Page 12 of Seeking Vengeance
Tomorrow night, she’d draw an even bigger crowd. And she would stay the hell away from one steel-bodied, blue-eyed hard-ass.
“You. In my office. Now.” The quiet but deep voice rang throughout the dressing room, instantly capturing the attention of every girl there, but the speaker’s intense glare was directed only at her. The owner of Angels, Jason Michaels, stood in the doorway.
Those who didn’t know him wouldn’t guess him for what he was based on his appearance. He wore dark blue jeans, a black oxford, and running shoes. He was average height, trim, with boy-next-door good looks—blond hair and brown eyes all the way. The ladies guessed his age at around thirty-ish, but it was hard to be more specific than that.
He rarely made a personal appearance on the floor, preferring to handle business from his office. When he did show, it usually meant bad news for someone.
“Can I get changed first?” Nicki tried to inject some of her trademark cockiness into her tone, the look of irritation almost as well-rehearsed as her patented eye roll.
“No.” Jason tossed her a cape from the nearby hook, then turned abruptly and walked toward his private office, clearly expecting her to follow.
The silence was deafening in the normally bustling room.
With a huge feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, Nicki followed behind, not even bothering to work up the bluster. After the day she’d had—running on minimal sleep, following up dead leads, the incident at the garage, then the debacle tonight—she didn’t have the strength.
“Sit.” Jason took a seat behind the massive cherry wood desk and poured out two glasses of brandy.
Nicki remained by the door, shifting her weight slightly from one leg to the other. It was a habit she had tried hard to break—this subconscious preparation for fight or flight. It was as much a part of her as her strong survival instinct.
“I said, sit,” he repeated, more firmly this time.
Nicki stiffened at the authority in his tone. Her chin lifted slightly, and her spine straightened.
“Nicki,” he exhaled, his tone not quite as sharp. “You look like you’re going to pass out any second. Please.Sit down. Have some brandy. And tell me what the fuck is going on.”
After a brief hesitation, Nicki moved forward and did as he’d asked, though she remained perched on the edge of her seat, ready for immediate flight should it become necessary. Jason looked pointedly at the glass he’d set out for her and waited until she took a sip before continuing. As a general rule, she didn’t drink—and never while on the job—but a swallow or two of the high-quality brandy might help calm her frayed nerves a bit.
Nicki watched him carefully through guarded eyes, waiting for him to get down to it. It was a control thing, she knew. She’d dealt with enough men to know the ones who liked asserting their authority. At least Jason was fairly low-key about it.
While she waited, she took the opportunity to study him. They had only spoken twice before. The first was on the day she was hired, but that was more of a one-way interview than an actual conversation. She was onstage, auditioning, and he sat in the dark, watching. The second time was earlier today when he spoke to her about Nick, but that meeting had been down in the bar prior to her shift in the midst of setup and in the presence of the bouncers. Now, it was just the two of them in his office. Given the lack of external noise, it was probably soundproof.
The private space was not at all what she would have pictured for the owner of a gentlemen’s club. Instead of garish colors and lewd art, the office was done in soothing neutral colors that tended toward darker browns and forest greens and had soft, ambient lighting. It looked professionally done. The polished cherry desk matched the small personal bar; the chairs were covered in comfortable and stylish sable leather. A few abstract prints brought some welcome splashes of color, but even they tended toward the subtle. Overall, it was remarkably understated and simply done yet pleasant.
The man was just as surprising as his space. Young, well built, attractive. With golden-blond hair that looked slightly tousled and rich, dark eyes, he looked more like the boy next door than a sin merchant. It was no wonder half the female staff was infatuated with him.
She could see the appeal, but he wasn’t her type. He was too all-American, too mainstream for her taste. Probably drove a BMW. Listened to classic rock. Vacationed at the beach. All good things but not her style.
Not that she ever dated—she avoided that like the plague. But when she did allow herself to fantasize, the men were always darker, bigger, more dangerous. More like a certain hard-bodied bad boy with wickedness glowing in his crystal-blue eyes and a cock the size of a—
Ah hell.So not going there.
Across the massive desk, Jason seemed to be searching for the right words. Clearly, he had something to say and didn’t quite know how to say it. As attractive as he was to watch, Nicki was too tired to play games. She just wanted to go home and forget this night had ever happened.
“Am I fired?” she burst out.
He regarded her, his facial expression one of interest but otherwise unreadable. “That was quite a show you put on tonight.” The words were spoken casually, but his eyes—a warm chocolaty brown—revealed curiosity and a hint of amusement, mixed with irritation.
Her eyes widened a bit.He had seen?
Of course he did, she reprimanded herself.
There were security monitors on the wall to the left of his desk.
Nicki had the presence of mind to drop her chin a hair when she responded, “That is what you pay me for, isn’t it?”
Jason’s lips quirked slightly. He looked too comfortable in that chair, as if he knew something she didn’t. She hated that feeling. It rarely boded well.
“Ah, an overachiever.” He chuckled. “Seems to me that was about more than money.” He raised the glass to his lips again, never taking his eyes from her.
