Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 124077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
“So are you ever going to see him again?” Candy asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“No,” Terra said, a little too quickly.
Crystal gave her a skeptical look in the mirror.
“Uh-huh. Riiiight.”
“I’m serious,” Terra said, trying to make herself believe it. “He was a customer. I danced for him. That’s all.”
“You spent almost an hour with him,” Crystal pointed out.
“Because he paid for the time,” Terra countered.
“And then he gave you how much?” Candy asked.
Terra hadn’t meant to tell them, but Candy had seen the wad of cash when she came back to the dressing room and had eventually worn her down.
“Two thousand dollars,” she admitted reluctantly.
Crystal whistled.
“Girl, for two thousand dollars, I’d let him put a saddle on me. Or I’d put one on him.”
“Crystal!” Terra exclaimed.
“What?” She laughed. “I’m just saying.”
“No saddles, no horns, no riding the bull and no more talking about Taurex,” Terra said firmly. “Can we please find another subject?”
“All right, all right.” Candy held up both hands. “No more bull.”
“Thank you.”
For a moment the three of them were quiet. Then Crystal said,
“You know, technically, because his business is importing alien stuff, maybe you could say he’s in a bull market.”
Candy shrieked with laughter.
“Oh, you!” Terra threw a makeup sponge at her, laughing despite herself.
The three of them were still laughing when the dressing room door opened and Marty came in. His arrival changed the mood immediately. The manager rarely bothered coming backstage unless one of the dancers was late for her set, someone had caused trouble on the floor, or a customer with enough money had made a special request.
Terra stopped smiling when she saw the expression on his face.
“What?” she asked. “What is it?”
Marty looked directly at her.
“Bunny, you've got a VIP.”
Her stomach sank but she tried to keep her face neutral.
“I’m not doing VIP tonight.”
He frowned.
“What do you mean, you’re not doing VIP?”
“I mean exactly what I said.” Terra turned back to the mirror and began applying mascara. “I did one the last time I worked. I’m not doing one tonight.”
“You haven't even heard who it is.”
“I don't care who it is.”
“Viktor Orlov.”
Her hand stopped with the mascara wand halfway to her lashes. For a moment, nobody said anything, then Terra lowered the wand.
“No,” she said.
Marty sighed.
“Terra—”
“No.” She screwed the mascara wand back into the tube and turned to face him. “Absolutely not.”
Marty frowned.
“But he asked for you specifically.”
Terra shrugged.
“Then tell him I’m not available.”
“He already knows you're here.”
A small unpleasant shiver went through her.
“How?”
Marty shrugged.
“He saw you come out on the floor earlier.”
Terra had gone out for less than five minutes to get a bottle of water from the bar before coming back to change for her set. Apparently that had been long enough.
“Well, then tell him I’m not doing VIP dances anymore,” she said.
Candy and Crystal exchanged a glance. Terra hadn't officially made that decision until this exact moment, but suddenly it seemed like an excellent one. She had enough money to last her for a while. There was no need to do something she hated so much.
Marty crossed his arms over his chest.
“You’re not doing VIP anymore? Since when?”
Terra lifted her chin defiantly.
“Since now.”
His frown deepened.
“Come on, Terra. Don't be difficult.”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’m not being difficult. I’m telling you I’m not going into a private room with that man again.”
“Why not?” Marty demanded.
“You know why not! He can't keep his hands to himself.” Terra lowered her voice, though there was no one in the room besides the other dancers. “The last time I danced for him, I told him three times not to put his hands between my legs. Three times, Marty. He kept doing it anyway.”
“He was drinking.”
“So?” Terra raised her eyebrows.
“So maybe he didn't understand you.”
Terra stared at him.
“Seriously? You’re trying to excuse him? He absolutely understood me–he just didn't want to listen.”
Marty gave an impatient sigh.
“Look, I'm not saying the guy doesn't get a little handsy. But he spends a lot of money here.”
“And that means he gets to do whatever he wants?” Terra demanded.
Marty held up his hands in a “don’t shoot” gesture.
“Now, that's not what I said.”
“It's what you're implying,” Terra said accusingly.
“What I'm saying is that he's a good customer and he's asking for one of my best dancers.” Marty spread his hands. “It's business, Terra. Come on now–help me out.”
There it was again–business. Everything unpleasant at The Doll House eventually came down to that word.
Marty didn't care if some guy grabbed a dancer's ass as long as he bought enough drinks. He didn't care if a VIP customer pushed the boundaries as long as he kept buying private dances. There were rules written on paper, of course, but the rules became surprisingly flexible whenever enough money was involved.
Terra felt a surge of anger.
“I've got enough money right now,” she said. “I don't need his tip.”