Page 31 of Tequila & Lace
He stepped closer to me and I held my breath. The entire week I’d been avoiding him the best I could. I had a job to do and getting involved with him wasn’t part of the job. Also, like everything else in my life, I was lying to him. Since my seventeenth birthday, I’d been lying to everyone. What was Paul going to do when he found out that I was really Joselyn? Would he still want me like he wanted me now?
“Gorgeous,” he whispered against my neck as he moved my hair to the side. I tilted my head, allowing him to move as close to me as he could. “If you’re going out to pick up a guy, you don’t need to. I can be what you need.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m going to get more clients. Gotta make that money.” I repeated the words he’d once told me.
He chuckled and kissed my cheek. “When are you going to let me take you out?”
I couldn’t deny the attraction I felt for him. I knew I had a curse, but luckily before it got to that point, my case would be over and I would be on my way back to D.C. “When are you going to ask me properly?” I teased.
He laughed again. “All right, gorgeous. Will you go out with me on Saturday?”
“I’ll have to check my schedule.”
“It’s gonna be like that?”
I grabbed my keys and started to walk to the front door. “I’m just kidding, Paul James. Saturday works.”
“Good, it’s a date. I want you dressed like that.” He waved his hand down the length of my body as I opened the door.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
As I closed the door, I heard him yell. “Hey! How do you know my middle name?”
Aw, fuck. I didn’t realize I’d let that slip. I hurried to my car, turned it on and backed out of the driveway. He didn’t try and follow me to question it further, thank God. Of course, I knew it from the FBI files and my research. I knew a lot about him. He grew up in Malibu, played football, got a full ride to UCLA but went into the Army instead, and then became a male escort. He’d never been in trouble with the law, he owned a self-defense business with his friends Gabe Hastings and Autumn Jones and I was updating it to add that he was dripping with sin.
The parking lot was packed when I arrived at the club. Unlike a week ago, I wasn’t nervous as I got out of my car and walked to the glass door that was blacked out with a cellophane lining.
Usually, I arrived at a strip club dressed in pants, a comfortable shirt, boots and, more importantly, with my gun. This time I had on a simple plum dress and black heels. Inside my clutch purse was my cell, money, Driver’s License, lip gloss, gum and my business cards—I felt naked to say the least.
After paying the cover, I entered the darkened room with neon lights and a disco ball. The bass of the music thumped as if it were a nightclub. There were several small round stages with polls running up to the ceiling and women dancing topless in front of men. In the back was a bigger stage where another dancer worked the crowd. She hung upside down, her legs spread and her tits dangling as men tossed money onto the stage.
I spotted Leah and Nina sitting at the farthest stage away from the door—as if they were scouting the place. They waved me over when they saw me and I smiled and walked over to them. We exchanged hugs in greeting.
“Come here often?” I joked.
“Every night.” Leah laughed.
Nina waved at a waitress. “Let’s get you a drink and scope out the place for you. We just arrived, so we haven’t had a good look.”
I wasn’t sure what I was really looking for other than a client. What I knew was clients came to us, not the other way around. We weren’t prostitutes. We weren’t sellingourselves, so I needed to follow their lead and not look like the narc that I was.
“I have to admit I’ve never picked up clients in a strip club.” I reminded them. The waitress came over and I ordered a margarita.
Leah laughed. “That’s not how they roll in D.C.?”
I smiled. “Well, not me, that’s for sure.”
“Was the president your client?” Nina asked.
I raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you think that if the president was my client that I would leave him to come to Vegas?”
“Wouldn’t he just send his private jet?” Leah asked.
The cocktail waitress set our drinks down and I handed her my credit card, telling her that I was paying for all the drinks and to leave the tab open.
“You don’t need to buy our drinks,” Nina protested.
“President’s money,” I joked and we laughed. “But seriously, you think he’d spend the tax payer’s money to send his private jet to pick up his escort for a date?”
