Series: Sean Moriarty
Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Leaving their wives at home with the children so they can throw their cash at strippers dressed like angels.
All under the guise of business meetings.
After I finish taking everyone’s order, I turn away, prepared to strut my stuff over to the bar, only to be stopped by a hand on my arm.
This too isn’t unexpected, but it doesn’t stop my blood from boiling even hotter.
I fucking hate it when they touch me.
Sucking in a sharp breath, trying to cool myself down, I slowly turn my head to meet the eyes of the man who asked for a piece of my ass.
Blind to my anger, he slips a business card into my hand. Probably thinking he’s being slick.
“When you get off…”
I pointedly look down at his hand, at the platinum wedding band on his ring finger, then snap my eyes back up to his face.
Whatever he sees in my eyes doesn’t fill him with shame.
No, he has the audacity to grin at me.
Like he’s proud of what he’s doing.
My palm itches with the need to slap him across his face. To give him what he deserves.
I bet he’d like it, though.
No doubt he gets off on being sleazy in front of his friends, and he’s probably trying his damnedest to get a reaction out of me.
The last thing I want to do is give him the satisfaction.
I will not let this asshole best me or get me fired.
Not when there’s half a million dollars on the line.
Letting the thought of the money, of freedom, true freedom, flood through me, I relax my shoulders and slip my mask back into place.
Slowly I pull my arm out of his grip, my skin crawling from his touch, and nod my head.
“Sure thing, honey,” I murmur then strut away as fast as my gold stiletto heels will carry me.
Behind me, just above the pumping bass of whatever song Amber is dancing to, I can hear the man’s buddies chuckling and snickering. “You dog, Jones.”
“What can I say?” Mr. Business Card says with pride. “I just can’t help myself.”
His words repeat in my head the entire walk to the bar.
I. Just. Can’t. Help. Myself.
Stomping my heels into the floor, I wish I was stomping them into something else.
For three long weeks, this job has dragged on with no sign of any of the men I need to be keeping tabs on.
I thought I would only have to work here for a few days, max. That this would be the easiest job ever.
But so far, Lucifer and his men have yet to make an appearance.
There’s been rumors aplenty that they’ll show up any day now. Hopeful rumors whispered in the backroom by the dancers looking to score the sugar daddy of their dreams.
Apparently, Lucifer keeps a close eye on the properties he owns. For good or ill.
So, where is he?
What I wouldn’t give to be done with this place…
“Girl…What crawled up your coochie and died?” Lana asks the moment she lays eyes on me.
Elbow propped on the bar and hip jutted out in a sexy pose, her glossy lips quirk up into a smirk.
Shaking my head and causing the halo I’m forced to wear to tip to the side, I slap the business card down on the counter beside her and get our bartender’s attention. I put my order in for the table, getting that out of the way, before I answer.
“Just the usual,” I grumble as I straighten my halo over my ice blonde wig. “Another group of assholes.”
Eyes laughing at me, Lana says, “They’re all assholes to you.”
I open my mouth to argue against that but quickly close it.
She’s not wrong…
Lana shakes her head almost sadly. “Sweetie, you’re in the wrong line of work.”
Don’t I know it. I’m just not cut out for this. And if the circumstances were different I certainly wouldn’t be here.
But I can’t admit I’m here because I’m supposed to spy on some very powerful men in exchange for a little revenge and half a million dollars.
So I fall back on my old, tired excuse. “I need the money.”
Lana rolls her eyes and picks up her glass. “Don’t we all.”
Sipping from her drink, leaving glossy pink lipstick all over the rim, her eyes scan around the room. She may technically be on her break but she’s always on the prowl for her next customer.
If I’m not cut out for this kind of work, Lana was born for it.
She’s absolutely stunning. Blonde, as tall as a model, with long, lean legs, and rocking an hourglass figure, she knows how to work everything God blessed her with.
I’ve yet to meet a man she hasn’t been able to wrap around her little finger.
And honestly, I can’t blame them.
The way they have us dress around here, in skintight shimmering white dresses, leaves little to the imagination.