I left the pungent aroma of cheap perfume in the changing room for the smell of beer, cologne, and dirty sex. Of all the things I loathed about The Sanctuary, the smell was the worst. It clung to my hair and my skin, to everything I brought into the place. I learned early on to make sure nothing I wore to The Sanctuary ever made it back into regular outfit rotation. Not that I would ever wear my “work” clothes anywhere outside of this place. Not even the jeans I came to work in ever went back on, unless I was heading to or from the club. Regardless how many times I washed them, I couldn’t get the smell out.
I walked down the long, dimly lit hallway into the club and glanced at the left stage. Candy wasn’t on right now, but Trixie was riding the pole at center stage like she was ready for the real thing. Whatever happened last night had to have been bad. Shutting down my fear—because Xander was like a dog and could sniff it out—I headed for Grant, Xander’s personal bodyguard. He usually knew the schedule. Sometimes if Xander was occupied, Grant would say who was where. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with the boss directly.
Of course, that wasn’t the case tonight. Grant took a step to the right as I approached, his massive frame having kept Xander hidden from view. Xander was sitting at the bar, sipping a drink, watching the club. When he saw me he glanced down at his Rolex. “Sarah, so good of you to arrive on time. You know, if you’d been early, like your friend over there”—he gestured to where one of the new girls was waiting in the center section—“then maybe I would have let you pick where you serve.”
I plastered on a smile and twirled my hair around my finger, hoping to appear clueless. “I’m happy to serve anywhere.”
His grin was as lecherous as his gaze, which moved down me in a slow sweep. “Now if that were true, you’d be making a lot more money, wouldn’t you?”
I didn’t end up serving left stage. It turned out the girl Xander put on center couldn’t handle the number of tables and we split her section. It was busy, but having to share meant the tips were weak. I walked out with a hundred less than usual in my pocket. It was a message from Xander. He was going to start pushing harder, just like Sienna had done. I could only wait tables for so much longer before the request that I get up onstage became a demand. The problem was, unlike Sienna, Xander wouldn’t let up until I folded.
At the end of my shift I changed out of my slut attire and back into my jeans and T-shirt, then headed out the back door. The security guard had changed. He was one of the ones I didn’t know. Or trust.
He gave me a sidelong glance. “You want me to walk you to your car?”
“I’m right there.” I pointed to my Tercel.
His eyes narrowed. “That’s your ride?”
It wasn’t much of a ride, compared to some of the flashy cars parked out here. The girls who performed the best also got the best perks, leased cars being one of them. I was perfectly happy not to be among the privileged few. “Yeah. Have a good night.”
“I think I should walk you over.”
I was parked under one of the lights. If he was looking for a little end-of-night action, it wasn’t the most covert place to have it happen. He must have read the skepticism in my expression.
“One of the guys on camera detail warned me that some dude was out here fucking around by the cars. It was during shift change, so there wasn’t anyone here. I’d feel better if you let me check things out.”
I glanced nervously at my car and shrugged. “Yeah. Okay.”
I trailed behind him as he stalked across the lot. He walked around the vehicle, looking for . . . signs of forced entry maybe? When he didn’t find anything sinister, I pulled on the handle to find that it was locked.
“Huh, that’s odd.”
His shoulders rolled back and his eyes shot around the dark lot. “What?” His hand went behind him, as if he was getting ready to go for a piece. It wasn’t the first time I suspected the security was armed with more than brass knuckles and walkies.
“I don’t lock my doors.”
“What?” He looked at me like I was crazy.
“Do you see this?” I gestured to the Tercel and then motioned around the lot. “Of all the cars here, who would choose mine to steal?” I peered into the backseat. All the doors had been locked. Only one person would do that.
I rummaged around in my purse until I found my keys. After unlocking the door, I bent down and felt around under the front seat until my fingers closed around a keychain. I bit my lip to stop the stupid grin from breaking out. Though it would be more convenient to have my own key, there was satisfaction in knowing he’d drop one off for me because he wanted to see me. “It’s cool. My b— friend was just leaving me a key.” I almost stumbled over the word.
“Next time, tell your friend to leave it with one of us instead of sneaking around back here. We’ll get it to you.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
Chris would never leave his key with one of these beefcakes. I slid into the driver’s seat and let the bouncer shut my door. He waited until I pulled out of the spot before he ambled back to his post. He was a lot nicer than some of the other guys who worked for Xander, surprisingly.
I checked my phone at the first red light. There were several texts from Chris—the most recent were admonishments for not locking my doors. The ones before and after contained an invitation to stay the night and a message about the key he left under the driver’s seat. Tonight hadn’t been bad, so I wasn’t about to pass up the offer. I was glad I’d packed an overnight bag, as I always did.
I pulled into the parking spot reserved for Chris’s bike. He’d angled it at the top of the space so there would be enough room for my car. He was always thoughtful like that. It made me feel like a bitch for not inviting him over to my place more often, where parking wasn’t an issue.
It had been too long since I’d spent any real time with him. I didn’t like how much that bothered me, or how excited I’d been about the text and key. That I constantly packed a bag in advance was a red flag I chose to ignore.
I was quiet as I made the trek up the stairs to his apartment and unlocked the door. The light above the ancient, avocado-green stove was on, casting a pale glow over the dated kitchen. There was a note propped up on the counter with my name written across the front in Chris’s elegant cursive. I always teased him that he wrote like a girl.
I set my bag down quietly, though a bomb could go off and Chris would sleep right through it. I left my shoes on, because Chris insisted I never walk barefoot around his place, and crossed over to the counter. There were little doodles in the corners of the note he left me. Designs that reminded me of the tattoos he put on other people. Ones he refused to put on me.
Hey sweetlips,
I hope you had a decent night. There are fresh towels in the bathroom and a sandwich in the fridge. Give me a kiss before you pass out.
~Chris
I folded it and put it carefully inside my bag. I had a little box of notes like these from him in my bedroom. I kept every single one.
My next stop was the bathroom. I shut the door and checked the showerhead to make sure it was pointed at the wall. If it wasn’t, the water would spray out of the tub and soak the floor. I’d found that out the hard way. It took a long time for the water to heat up, so I removed the fake eyelashes and the makeup while I waited. Although Chris’s bathroom wasn’t particularly nice, it had the benefit of a powerful showerhead. The spray came so fast and hard it almost hurt.
I used Chris’s soap and shampoo. They weren’t anything special, just some no-name Axe knock-offs, but they made me smell like him. He’d left me two towels: one to dry off and one for my hair. Hanging from the back of the door was my favorite shirt of his. I pulled it over my head, wrapped my hair in the towel, and went back to the kitchen.