Dirty Secrets (Get Dirty 4)

First it was the contractors showing up fifteen minutes late, then parts not being in the boxes, which required a trip to the hardware store . . . just one thing after another.

We could’ve just used what we had, and if I were at home, I probably would’ve. But here, everything should be up to code. Still, it’s taken forever for the contractors to install the poles.

Instead of getting frustrated, I go back to doing prep work around the room, setting up a small area in the corner with hooks where clients can store their jackets and coverups and a bench where they can sit down to change out of street shoes. Eventually, I figure some of the girls will be rocking the stage stilettos, but it might take a little while for some of them to really get into the flow.

I add a throw pillow with big tassels that says You are Amazing in gold lamé lettering on a soft pink background to the bench. It’s perfect, a motto for every woman, every class, every day.

I’m just making sure I’ve got my playlist ready when I hear a voice behind me. “Ma’am?”

I look up to see the head crewman, Mr. Bayer, looking at me. He’s middle-aged, with a bit of a beer gut that’s mostly hidden by the stained Eagles T-shirt he’s wearing. He’s got his assistant with him, a younger guy who’s probably learning the ropes.

“Yes? You all done?”

He nods, but I can see the gleam in his eyes as he looks me up and down. “Yeah, but the poles need a, uh, uhm . . . test run. Just to be on the safe side.”

He says it with a hint of sleaze to his tone. It’s one I’ve heard before. I lift one eyebrow, my eyes narrowing as he makes me feel dirty, like I should just hop up on the pole and put on a show for him. As if it’s only natural because he did me a favor by installing the poles.

Except it’s not a favor. I fucking hired him to do a job and he did it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Planting my hands on my hips, I glare at him until he starts to fidget, and only then do I speak.

“Then I’d guess you’d better hop on up there and try those poles out since that’s what I’m paying you to do. Make sure they’re all nice and secure. I’d hate for someone to get hurt after your company did the installation, catch an insurance claim or something.”

He shrinks a bit and walks off, but under his breath, I can hear him mutter, “Not like I can’t see it any time I want to at the club.”

I take a breath, balling my indignation into a missile and taking aim. “Hey, Mr. Bayer?”

He turns around, a sour look on his face. “Not anymore. Consider yourself banned, from here and from Petals. Drop off your invoice at the front desk on your way out.”

The raised voices get Gavin’s attention, and a few seconds later, he’s in the doorway, filling the whole thing as his shoulders brush from wood to wood.

“What’s going on, Allie?”

There’s a moment of anticipation where I wonder if this is about to get ugly. Gavin’s pretty easygoing, but he’s one of Dom’s guys for a reason. And even if these two contractors have hammers in their tool belts, things probably wouldn’t go very well for them.

Bayer looks over, realizing that yes, he just fucked up. He quivers, and I decide to let him off the hook, but my voice is hard.

“Everything’s fine. Mr. Bayer was just packing up his things. Please make sure that he leaves safely . . . and that he understands he’s persona non grata here and at the club.”

Gavin’s eyes narrow and his chest puffs a bit, making him look even broader, and his rumbling growl could make a lion piss his fur. “That sounds like a problem to me.”

Mr. Bayer turns to Gavin, looking outraged that someone’s violating the ‘bro code’ or something. “You just gonna let a whore like that make rules for the best titty bar in town? Bitch is just a piece of ass, showing off for money.”

I suppose I should have a thick skin after the length of time I’ve been dancing. I get it, my performances are about sexual fantasy. And I’d love to say that his words wash over me like they’re nothing, but whore is just one insult that I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. There’s a line for me, one that maybe some people don’t recognize or don’t respect, but it’s there, big and bold. Why do some people think that just because I’m a dancer, I’m hopping on every dick that walks by?

But I do gasp, just a little, as my jaw drops in fury. Bayer’s assistant even has the good sense to look chagrined at his boss’s gross assessment, and he backs up a step. It maybe saves him a beating as Gavin steps forward, his patience gone.