The Billionaire's Command
Page 12

I couldn’t have looked away even if I wanted to. He bit his lip and arched his back and surrendered to it in a way that surprised me. The men I knew were so concerned with their masculinity that they avoided any situation that even hinted at vulnerability. But Turner didn’t seem to care that I was watching him fall apart. He had told me to watch. He wanted me to see him like this.
Maybe it was a back-handed statement of power: I was so insignificant that it didn’t matter if I saw his soft underbelly. I would never be able to hurt him.
My brain was still to fried from my orgasm to figure out his motivations, and also, I didn’t really care.
If he wanted me to watch him come, I wasn’t going to complain.
It was pretty hot.
When it was over, he sat up and said, “Tell me there’s a box of tissues somewhere.”
“I think in the nightstand,” I said. He raised an eyebrow at me, and I belatedly realized that he wanted me to get the tissues for him. Okay, fine. He could reach it himself, but if he really wanted me to do it, I would do it. I turned and opened the small drawer in the nightstand, and handed him the box of tissues I found there.
He accepted it, and pulled out a tissue to wipe his hand. “You’re the least obedient whore I’ve ever met,” he said.
What an asshole. Was he telling me I sucked at my job? “Have you met a lot of whores?” I asked.
“Not so many,” he said. “But they’re usually quite interested in keeping me happy. You, on the other hand, are a study of indifference.” He tossed the tissue onto the floor and looked up at me. “I think you have many secrets, Sassy Belle.”
“Not really,” I said, shrugging. “I work. I go home. It’s not that interesting.”
“Well, your honesty is certainly refreshing,” he said. “Most of you tell me only what you think I want to hear.”
I frowned. “Most of who? Whores in general? Or girls here?”
“Very astute,” he said.
“But you said you haven’t met many of us,” I said. “Do you come here a lot? Or—”
“Let’s skip the guessing game,” he said. “I take it that Germaine failed to tell you who I am.”
I stared at him. My stomach dropped. Everything fell into place. “You’re the owner,” I said.
His mouth curled into what, on anyone else, I would have called a smile. “Good girl.”
4
I bailed.
In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the smartest move, but I couldn’t handle being in that room for another minute. I wasn’t even sure how I felt. Humiliated, lied to, afraid. I had just spent forty-five minutes with The Owner, and I was never any good at watching my mouth. What if I had said something—
Whatever. Too late now. If he wanted to fire me, he would just go ahead and fire me, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.
I was halfway down the hallway, tying the belt of my robe in a sloppy knot, before I realized I had forgotten my wig.
Again: whatever. I wasn’t going back for it now. Maybe I could sweet-talk one of the busboys into getting it for me later.
Assuming I still had a job.
I slammed into the seraglio, robe fluttering around my ankles, and the dancers sitting around on the couches looked over at me like I was Godzilla strolling down Fifth Avenue. I flashed them a huge, fake smile, and walked past them toward the dressing room.
I needed to talk to Poppy.
She was applying mascara with her mouth rounded into a huge O. I flung myself down into the chair beside her, hoping she would poke herself in the eye, but she didn’t flinch or react in any way.
Her lack of response annoyed me, but I tried not to show it. Poppy had a shark’s nose for blood in the water, and irritating people was her favorite thing in life. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. “Am I on the schedule tonight?”
“Of course,” she said, combing another coat of mascara through her lashes. They were clumped together like spider’s legs and looked awful.
“Well, take me off,” I said. “I’m going home.”
That got her attention. She glanced at me in the mirror, her eyes darting over to meet mine while her head stayed still. “But you’re on the schedule.”
The urge to roll my eyes was almost unbearable. “Yeah, I got that,” I said. “But I’m leaving.” I’d had enough for one day. The club hadn’t even officially opened, but I was done. There was no way I would be able to entertain clients after my run-in with The Owner. I wanted to go home and sit on my couch and eat junk food.
“You can’t do that,” Poppy said. “You’re supposed to dance.”
Poppy was too stupid to live. “I’ll get someone to cover for me,” I said. “Okay? So then you can just swap me out. Problem solved.”
“Fine,” she said, and shrugged. “You find someone, though. I’m not helping you out.”
I bit back a snotty reply and turned to scan the rest of the room for a willing victim. Finding someone to cover was harder than you would think. More dancing meant more money, sure, but humans in general were lazy creatures. I never wanted to cover for anyone; I wanted to sit in the seraglio and drink soda and gossip with Scarlet. So I understood why everyone was avoiding making eye contact, but it was still infuriating. Lazy bastards.
“I’ll cover for you, Sassy,” someone said, and I turned the other way to see Trixie glaring in Poppy’s direction. “Someone didn’t schedule me to dance tonight at all, for the third night in a row.”
“You’re awesome,” I said, and blew Trixie a kiss. “I owe you one.”
“Maybe talk to Germaine about how we’re ruled by a pea-headed idiot,” Trixie said.
“I can hear you,” Poppy said.
“Good,” Trixie said. “Maybe you’ll finally listen and get the message through your thick skull.”
Their bickering escalated behind me as I left the dressing room. Poppy was a petty tyrant, gone mad with her tiny amount of power. The only way to deal with her was to avoid her as much as possible. Easier said than done, of course.
Not my problem anymore. I was done.
Maybe permanently.
God. I couldn’t believe I had just walked out on him. Definitely a firing offense.
There was no point in worrying about that. It would happen or it wouldn’t. I just had to wait and see.