. “Who are you guys talking about?”
“Damon Cavanaugh.” Ginger nearly falls off her seat while swooning over his name. “Ugh, he’ssofine.”
Crystal scoffs, perking a brow. “Fine? That man is not fine. He is,” she kisses the tips of her fingers, “a God.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s aman.”
“A veryrichman,” Ginger adds.
“They’reallrich,” I note, shrugging. “He’s just another John with a black card. Nothing we haven’t seen before.”
“Honey,” Crystal tilts her head, “He doesn’t justhavea black card, heownsthe black cards. That man’s daddy could’ve paid off this country’s debt.”
“I doubt it.” I snort. “The gross federal debt, held publicly and federally, is roughly thirty-five trillion dollars.”
Crystal scowls at me. “You know what I mean.”
I shrug. “If you want to win an argument by throwing out comparables, make sure they’re at least factually accurate.”
Ginger tosses a tube of lip gloss at my head. “There. Maybe she’ll be dumber next week.”
“Ow!” I rub my temple, chucking the tube back at my Friday night friend. “That hurt!”
Before Ginger can fake an apology to me, the club’s manager waltzes into the dressing room and makes a beeline toward me.
“How much did I make?” I ask, holding out my hand.
“Depends.” Georgina purses her lips. “You willing to entertain a table for an hour?”
“Let me guess,” I say, “VIP table? Center stage?” I hear Crystal and Ginger gasp behind me. Fan girls. All of them. “How much?”
“He must’ve liked you,” Georgina smirks, holding out a check. “He gave me a blank.”
Crystal and Ginger rush to my side. “A blank check?!” Crystal snatches it from Georgina’s hand, holding it up to the light as if it were a hundred dollar bill. “Holy shit, it’s signed! Damon Cavanaugh. Says so right here at the top.” She beams, looking up at me. “You’re gonna go, right?”
“Fuck yeah, she is!” Ginger insists on my behalf. “You can write ten grand if you want.”
“Or twenty!” Crystal chimes in, shimmying her shoulders. “You know my birthday’s coming up…”
An idea pops into my head. A fun little game to see just how badly the fly wishes to remain on my web. “A pen?” I hold out my hand, and Georgina immediately gives me one. I scribble down a number, smirking at the absurdity. “There. Let’s see if he agrees.”
Crystal hovers over my shoulder, her voice ringing in my ears as she screeches, “One million dollars? Luna! Have you lost your damn mind? Obviously, he’s going to say no!”
“Luna, come on.” Georgina frowns, knowing that she won’t make her cut if I go in with such a ridiculously unreasonable amount. “Be realistic.”
“I am,” I say, folding up the check and slipping into my bra. “He’s a billionaire, right? What’s a puny million to him?”
Before any of the women can protest, I blow them a kiss and head into the club, ready to tease my poor fly a bit more before I eat him. I know it’s rude to play with your food, but times are tough these days. Anything for a laugh.
When I round the corner toward the VIP section, I tilt my head and give Mister Money Bags another once over. Heisa rather attractive man. That’s unarguable. He’s got that golden ratio symmetry that your brain is hardwired to recognize and appreciate. He’s visually appealing. I’ll give him that. But in the past twenty-three months, I’ve learned that those who win the genetic lottery often have the IQ of a turnip.
