“What the fuck?!” Jake explodes. I scramble to cover my naked body as he advances on me, his height towering over me in my bare feet.
“If you so much as touch me, I’ll turn you into a pretzel, Jacob Black!” I threaten. I barely manage to get my shirt back on, and it doesn't quite cover the waxed portion of my body he was so rudely commenting on.
“I should fire you for that!” he bellows.
“Yeah? If you do, I’ll report you for putting your hands on one of your employees,” Rose says nonchalantly.
“And who would believe that?” Jake snarls, spinning to aim his rage at my friend as he rubs the spot on his gut that I struck.
“My Seattle Police detective boyfriend,” she drawls slowly.
Temporarily shelving the fact that I didn’t know Rose had a boyfriend, much less a cop for a boyfriend, I stare up at Jake. “What the fuck did you come back here for, anyway?” I go ahead and grab my sweats and slip them back on while I wait for his explanation. He turns back and watches my every move.
“The rich guy is back and asking for you,” he says. “You’re doing whatever he asks, because I want a cut of that dough he spreads around.”
Running my tongue along my upper lip, I watch in sick satisfaction as Jake’s pants grow tight. Asshole. I lean forward, making sure not to touch him with so much as a strand of my hair. “Of course, boss.”
Frowning, Jake finally backs up and leaves the dressing room. Grabbing my bag again, I move into a dressing stall and start stripping again, angrily yanking on my sexy underwear and garter belt, finally slowing so that I don’t get a run in my expensive thigh highs. When I’ve slipped on my stilettos, I stalk back to the mirror to fluff my hair and steal a spritz or Rose’s perfume. She watches me warily as I move around the space like a predatory animal.
“We’re talking later,” I tell her, and then I’m gone to the main floor.
I stop in the short hallway, taking deep breaths to calm myself. Edward came back tonight, and I want nothing more than to give him a private dance.
With my head high and my back straight, I strut into the club like I’m the one that owns the place. I stop short, pondering whether my savings is enough to actually own a business. Not having to answer to Jacob Black would be a blessing.
I spot my yummy millionaire and make my way over, having to fend off a few over-eager patrons on my way. All part of the act.