Four Seconds to Lose (15 page)

He grunts in response and then proceeds toward the door. “Gotta get back to my burgers.” It’s a valid excuse to leave, and yet I’m getting the impression that the awkward man is more anxious for solitary time than he is about his food.

Cain turns to look at me, a pained expression on his face. “I’m sorry about earlier. I just couldn’t in good conscience leave you there. This place is cleaner. Safer.”

I bite my lip to stay quiet.

Cleaner and safer for whom? My future clientele? Could Ginger be flat-out lying to me? She doesn’t strip, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t secretly sell herself. Look what
I
do, secretly! At 650 bucks a month in rent, Cain’s going to want compensation somehow, and apparently it won’t be by having sex with
him
. Ginger could be lying about that too, though. Or just oblivious?

Something doesn’t add up. I guess I’ll have to take this day-by-day. I have a job at Penny’s and a decent apartment. For now. I’m going to make a lot of money, fast. I’ll stay, but when the first customer shows up at my door, I’m out. Until then, I have to stick to my plan.

■ ■ ■

“How about over here?” Ginger says, her hands gesturing to the long wall in my apartment. The living room is small and yet she’s managed to make the movers lift, drag, and drop the soft, gray microfiber couch to five different spots. All it has taken her are a few winks, “my-what-big-arms-you-have” touches, and a slice of her homemade peach cream pie. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she is seconds away from asking the blond guy back to her apartment to “move” her bed. I’m certain, by the way he’s dogging her around, that he’s hoping for the same thing. The woman is almost as deceptive as I am.

Ginger hasn’t left my side all afternoon. She insisted on going grocery shopping with me, doing laundry with me, waiting on furniture with me, unpacking with me. Either she’s lying and she really
is
hoping I swing her way or that whisper I caught from Cain to her earlier was a directive to not let me out of her sight.

I follow the movers, begrudgingly handing them a thirty-dollar tip on account of Ginger’s demands, and stay a few minutes to look out over what she told me is called the commons. Beads of sweat instantly form on my skin from this crazy Miami summer heat, and I remind myself to be thankful for the air conditioner in my apartment. It’s almost six and Tanner is out there—his plaid shorts showing off those knobby knees—spraying a flaming hibachi with a two-handed children’s water gun. He looks absolutely outrageous but quite content. The air smells of burgers again. I’m guessing Tanner is one of those bachelors with a very uncreative meal plan comprised of grilled meat.

I’m still watching him when an apartment door across the way opens and a dark-haired man strolls out.

My breath hitches.

Cain.

He doesn’t look my way, so he doesn’t see me as he strides quickly past Tanner with a half-salute, seemingly in a rush to get out of there. When I glance back to the apartment he left, I find China leaning in her doorway, in the tiniest, tightest pair of short shorts and tank top, watching his retreating back, her hair tousled, a secretive smile softening her features.

She turns to go back into her apartment but stops, her stony eyes locking on mine. A wide smirk of satisfaction spans her face and I assume she has figured out that I saw Cain leave her apartment. Stretching her arms over her head, she slowly turns and saunters back inside. I’m instantly hit with an image of a cat, gratified after devouring a can of salmon and ready to mosey over to bathe in a patch of sun.

“Never, my ass, Ginger,” I mutter. I’m pretty sure Cain was her can of salmon.

China may be unfriendly and arrogant, but she’s probably
very
talented. I’m not surprised and yet I can’t ignore the heaviness of disappointment, knowing that Cain would be interested in someone like her.

“Hey! Why do you have all these wigs?” I hear Ginger call out. I deny my panic from surfacing as I spin around and stalk back in, finding her prancing around with my long black wig on her head.

Bloody hell!
At least she hasn’t found my gun yet. “I’m in theater. Those are props,” I answer simply.

“Huh . . . theater. You know, I have a thing for dark-haired women,” she says with an exaggerated wink.

I sigh.

chapter eleven

■ ■ ■

CAIN

Charlie doesn’t trust me.

Though she kept her face carefully controlled, she couldn’t hide the hard look in those eyes as we stood in her new apartment.

