Boy in the Club a boy & billionaire novel - Rachel Kane Page 0,9
someone who isn’t a predator. Someone who just feels bad for you. I was an only child, and now I’m a twenty-two-year-old orphan, and Polly’s the closest thing I have to a brother.
“I’m sorry too. How am I supposed to hold up my end of the bargain here, without any money?”
“There are other places. You could work at the copy shop. You could maybe do one of these data entry things you sent me.”
“I’d be such a good administrative assistant. You know me. You know how organized I am. Back when I took my first break from the club, when I worked for that office as the assistant to the assistant—”
“And you look good in a suit, too.”
“See? God, why is everything always so hopeless?”
Everything isn’t hopeless, of course.
There’s one thing I can do.
Maybe it involves eating a little bit of crow, but I can’t let Polly down. I can’t let us all get kicked out of our house, just because I have too much pride to take the offer that’s on the table.
“So, Jimi,” I say into the phone.
He laughs, and it’s a cruel laugh. “Just get down here.”
“You said something about doubling the pay—”
“Fine, you little bitch, but you’d better hustle those drinks like your life depended on it.”
It feels ridiculous to stand around in a fucking loincloth. At least it wasn’t assless chaps night. One time Jimi thought it’d be great for the waiters to wear cut-off jeans, except he cut them to practically be thongs. Always some new way to humiliate us.
You’re invisible until someone notices you, and then you hate yourself. That’s the game. That’s what you’re getting paid for. Not for the drinks. For the contrast.
For now though, I’m ignored. The procession of rich and powerful men circles the gym-boys like lions circling a herd of buffalo.
Wait, is it buffalo? What are those big things that lions circle on the nature shows? Yaks?
Your mind goes elsewhere. I’m carrying my tray around, thinking of lions, of David Attenborough’s calming voice on documentaries. The mighty real-estate mogul knows he must not be thwarted in his quest for a mate, and so must put on the most attractive display. Letting my thoughts wander anywhere but here. It’s a busy night. Guys are getting picked up constantly. They’re not having to put any work into it. Usually they gang up on a likely-looking rich guy, three or four of them, making sure to laugh at all his jokes, flirting and fussing over him, until things get serious.
Not like the guys have to go home with the rich men or anything like that. There’s no pressure that way. It’s all in the show. You have to make sure the mark is having a good time. Make sure he’s feeling appreciated.
A trio of men come in. That’s how they do. Men come in groups, in prides, to continue that lion metaphor. They have to be together to gear themselves up for a night of debauchery. Probably spent the past few minutes in the back of a limo snorting coke or something to get themselves in the mood.
I’d say there was nothing remarkable about the men. Their clothes cost more than a year’s rent at my place, but that’s par for the course. But something catches my eye. I can’t tell what at first, and anyway, I’m too busy with the drinks, because we are short a couple of guys tonight, and I’m trying to keep a thousand drink orders in my head.
What I realize though is that two of them are here for the usual reasons. I can tell that from the way they look. They’re shopping.
No, but it’s the other one I really notice. He looks totally out of place. Not…not his physical appearance, that’s not what I mean. He’s in a black leather jacket, soft and supple, it moves like a second skin on him, although the room is already too warm from all the bodies. Shades pushed up on his head like he just walked in from the sun. He checks his watch as though he has another appointment. As he moves through the room, I realize the jacket is on purpose. It’s to keep him from touching anyone. He doesn’t flinch away from people, not exactly. He’s too confident for that. He’s not afraid.
He’s above it.
That’s what it is.
He’s better than this, or wants to think he is. The fact that he’s here tends to argue against that. Sorry, dude, you cashed in your dignity at