chapter
ONE
Bright lights glared from above the mirror and pain stabbed into me. The tendrils of a migraine were starting, bubbling up to the surface, and my stomach rolled.
Just get through the negotiations, I told myself. Then I could bounce from the club, go home, and slip into bed, where silence and total darkness will keep the worst of the pain from touching me. I tried to ignore it, but the migraines were getting worse. It had to be stress, which was a hard thing to admit. Wasn’t I too tough to let pressure affect me? The throbbing in my brain said no, loud and clear.
Nina swiped a brush laden with gray powder over the fold of her eyelid, blending upward as she touched up her makeup. Going for a smoky, sultry look, which was pointless. The pain behind my eyes got the better of me.
“You remember you’ll be wearing a blindfold?” My teasing tone disguised my irritation. Who the hell was going to see her fabulous eyes behind the black silk?
Nina’s gaze found mine through the mirror, her eyebrow lifting with interest. “My last three clients took it off halfway through. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”
Of course. I’d forgotten that sometimes the johns couldn’t stand it. They had to make sure the woman they’d bought knew exactly who was fucking them “so good” and “oh my God, more,” and all the other bullshit the girls spewed to ensure their clients were getting their money’s worth.
“Sorry,” I said, rubbing my fingers at my temple. “My head’s killing me. I’m going to duck out after the negotiations are over. Julius said he’d keep an extra eye on you. Do you mind?”
Nina’s pretty face softened with concern. “No, of course not. I think I’ve got some Tylenol in my purse.” She dug through her designer bag.
“Oh, thanks, but I took something right before you got here.” And by something, I meant my prescribed migraine medicine, which lately hadn’t been strong enough. I’d been advised by my doctor that the next step was self-injections.
Um, no.
I wasn’t exactly a fan of needles.
Big, tough Andrea Regan Adams was afraid of a thin piece of metal, no longer than two inches. God, after the shit I’d been through, it was fucking ridiculous.
While Nina resumed her touch-up, my gaze shifted to take in the dressing room. Or undressing room, as this was where the girls stripped naked and put on robes before heading downstairs. Six client rooms in total were below us. Thankfully, the lighting would be softer there, and by the time we made our way to Room Three, the Imitrex should be kicking in.
The dressing room had elegant couches scattered among the space, and vanity tables lined the back wall. The self-serve bar, always stocked with premium liquor, was surprisingly rarely used. The women who worked here seemed to genuinely like the job, no need for alcohol to ply them up onto the tables.
Opposite the bar, there were cubbies with brass numbers over them. One for each client room. I strolled to number three’s spot, deposited my phone, and grabbed the transmitter pack. I hadn’t finished getting the earpiece in when I caught movement to my left. Nina was done and approached.
“Regan, I gotta ask. Is it your headaches that keep you off the table?” Her voice was soft and unassuming. “Or the boyfriend?”
Her expression was pure curiosity. I knew there had to be talk going on behind my back about the fact I’d never sold myself, when all the other sales assistants did. I was the only one who was willing to negotiate sex for money, but not offer it. Joseph, the former owner of the club, hadn’t pushed me, and the new owner hadn’t either.
At least, not yet.
I got the impression that Julius’ patience might not last much longer. Claudia had left the club a few months ago and had yet to be replaced.
“Matt’s the reason,” I lied.
Nina’s smile only made her more beautiful. “Totally not my place, but you’d make so much more on the table than beside it.” Her gaze slid down over me and heated. “Hope Matt appreciates you.”
Yeah, you and me both. Because lately I didn’t feel it at all. We lived together more as roommates than as lovers, and I was steadily approaching a breaking point. Our relationship coming to an end . . . it felt inevitable. But being his girlfriend was easy. It gave me an honest reason to refuse selling myself, plus someone to help with the rent, which in Chicago was outrageous. It wasn’t like I didn’t care about him, but sadly, I didn’t feel like I was in love.
God, I was a lazy piece of shit. I owed him better than how I’d been. Tomorrow. I’d recover from the migraine and we could go out for Sunday brunch. Really talk to each other instead of mumbling hellos as we waited for the coffee pot to finish brewing in the morning. Did he feel the space between us? The one that seemed to grow a little bit each day?
We hadn’t had sex in . . . oh, Christ, how long had it been? Three weeks? No, four. It’d been four goddamn weeks since he’d touched me. I was thirty years old, and shit, I was horny all the time these days. It could be from working the club, where I watched people fuck on the monitors, or I was hitting my sexual peak. Maybe it was both.
Last time I’d had to practically beg for sex, since Matt claimed he was tired. I’d gotten more aggressive with him than before, and although he didn’t say anything, I didn’t think he was happy with me dishing out demands. Guys like a woman who’s willing to take the lead, but not one who dominates. Matt’s insecurities had kept my wildest desires locked up tightly during the two years we’d been together.
While Nina shed her clothes, I tested my ear transmitter. “Room three, checking in.”
Julius’ baritone voice came through the line. “I got you, Regan.”