I should have warned Ginger against telling her that I owned the building.
Fuck
, I wish no one had ever found out to begin with! I know what I look like, having several of my dancers live there. And now Charlie, too.

Still, I’m relieved that she’s questioning my motives. That tells me she’s smart and less likely to get taken advantage of. I thought about swinging by her apartment after finishing up with China but decided against it. Ginger’s there, anyway. I asked her to stay—to help Charlie get settled in but, more importantly, to make sure she’s really okay after what happened earlier today.

I’ll get to see her again tonight, anyway.

I grit my teeth against the unwanted excitement that goes along with that thought.

chapter twelve

■ ■ ■

CHARLIE

“One minute, Charlie,” Terry mouths, just like he did last night. I stand within the shadows, just like I did the first night, waiting for the first chords of my song to blast through the speakers—“Supermassive Black Hole” by Muse this time. Only tonight, I’m no longer on trial. I have the job. Despite my relatively modest outfit, my lack of crowd interaction, and my strange song selection, Cain hired me. I should be happy. I should be less nervous.

So, why am I seconds away from having pee run down my leg?

I instinctively curl my arms over my chest.

I’ve been at the bar for several hours now. Given that I have absolutely no experience behind a bar and, some would argue no business being anywhere near a bar, I stuck to cleaning, stocking, and cashing out. It was a good distraction.

But now I’m here, cowering. I’m about to get on that scary-ass roller coaster for the second time, even though I know just how scary-ass it is. Maybe it won’t be so crowded tonight. Maybe . . . Holding my breath, I peek out around the divider and see a sea of heads. They may have multiplied in the last ten minutes.

This is ridiculous. I’m playing a part. Charlie Rourke is a confident pole-dancing diva. That’s all this is. An acting role. Actors do uncomfortable scenes all the time. I am an actor and this is merely an uncomfortable scene.

That I will play over and over again.

Six nights a week.

For months.

Oh, God. I’m going to be sick
.

I take a deep, calming breath and remind myself with a mutter, “You deserve this, you drug-trafficking wench.”

“How’s your stage-fright thing?” a husky voice calls out behind me.

“Ginger!” I shriek—partly in happiness, mostly in panic that she may have heard my little pep talk. By the smile on her face, I know she didn’t. I throw my arms around her neck, as I did the previous night. “I hate doing this,” I admit in a rare burst of weakness.

“Wow, you really do have bad nerves.” She chuckles as I peel myself off her. “You’ll do fine. You’re incredible up there.” Waggling her eyebrows, she adds, “I should know.” There’s a pause and then a tiny smirk curls her lips. “Cain’s watching.”

“What?” I feel my eyes widen as I spin and peer out again. Sure enough, I spot his lean frame hanging over the railing next to Nate, his gorgeous dark eyes on the stage. Quietly waiting. My heart starts pounding against my chest wall. “You said he never comes out to the club!” He wasn’t out there when I left the bar area to get changed.

And I know because I was watching for him.

She shrugs in an I-don’t-know-what-to-tell-you way. “He doesn’t. He
never
watches the dancers, Charlie.”

“Yeah, he also never
sleeps
with the dancers, right?” I mutter derisively, earning her questioning frown. With a sigh, I explain, “I saw him leave China’s tonight. It was pretty clear what our pimp daddy was doing over there.”

“Oh.” Ginger’s face scrunches up tightly as she waves me off. “He was helping her study for her GED. The girl is majorly dyslexic. She couldn’t string five words together when he hired her and now she wants a high school diploma. That’s all that was. Trust me.”

I look out at the suave strip club owner. Helping her
study
? Really? “She sure didn’t make it look like that,” I say and my doubt is obvious in my tone, though I feel a wave of relief course through my body.

“Of course she didn’t. China’s been in love with Cain for years. Any chance she gets to claim her fictional territory over him, she’ll take it. And, word of warning,” she adds, “don’t
ever
let Cain hear you calling him a pimp. That’s a sensitive spot for him. Your favorite, Rick Cassidy, called him that once, to his face. Cain beat his ass good. Nate pulled him off before he could kill the guy.”

