Home > Mr. Garcia(5)

Mr. Garcia(5)
Author: T.L. Swan

Porsha sits down opposite me, and she studies me intently. “Welcome.”

“Thanks.”

She has an air about her that’s powerful and confident. She waits for me to speak, as if assessing everything that I do and say.

“So, tell me… why are you here?”

“I…” I pause. “I’m applying for the bar position.”

“And what do you know about Club Exotic?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. I’m hoping you can shed some light on the position.”

She sits back with a knowing smile and crosses her legs. “Tell me about yourself.”

I shrug. “What do you want to know?”

She raises an eyebrow. “All of it.”

“I’m twenty-five. American.”

“I can hear that.”

“I’m studying law here in London on a scholarship.”

“Are you currently working?”

“Yes, in a coffee house in Kensington.”

“And you aren’t happy there?”

“I am, but it doesn’t pay enough, and I need to find a new apartment.”

“Okay,” she replies. “Tell me about your financial situation.”

Fuck, that’s a bit personal.

“April, don’t waste my time. Why do you need this job, darling?”

Something inside me snaps. “Because all of my money is tied up in my house at home in The States, and my bastard ex-husband won’t get out of it so I can sell it.”

She smiles as if happy with my answer. “So, you’re starting again?”

I nod, slightly embarrassed. I bet her ex-husband wouldn’t get away with this shit. “Yes, I am.”

“Can you stand up for me?” I frown as she stands and comes around to my side of the desk. “Stand.”

Huh?

I do as she asks anyway, and she circles me, looking me up and down. She holds my hair up and studies my face. She runs her hand down over my hip, and then she tilts her head.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I think I have another role for you.”

I frown.

“Please, take a seat.” She sits back down and links her fingers together in front of her. “Let me tell you about Club Exotic.”

I grip my resume on my lap. Does she even want to see it? I worked on this for hours last night.

“We’re the most exclusive gentlemen’s club in London,” she goes on. “And we have franchises all over the world.”

Exclusive? Please, give me a break.

I fake a smile and act interested.

“Our members pay a premium membership fee to ensure confidentiality.”

“How much is premium?”

“That depends on the level of membership they have. A bronze membership, for example, is fifty thousand pounds.”

“A year?” I gasp.

Porsha smiles. “Yes, a year. A silver membership is seventy-five thousand, and a gold membership is around one hundred and ten.”

What the fuck?

“What’s the difference between the memberships?” I ask.

“Bronze has access to the facilities, an open bar, an award-winning restaurant, a gym…”

I frown. A gym? Wait, I’m confused.

“April,” she pauses as if trying to articulate herself properly. “Our members come here to be able to mix with their friends in the comfort of privacy. The caliber of men here is exceptionally high, including celebrities, politicians, professional athletes, those types. They don’t want or need photos turning up on social media about their private lives, so we make it possible for them to escape their public status.”

I try hard not to roll my eyes. It’s a brothel. Say it like it is, lady.

“I see.” My eyes hold hers. “And what do the other memberships get?”

“They get access to all the facilities, but they also get unlimited lap dances, as well as a few vouchers a year.”

“Vouchers?”

“We’ll get to that later.”

“What do gold members get?”

“All of the above benefits, as well as time in the Escape Lounge.”

“Escape Lounge?”

“Do you have any idea what it would be like to be a man of stature and have women throw themselves at you when you go to a public bar?”

I stare at her flatly. No, and I don’t care.

“And do you know how many women try to take advantage of powerful men by blackmailing them with images?”

I shrug. “I haven’t really thought about it before.”

“Celebrities need to unwind without the fear of being photographed. Our members don’t come here for the women. They pay big money to protect their reputations, and they come here to be anonymous.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Of course, they can get a lap dance if they wish, or they can spend time in the Escape Lounge, but our girls are more guarded than our members. NDA legal documents are signed on employment and on memberships.”

“What does that mean?”

“We protect our women’s reputations as much as our clients. We only have high caliber women working here. Intelligent, beautiful women who are putting themselves through university or striving to give their children a better life. Ninety-nine percent of our applicants won’t be successful in securing a position.”

Shit, I’m not going to get it, and this is her way of letting me down nicely.

She sits back in her chair and raises her chin. “I take it your ex-husband did a number on you?”

I grip my resume tightly. “He did.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“Get a law degree,” I shrug.

“I think it’s about time you started making decisions that are going to set you up for life, don’t you?” I frown, but she goes on. “I think you’re above bar work.”

“What does that mean?”

“Every night, in the Escape Lounge, we hold a fashion parade with twenty-four of the most beautiful women we have.”

Huh? Fashion parade.

“Every night, twenty-four men reserve an Escape Night, and at the end of the fashion parade, we have a private cocktail party.”

I listen intently as I imagine the scenario she is setting.

“During the cocktail party, our Escape Girls will choose their partner for the night.”

“I’m sorry, I’m lost.”

“Being an Escape Girl doesn’t mean you sleep with anyone, April. What it does mean is that you will spend the night with the man that you choose.”

“Spend the night?”

What the hell?

“We have a five-star hotel above us, and we own a floor of apartments.”

“The men pick you and then you have to sleep with them?” I frown in horror.

“No, nothing like that,” she replies calmly, and I wonder just how many times she’s given this spiel. “The woman picks the man and she decides if she kisses him or if she lets him touch her.” She pauses. “Or if she chooses to sleep with him.”

“So…” I raise my eyebrows. “This is a high-class brothel?”

Porsha laughs. “Not at all, darling. Trust me. The men we have here don’t have to pay for sex.”

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