Dahlia looked at me, tears forming in her eyes.
Shit.
“Let me show you something quickly,” she said. She took my hand and dragged me to the kitchen in her apartment, opening the refrigerator to a large, pink box. “Your favorites.”
I smiled to myself, though it was bittersweet. I loved these cupcakes, but they could only do so much, when everything that I had come to rely on, including her, was gone.
Dahlia adjusted the necklace around her throat, not making eye contact with me. “I took the liberty of telling Price that you would be living in this office,” she said. Her office? This entire place? “He’ll need access to the surveillance room, of course, but you’ll still have more privacy here than you would in the Greenhouse.” I didn’t know what to say. This was a huge gift and completely unexpected. “You’ll have to pay rent, but it’ll be the same rate as it was in the Greenhouse.” That made sense. But the same rate for an entire two-bedroom apartment was way more reasonable. “With the caveat that you’ll be the new manager of the club.”
“New manager?” I asked. Dahlia nodded. “What does that mean?”
“A lot of what you’ve already done for me. But I’m sure Price will have his own expectations.”
“Thank you,” I said, the melancholic gratefulness inside of me creeping close to tears. No. I didn’t cry. Not when it came to this kind of thing.
Dahlia blinked back her own. “Thank you, Iris,” Dahlia said. She squeezed my arm, and I put my hand over hers. I knew I’d miss her. “Take care.”
I walked her to her car. As she turned out of the parking lot, she stuck her hand out of the window and waved, before roaring off. I wasn’t sure that I would ever see her again. I had her phone number, but I had no idea where she was moving. She had kept it that way on purpose.
Maybe it was better this way. It was her choice to leave. Nothing I said would have made her the owner again.
I went to the Greenhouse and surveyed my dorm room. Though it was slightly bigger than the rest of the dorm rooms, it was still small. I grabbed my pillow, my bag of makeup, and stuffed my pajamas into a duffel bag. I could grab the rest of it—the latex outfits, the impact play toys, the rest of my street clothes—later, after I had a moment to unwind. After I had recharged. I needed a minute to let go of the sadness. Tomorrow, I could move forward.
Kendall glared at me in the hallway, shoulder checking me as she passed. I stopped. Kendall kept walking.
“Hey,” I said.
“What bitch?” she said.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” I said. I wasn’t, but I knew I needed to at least try to make it better between us, especially if I wanted to make myself invaluable to Price. I needed to have a good rapport with everyone, including Kendall. And at least, in my new apartment with my own personal kitchen, I wouldn’t have to worry about someone stealing my tangerine juice. “I overreacted.” At least that was the truth. “I was a jerk.”
Kendall’s mouth gaped open, but before she could say anything, I left. I had done my part. That was enough for today.
In my new apartment, I dropped the duffel bag on the empty living room floor and pulled out the pink box from the fridge. Maple blueberry. Lavender earl grey. Poppyseed with lemon curd. Chambord and chocolate ganache. Four of each. There was no way I could eat these by myself, but before I brought them to the Greenhouse, I could enjoy one of each. Alone.
I took a maple blueberry. Teagen had always liked that flavor. What would she have thought of Roland Price? He was hot—that was something I could not deny—but so much about him had irritated me. Put me off.
Then again, it was like that with every man. I wasn’t great at dating. It was hard when you were a sex worker who was forced to stay on-site. Not that I was interested anyway.
But this was bigger than that. Roland Price was the new owner. He owned the club.
But I could make him an offer. I could buy it from him.
I was one of the few servers who had worked off my debt a few years ago, but I kept it a secret so that I could continue to work there without anyone’s scrutinization, because no one would have been able to understand why I wanted to work there. In the meantime, I had saved almost every cent that I could after my payments to the club. And since I couldn’t buy anyone’s freedom from Dahlia, I had waited for a good opportunity to use it.
And now I could. I would buy the club from Roland Price. I knew it wasn’t much, but if I could convince him that the place wasn’t worth his attention, and that the money I had was more than enough, then maybe I would convince him to sell it to me.
Either way, I would demand that he consider it.
CHAPTER 4
Roland
The receptionist’s eyes fluttered up to me. I flashed a grin. Recognizing me, she flinched.
“You’re here,” she said.
I leaned on the counter. “I am.”
Flustered, she went around the desk. “Follow me, sir.” Sir. Hah. The formality was amusing, different from the staff at my nightclubs. She opened the doors to the main building of the Dahlia District, leading in from the side. Harsh black walls. Velvet red curtains on a raised stage. A bar. A restaurant. A lounge with high booths. I recognized some of the men and gave my greetings. A few of the servers looked at me. Some of their eyes widened. My picture was often in the tabloids; they must have recognized me.
“I can take it from here,” I winked. “Thanks, doll.” The receptionist blushed, and I turned, scanning the space. The women were in various degrees of lingerie, some more covered than others. The waitresses at my nightclubs wore champagne bras under black bustiers; a little eye candy never hurt. The men were in suits, save for the bouncers wearing black button-up shirts and black trousers. One man in gray sweatpants sat in the very back booth. He might have paid an expensive monthly fee to get in here, but sweatpants? Really? That would have to go.
A curvy blond with two thick braids came towards me, her hips swaying with each step.
“You’re new around here,” she said, her voice sultry. “What’s your name?”
“Roland,” I said.
“Roland,” she purred. “That’s a sexy name. What does it mean?”
I chuckled to myself; she laid it on thick. “Not sure. But be a babe and show me where I can get VIP service.”
She smirked as if I had said something funny. “The entire club is VIP.” She cocked her head. “Were you looking for bottle service?”
That was another thing that would need to change. The space needed to be utilized properly. Even in a club that catered to the wealthy elite, there needed to be privileges. Status upgrades. Billionaires loved to show off their clout.