I try to picture that reserved man out there pounding the crap out of someone. It’s hard. Even today, when he was dealing with my crazy neighbors, he was unusually calm. The only signal that he was ready to deliver a beating was the tensed hands at his sides.

“Why is he out there, Ginger?” The last thing I want to do is make Cain regret hiring me.

“Well, according to Ben, Cain
really
enjoyed your show last night.”

“Enjoyed as in . . .”

I look over to find a lascivious grin. “As in
enjoyed
.” How the hell would Ben know? Were they talking about me? A new and more powerful rash of nervous flutters hits me. I tense as her cool hand rubs over my shoulder. “So you should go out there and tease him.”

“What?” I shriek. Cain does not seem like the kind of guy who would appreciate teasing.

Her slender, bare shoulders shake as she giggles. “Look, if I had to go out there and strip for a bar full of men, I’d pick one and pretend no one else is out there. One who I’d actually
want
to strip for in a room, alone. You know . . . if I weren’t a lesbian.”

“You’re nuts.” A knock against the glass above me tells me Terry’s about to hit play and my stomach constricts.

“I am, but that’s beside the point. Hannah hates getting up on the stage and so that’s what she does. It works for her.”

“Why Cain?”

She snorts. “Because I know you think he’s gorgeous. And I can tell you for a fact that he
is
an incredible man. And because every single one of the dancers here would die to have Cain’s attention on her. So take advantage of it. He’s sexy and he’s
safe
.”

Music starts pulsing through the speakers.

Strip for Cain.
“I don’t know if doing that is going to help with my nerves, Ginger.”

She shrugs. “Worth a shot. You said you were into acting, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, go and
act
like you’re trying to seduce your sexy, gorgeous, rich, untouchable boss. He can be a prop, like your wig.” She snorts. “Could be fun.”

■ ■ ■

There’s a chance I just got myself fired
.

I don’t know why I listened to Ginger. Probably because I was desperate. And stripping for Cain
would
be enjoyable. Ideally, not with a hundred other men watching. And, truth be told, it did make being on that stage a little easier.

The fact that Cain apparently “enjoyed” watching me last night spurred a need in me to please him again. But the fact that he has already asked me not to take my clothes off for him should have stopped me.

Maybe he didn’t notice what I was doing? By the cool, hard expression on his face, and the way his body shifted until he was standing stiffly, I’m seriously doubting that.

When he approaches me tonight, I’ll deny it, of course.

But he doesn’t approach me after the show. He leaves immediately after I get off the stage and no one sees him out there again.

And so I finish my shift, pushing the reality of stripping into a tiny, neat box. I tuck it away into the recesses of my mind, as just something I have to do, for now. Just like what I do for Sam.

It won’t be forever.

chapter thirteen

■ ■ ■

CAIN

Show Number Three

I thought it was my imagination yesterday. Just my dick’s wishful thinking.

I came out to watch Charlie perform. Call it a gut instinct. More like a groin instinct, if I’m being completely honest. Either way, I came out to see if her second night would be as good as the first.

It wasn’t.

It was better.

Because her eyes were on me the second she stalked out. And they kept stealing passes on her way around, sliding over mine intimately, as if sharing a secret.

And each article of clothing that came off was done facing me, so I got the full impact of the reveal, her breasts springing out to greet me.

So did every other guy in my vicinity, but fuck them.

My dick told me that was
all
for me.

So of course I needed to come out here tonight, just to see if my dick was playing tricks on me before.

I think Charlie just winked at me.

I shouldn’t be enjoying this but I can’t help myself. I am. Too much.

I need to stop coming out here when Charlie dances.

chapter fourteen

■ ■ ■

CHARLIE

Show Number Seven

I’m playing the role of a stripper who’s taunting her stoic boss. That’s all this is.

And I must be doing it very well, because there’s no doubt in my mind that Cain is enjoying it. I can tell by the way he leans forward, the way his mouth parts, the way his hands grasp the railing so tightly that the tension ripples up through those arms . . . By the very fact that he’s out there, watching. Night after night.