Page 42 of The Bad Girl
Various nearly naked women try squeezing into the booth with me, but I smile, dismissing them. As much as I enjoy the company of beautiful women, for once, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to look out for Nadine and Stacey and make sure they don’t come to any harm.
Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
Time moves slowly, and I grow anxious at Nadine’s absence. Stacey, on the other hand, seems to be in her natural environment, chatting up a storm with a couple dancers that appear to be enjoying her company just as much as she enjoys theirs.
After what feels like an eternity, I lean over to Stacey, interrupting her conversation.
“I think you should go check on Nadine.”
She arcs a brow. “Check on her? Like I’m her momma?”
“You know Nad—”
“I know she’s a grown woman. I know she can make her own choices. I know the women at this club would never let anything happen to her.”
I exhale my frustration, trying not to let my anxiety get the best of me. Mike T. is flexing, modeling his impressive guns for a couple of adoring onlookers. Really hamming it up.
What are you even doing here? You weren’t invited, and they’re perfectly fine without you.
It’s been at least half an hour with no sign of Nadine, but I’m no stalker, so I pull out my money clip, tossing a couple one-hundred-dollar bills on the table to the wide-eyes of the dancers.
“Make sure my assistant gets home safely,” I tell Stacey as I slide from the booth.
As I go to tell Mike T. it's time to leave, the announcer’s voice booms from the speakers.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, do I have a treat for you. Tonight, we have Good Girl Nadine’s transsssssformmmmation into a Bad Girl! Enjoy.”
My heart sinks into my stomach as Nadine walks onto the stage. She’s dressed in what can only be described as Halloween’s version of ‘business professional,’ with a professional white button-down shirt gaping at her chest and tied under her breasts worn over her see-through shirt. She has fake, thick-rimmed glasses on the bridge of her nose, her hair is tied up in a librarian’s bun. And of course, her barely-there leather skirt, fishnets, and stilettos.
God, she looks good.
Mike T. looks over at me, glaring. “You really aren’t payin’ that girl enough.”
The music starts, and my jaw drops as Nadine does an exaggerated walk across the stage, taking the glasses from her face and pressing the tip of an arm onto her lips. She has an innocent look to her, which adds to the ambiance of her performance.
A handful of assholes cluster around the stage, holding money out for her and sending my blood pressure skyrocketing. I look over the crowd, making sure nobody gets too rowdy with her.
A guy reaches out, brushing her ankle with his hand, which ignites a fury in me. As I go to beat the ever-living hell out of the shithead, Mike T. grabs me by the arm.
“It ain’t worth it, boss.”
I pull his hand away. “You’re supposed to be protecting me, not him!”
“Trust me, I am protecting you. Protecting you from yourself. Look at her, she’s fine.”
My eyes return to the stage where Nadine has now grabbed the brass pole and is leaping up into a twirl, taking a pin from her hair, causing it to cascade around her.
For an amateur, she pulls the move off perfectly, spinning around with the grace of a swan.
Now, instead of watching for threats, I’m ogling her like every other asshole in the crowd, watching her as she dismounts the pole, rolling her hips as she walks.
My dick is rock hard as my eyes fixate on the woman who’s been working for me for the last eighteen months. There’s no doubt in my mind that things will never be able to go back to normal between us, and I’m thankful I can move her over to PR.
Or at least I tell myself I am. In truth, for some reason, it makes me ache in a way I never have before.
As she walks across the stage, her hands reach behind her, and she turns, bending, sliding her leather skirt down her thighs. Underneath, she’s wearing a bright red thong that gets lost in her curvy ass.
“Wow!” Mike T. whistles in appreciation, and for a moment, I’m tempted to punch him.
