Page 13 of Sins of a King
“How do you stay awake?” I wondered.
“Coffee,” she said with a smile. “Lots and lots of coffee.”
“Is the staff close?” Though I’d hung out in the dressing room and met people, it seemed the dancers stuck with the dancers and the cocktail waitresses stuck with the cocktail waitresses.
“Close enough.”
“Hmmm. Do the cocktail waitresses ever dance?”
“Nope. Cocktail waitresses bring the drinks. The dancers dance.”
“Shame. I think it would be fun. To dance.”
“Eh, it is the way it is,” Chelsea said, completely disregarding me. “See ya tomorrow.”
Chapter 5
My cell phone rang, jarring me out of a sound sleep. Grumbling, I rolled over, trying to find the odious device. Barely cracking my eyelids, I answered the phone and growled, “Hello?”
“Were you asleep?” came Flynn’s deep voice.
“Yes.”
“It’s noon.”
All week my hours at the club had been closing shifts, meaning I didn’t get home until close to three a.m. I wasn’t used to being on my feet, in heels, and my body was taking a severe beating.
“Today is my day off. Why are you bugging me?” I demanded. The man had been into the club a handful of times while I’d been working and had ignored me except for a few polite hellos.
Flynn let out a soft chuckle. “I wanted to buy you lunch.”
“I’m busy.”
“I also wanted to hear about your first week of work.”
“I’m still busy.”
He chuckled again. “I’m downstairs.”
“Are you sitting in your car?”
“No, I’m waiting to be buzzed in.”
“You’re not going to give up, are you?”
“No.”
I hung up on him. Sighing, I stumbled to the buzzer. I looked around my prewar apartment and realized there was no hope for it. It was cluttered and a bit messy. Clothes littered the short hallway, the sink was full of dishes, and there were far too many Chinese takeout containers in the garbage.
The aroma of warm coffee swirled in the air as a knock sounded at my door.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Sean Connery.”
I smiled at Flynn’s flirty, teasing mood. I opened the door and gestured for him to come in, trying to be inconspicuous about checking him out. Jeans and a plain white T-shirt—though knowing Flynn—the tee was probably custom made and very expensive.
“You’re looking casual,” I said by way of greeting.
