Seven Sons

Four

When I exit the bathroom, Dornan is back behind his desk as if nothing ever happened.

“So,” I say, as if I don’t already know. “Did I get the job?”

He stabs the air with his pen, gesturing for me to sit down. I drag out the metal stool from under the desk – the desk we just fucked on – and sit my throbbing ass down.

“You into drugs?” Dornan asks. “Drinking? What’s your thing?”

I shrug. “I’m kind of boring, really.”

Dornan smiles knowingly, and flashes his straight teeth. He and his sons might be rough and tattooed, but they all have amazingly straight, white teeth.

“Well,” I say, shifting uncomfortably in my seat, “I have a lot of sex with a lot of different people. Could that be a problem?”

His smile stretches so wide I think his face might break under the weight of it. “I don’t see that being a problem, no.”

“I do have one other problem,” I say, looking at the floor. “I mean, I just got here from Texas, I don’t know anyone … I’m staying at a backpackers’ hostel a few blocks away, but I’m going to run out of cash soon.”

He nods. “You need cash?”

I shake my head. “I don’t take money unless I earn it. I just need … somewhere to stay, a few weeks at the most.”

Say it, Dornan. Come on and fucking say it.

“That’s not a problem,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ll stay at the clubhouse. Plenty of extra rooms. You’ll have to sign a non-disclosure statement and agree not to speak with anyone about what goes on there, of course.”

Hooked, line and sinker. Sucker.

“What goes on there?” I say, my Bambi eyes as wide as I can stretch them.

“Baby girl,” he replies, clearly high-fiving himself for his luck today. “Why don’t you just see for yourself?”

He writes the address down on the back of a business card and hands it to me, letting his fingers brush against mine again. I see the glazed look in his eyes and a small burst of adrenalin spurts into my stomach as I realize he’s pretty damn taken with Samantha Peyton.

“Here,” he says, handing me a roll of crisp fifties. There’s probably cocaine on them. “Get yourself some nice clothes. Damn, I like those shorts, but you gotta wear something a little more upmarket if you’re gonna be working here.”

I laugh to myself, thinking that he still holds his club to such a high esteem even though he’s turned it from an artistic burlesque club to a strip club and whore house.

The cell phone on his desk vibrates and he gives me one last look up and down. “I gotta take this. Go shopping, get yourself some nice things to wear, and I’ll see you here,” he points to the address on the business card, “tonight. Be there at eight. We’ll go over everything then.”

I smile broadly and offer my hand. He looks at it, takes it, and pulls me across the desk. I feel his lips on mine and the only thing I can do is respond. He’s a good kisser, even though the feel of his hot tongue in my mouth makes me want to clamp my teeth down and bite it off.

He breaks away and lets go of me.

“I think that’s a little more appropriate than shaking hands, don’t you think?”

I giggle, licking my lips. “Yes, sir.”

His phone continues to buzz angrily. “Eight,” he says, answering the phone and holding it to his ear. “Now get that piece of ass out of here before I spend my entire day fucking it.” He starts barking things into the phone and I back away, grab my roll-along suitcase, and make my way as quickly and quietly as I can down the stairs.

I pass Jase, who is still polishing beer glasses, but I don’t make eye contact. I’m almost at the set of doors, where I can go outside and fill my lungs with fresh air before I have a complete meltdown, when he speaks just behind me.

“Did you get the job?”

I turn slowly, ashamed that he has to look at me like this. Like a whore. “Yeah,” I reply quietly. “I got the job.”

Jase looks intrigued, and I have to wonder if he senses something about me. About us. After all, I might be Samantha now, but before that I was Juliette, the first girl he ever loved.

“What’s your name?” he asks me, setting a tray of glasses on a table between us.

Julz! Don’t touch her! Get away from her! Juliette!

I turn, swallowing back a lifetime of tears, and smile at him. “Samantha. You can call me Sammi.”

He nods. “Well, see you ‘round, Sammi.”

“Yeah,” I say, and suddenly my sadness is so heavy, I’m afraid I might collapse on the floor in front of him. But I don’t. I swallow back the hard lump in my throat and turn to leave. “See you ‘round.”

When I steal a glance over my shoulder as I’m pushing the heavy doors open, he is still watching me.