Chapter 2

The place was a riot of heavy music, flashing neon light, hoots, catcalls and yells.

Walking through the brightly lit parking lot of the club, I strode past cars that probably cost more than my life. Graham had said not to bother with how I looked, but I did, taking a scissors to my old shorts and Tee; making them into something more sexy, daring.

The bouncer before me perused me from head to toe thoroughly, irritation flared within me and I crossed my arms before my chest, shouting above the music, "I doubt my eyes are on my tits!"

He tore his eyes away from them, not looking the least bit contrite. Why should he? I thought, smacking myself over the head. This was a strip club for godsakes.

"State your business." His voice was deep and monotonous.

"Graha--"

At that moment Graham's thin form came striding out the doors. "Alta!" He called excitedly when he saw me. "You made it."

I forced out a smile, my nerves starting to get the best of me. This was really happening.

"Come along, my dear." Graham took my arm in a formal motion, leading me into the gentlemen's club.

The inside of the large, three storied building made air rush out of my lungs. A large, luminous bar lined a considerable perimeter of the ground floor, massive walls of glass situated behind the well stocked bar reflected faces of rich-looking people seated on the tall stools.

Waitresses dressed in practically nothing, fishnet stockings and micro bikini tops; strutted their way through the booths and velvet covered tables with trays on their hands. The men leered at choice parts of them as they passed by with flirty looks on their flawlessly made up faces.

The dim purple lights flashing around allowed me to see the rooms with tinted glasses above. Probably the VIP lounges.

The sitting arrangements on the ground floor were stationed to face the giant stage ahead. Long poles lined the length of the upraised runway; girls shimmied and wiggled their bodies against it.

A girl stopped in her sensual movements, removed her tiny top, and threw it to the lusty crowd, her tits hanging free. The men cheered loudly, throwing dollar bills around. Another girl ran her hands up and down her body, fondling her tits, the crowd went wild.

My anxiety shot up. Would I dance in front of the crowd as well?

Graham, as if reading my mind, said, "No, sugar. I'd mentioned you were dancing for just one audience."

Facing him, I tried to channel my determination to get mum's bills sorted out into my system, tamping down the rush of anxiety that had flooded me. "At least tell me what this 'One Audience' is like. And, please," I huffed, "whatever are his 'Special Needs'."

Graham laughed. "You make it sound like he's some kind of psychopath."

"He could be," I shrugged. "You're not telling me anything."

"Well, for a start," he began, leading me to what I supposed was a dressing room at the back of the bar. "His name's Lorenzo Vitale, and you're only to do whatever he tells you to--"

I came to an abrupt halt. "Lorenzo Vitale?"

Graham looked at me strangely. "Yes. Self made billionaire, owner of the largest grossing c--"

"That's not what I mean," I said sharply, cutting him off. "Is he by any chance related to Priscilla Vitale?" The woman I'd stolen a purse from, I acknowledged dreadfully.

"Priscilla Vitale? The woman that's reputed to be 'A paragon of Style and Class'?"

I nodded.

"Well, in that case, yes. Priscilla's his mother. Why, you don't look so happy about that," he observed.

That was because I wasn't happy about it. What if he'd recognise me as the woman that'd stolen from his mother? Knowing Madame Priscilla, she was already throwing a fit, leading an army of investigators in search of me. She must've already gotten a picture.

"It's nothing," I croaked once I'd found my voice. "It's just... She's a pain in the neck. I hope he's not as infuriating."

Graham snorted. "I think, 'that', he just might be. Have been in his company for a mere hour and I already know he's a cold, demanding son of b*tch. Well, I suppose it's that way for all these billionaires. You don't reach all that way up without being cold and untrusting as hell."

My lips twisted. I could be cold, too. But for a little money, I could also be warm. Either would depend on whether he was really as aggravating as his mother.

We'd reached the dressing room. Mirrors surrounded the large space, girls half naked walked about busily. Upholstered stools sat in front of lavish dressing tables, each of them were equipped with hairsprays, make up kits and other necessities. Lingerie sets filled the shelves standing around.

"Girls!" Graham called.

They all stopped and came towards me, wide eyed and curious.

"This is Alta Rodriguez. She's new."

I nodded my head at them in greeting.

At length they nodded back.

An older woman approached me, a welcoming smile on her blood red lips. "Welcome, Alta." She had a low, throaty accent.

"Thank you," I said.

She faced the girls, clapping her hands rapidly. "Hurry up now! The present set's almost finished."

They dispersed immediately, putting finishing touches on their makeups and dresses. Some wore really tiny boy shorts, camisoles, and lacy pushup bras, others wore gauzy lingerie sets. Looking at the pieces, I took in my body. I doubted I could do those sets justice. My body was not as thin and toned as theirs. And it definitely lacked the sensual grace in which they carried themselves.

"I hope you're really good at dancing, mademoiselle?" The woman asked.

I swallowed. Actually I wasn't. I knew Graham only gave me this job because he knew I really needed the money; and this super important spot because he was relieved I was the one dancing. Graham wouldn't have allowed Agnes in here, he was too possessive of her. Thought I wouldn't notice. I internally rolled my eyes.

"Well?" The woman prompted, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Sorry!" I apologized, "Please could you repeat that?"

"I asked if you're good at dancing."

"I can manage," I said, biting my lips.

She slid a horrified glance to Graham. I hope I hadn't gotten him into any major trouble.

The woman said in a tone that sounded more like she was assuring herself. "Well, I doubt you'll be doing a lot of dancing tonight."

I wasn't given time to dwell on her words because she presented me with my tonight's outfit. Or lack of.