Chapter Three- Coincidence

Virginia's POV

In eight hours I would have enough money to make rent. I just had to get over being treated like a doormat to keep from being homeless. Of all the side jobs I had, this one made the most money in one night. It was not ideal to say the least, but it was efficient enough for my inconsistent bank account. 

“Holy Coyote Ugly!” Aimee teased on the other side of the phone as I fixed the halter top behind my neck and looked into the mirror. I suppose it was an accurate comparison and not too far from the truth. Because even if this gig wasn't based on morals, it gave amazing tips. 

“I might bring some friends by-”

“No!” I knew that this meant tips I didn't deserve as Aimee went above and beyond for me. Having met at one of her beloved charity events, I “saved” her from a toxic ex who ended up convicted for manslaughter a few months later and she claims she owes me her life. Because of it, she always gave money and support whenever I couldn't, which was unfortunately always. It was also why I had to deny her presence tonight. If I accept then my tips would exceed the revenue of the entire bar for the year and I couldn't let her play favorites. Especially when there were people in more need of the money. After all, I had somewhere I could go, I just refused to. 

“You won't tell me then?”

“Sorry Ames but I need to earn it tonight.” Because after my interaction with the cold hearted Callahan, I needed some human interaction that didn't make me feel…whatever it was he brought to my surface. 

It wasn't an hour later that I was preparing for the first set at The Libertine bar. There were a total of five songs we played three times with a final finale that was more of an instrumental of Spanish music that ended with us giving the patron closest to us a shot. I looked forward to that final step as it meant I was one step closer to that paycheck. I just had to get through the ogling and handsy men and women who didn't obey the rules of “don't touch unless touched first”, and never when either side is inebriated”. 

“You're up!” My heart raced as I began that first initial sway of my hips and the routine I was sent earlier today to memorize. It was classically seductive with dips and lifts that showed off the cleavage of my cut-off halter tank and soft cusps of my ass coming just under the jean shorts. It was easy to remember and so I had it down pat within an hour, leaving the first and second sets to go by quickly. 

By the third I was aching in my borrowed heels and tired of the scent of sweat and smoke. The music was giving me a headache and the other girls were starting to slow down so I had to pick up the slack to keep the tips up. 

Eventually it came time for that shot. A bottom shelf whiskey that nobody seemed to complain about because they were already too drunk to care. We loaded up each clean glass, put it at the end of the bar with a lime in our fingertips. The patrons were usually respectful enough to keep and so I didn't think twice when I prepped my own drink, chaser, and fruit.  

“That's it baby…” The man offered, hands on my waist, before he tugged me against his soft body. He had been here all night toeing that line of discomfort for most of the girls as I was the lucky one he decided to go over it for. My hands were quick to push against his chest but he was at least twice my size and dedicated to what he wanted from me. 

“The rules ask you don't touch-” I began but he interrupted me with a breath soaked in Jack Daniels. 

“If you didn't want to be touched like this, you wouldn't dress like a little slut-”  The words were entirely too personal. My hands were out away from me before I could truly react. Instead, I was left alone with murmurs around me before storming out the door. I heard the man call me a “bitch” before looking down to my hands as I attempted to hug myself for comfort. 

I wasn't a stranger to the word “slut” as it was one I'd heard often enough growing up. But it was the combination of his wording and his grip that made me reach that way. I didn't dress like this for attention but I found a comfort in dancing for a few hours to make rent. Any job was respectable as long as it didn't hurt anyone and instead of leaving the night with a weight off my shoulders of this month’s debt, I was returned to anxiety I thought I outran, or at least hid. 

“Virginia…” I turned to find Hank, the bar's manager coming out with a look of chagrin. I couldn't do anything but look back inside the bar, watching as the man was holding an ice pack to his eye. I realized it was my doing, looking down at my nails to see a small stream of blood on my fingertips from having clawed at him. I focused on him until hearing the dreadful words from my current boss. 

“So I'm sorry I can't pay you-”

“What?!” My voice was louder than necessary but my reaction was forgivable as far as I understood. 

“You made a customer bleed.”

“He groped me!”

“You know how they can be at last call. It's part of the gig. If you can't handle it, you shouldn't have taken the job.” He tossed my belongings I brought for the night at my feet. As desperate as I was, I had chased after him before he could lock me out. 

“I need that money, Hank! If I don't, I'll get kicked out of my apartment! I did the job and I am entitled to that money.”

“You gonna hire a lawyer? Because as far as I'm concerned, it is your word against mine and those girls. None of which are gonna risk their job for one handsy guy when they get tips for smiling at guys like him.” He lingered in the doorway just long enough before turning with a look of greedy satisfaction on his face. 

“Oh, and in case you didn't get it, you're fired.” I threw my bag at the door, forcing it to close before I turned around. I wasn't able to think of anything but Indiana. My chest and throat were taking turns tightening as nausea and dizziness took a toll on my body. I held myself against the distant exterior of the bar and tried for breath, finding only short exhales to meet my lungs. 

“Miss Valentine?” My heart stuttered back to life in a new pattern to my name. More specifically, to the man summoning my attention. I hesitated for a second as I had to wait to a certain degree before he came into focus. 

Crisp white dress shirt. 

Impossibly brimming lips. 

Cold eyes and equally sharp features matching that of ice. 

As if tonight couldn't get any worse, Brooks Callahan just saw me have a severe anxiety attack.

So tonight couldn't get any worse, right?