Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
She dances around the room and finally reaches me, not making the mistake of touching me, though. Instead, she looks down her nose at me when she leans over and puts her tits in my face as if intentionally antagonizing me. My gaze remains trained on her mischievous golden eyes. “Not interested?” she asks.
Leaning in, careful not to touch her but close enough to hear her shallow breathing, I smirk, pleased to know she’s not entirely indifferent to my charm, no matter how much she might like to pretend to be.
“Do your job,” I instruct, pulling back as she stretches to her full height. Her gaze narrows ever so slightly, and then she turns and widens that fake smile.
She dances for each man, intentional in the way she handles them. She touches and teases them but is careful not to let them touch her, moving on at the first twitch of their hands toward her. Her hips gyrate, practically hypnotizing the group. I can see why Paula hasn’t fired her yet; she’s good.
Posie giggles as she sways her hips, and when one of the men offers her a few hundred-dollar bills to take off her bra, she does. She makes it a game, a tease. By the time she removes it, three more men have slipped her another hundred each.
It’s an art what these women do, and I only employ the best. Whether it’s in their skill of tricks on a pole, flirtatious glances, or simply knowing how to keep to a beat with the movements of their body, they all have one thing in common: conducting a room’s attention. It’s just as powerful as any man in a boardroom. And at its finest, it’s beautiful.
When my main client becomes more demanding and encourages her to sit on his lap with his cock clearly pressing against his pants, I interrupt.
“That’s enough. Send Maria in,” I tell Posie calmly.
The client looks like he’s about to argue with me, but I offer him a tight smile I know doesn’t reach my eyes. He swallows but applauds like the other men and eagerly awaits the next woman.
Posie doesn’t let the emotion show, but I can tell she’s pissed at being replaced. She probably thinks she’s underperformed. If anything, it’s the opposite, but I’m not in the business of complimenting people. She seductively waves to everyone, but before leaving, she saunters over to me, those hips swaying from side to side, and stops abruptly in front of me. Then she holds out her hand. I glance at it, then meet her eyes. She’s only in a G-string and a pair of stiletto heels.
“Yes?” I ask her, raising a brow.
“My tip,” she says expectantly.
This little brat needs to be taught a lesson. My jaw tics at her boldness. No one demands anything from me. With the exception of my younger sister, Billie, perhaps, she’s the only one.
“Leave and send Maria in if you want to keep your job,” I advise. Her golden eyes widen, and she pulls her hand back. I feel triumphant as she grinds her teeth, but only briefly before her mask slips back into place and she turns to leave. I watch her ass as she does.
The men laugh over some shit and keep talking business as we wait for the next dancer. Ten minutes go by and Maria hasn’t showed yet. I excuse myself from the room to figure out what the fuck is happening. When I reach the back room, I notice Posie, fully dressed now, heading for the door. Paula follows her, throwing up her hands in defeat. I follow both and watch Posie climb into a rundown car and take off.
“What happened?” I ask, and Paula startles, hand on heart as she faces me.
“Mr. Taylor, I didn’t see you there,” she says, licking her lips. Her cheeks are stained pink, and she is most likely embarrassed by what I just witnessed.
“Where did she go?” I ask, nodding in the direction Posie went.
“Oh, sorry. Did you need her? I’ll organize another girl straight away.”
My irritation rises at my previous order not being fulfilled and Paula purposefully evading my question. I don’t often have to ask for things twice. “Paula, where did she go?”
Paula sighs before she answers, “Home.”
“Her shift has barely started,” I remind her.
“I know, sir. She seemed to have an emergency pop up,” she replies, and I’ve worked with Paula for long enough to know when she’s trying to cover for someone. Paula’s a woman in her fifties and she treats most of the women here like her daughters. It’s a privilege they don’t even realize they have, and that’s precisely why I hired her to manage the dancers. I know the women are being looked after emotionally as well as physically. This line of work isn’t easy for everyone.