Stripped Bare (Stripped #1)(13)

My day was going to shit and I’d barely left my goddamn apartment.

If it wasn’t the zipper on my favorite skirt breaking, it was the fact that I had to sew a button back on my blouse, and my shoes were rubbing like a sex addict in solitary confinement. I was incredibly fed up, and I muttered to myself in frustration as I got in my car.

I hated this car too. Goddamn sleek, sexy bitch. She was hotter than I was, and I wasn’t exactly shit stuck in the sole of someone’s shoe. Speaking of shoes—the Devil Shoes were languishing at the bottom of my suitcase, thinking about the hell they’d inflicted on my poor, little pinkie toes.

I put the car into gear and pulled out of the apartment parking lot. I was only a few blocks from the Strip, but as I knew Rock Solid had parking spots and I was wearing four-inch heels, I had no intention of walking. I’d have rather dissected a frog than walk that far in the Devil Shoes twopoint-oh.

Okay, these were actually comfortable four-inch heels, but whatever. Heels were heels, and nobody else needed to know they were comfortable.

Vegas was much quieter at this time in the morning. It was barely nine a.m., and the only people out were the locals headed to work or the tourists who hadn’t been up all night gambling. That wasn’t very many people. It made driving to Rock Solid easy and quick, and I pulled into the small lot five minutes before I was due.

When I’d killed the engine, I looked out the window at the building. I was so familiar with this place thanks to the entire night we’d spent there three weeks ago. I was more than a little disconcerted to be back so soon. I’d honestly never foreseen a circumstance that would say I’d need to come back.

Yet there I was. Waiting. Outside the club.

I glanced one last time at the clock on the dashboard that blinked bright orange and grabbed my purse from the passenger’s side, making sure to grab the file beneath it. It was too big to fit inside my beloved royal-blue Michael Kors purse, so it had resorted to being its perch.

I would have strapped the purse in, but maybe that was overkill.

Maybe.

Once I’d gotten out, I locked the car then took a deep breath. With my heels, my white blouse, and my belted pencil skirt with a light blazer to match, I knew I looked professional. Even my lightly curled, auburn hair bouncing around below my shoulders looked professional, but I was nervous. This was by far my biggest assignment since I’d joined MM Marketing, and that wasn’t a fact I was going to forget any time soon.

I had to make it count.

Although I knew that it wasn’t the sole cause of my nervousness. I had no idea how strip clubs worked. Did the strippers practice at the club during the day? Did they use the poles for fitness? Were they open all day or just in the evening? Would I run into Mr. Multiple Oh-Oh-Oh, as my friends had so courteously dubbed him?

I shook the thoughts off as I approached the front door. There were a few lights on inside, so I hugged the file close to my chest and pushed. The door opened with a slight creak, and I bit the inside of my cheek as I stepped into the club. The sound of a vacuum somewhere in the building filled the air with a gentle buzz, and as I approached the bar, the swishing sounds of the glass dishwasher broke through the vacuum.

I looked around but couldn’t see anyone, so I set my things on the bar.

“Hi!” A bubbly, blond woman appeared at the end of the bar.

I jumped, my heart beating hard.

“Oh my gosh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you’d seen me.”

“No, but please don’t worry.” It was hard not to smile at her. “I’m Mia O’Halloran. I’m here on behalf of MM Marketing to meet with Mr. Rykman?”

“Oooh, yes! He told me he was expecting a Ms. O’Halloran around nine.” She clapped her hands together, the sound muffled by the towel she was holding, and kicked the door of a small fridge shut. “Give me two seconds and I’ll fetch him for you.”

“Thank you.” I smiled again and perched on one of the seats.

The club looked vastly different during the daylight hours. There were no windows in the building, so the warm, yellow light that flooded the space was artificial, but somehow, it looked just like natural light. Sticky rings still sat on tables, and odd bits of trash still littered the floor, mostly beneath the tables. I guessed whoever was vacuuming would be in there next.

“He said, if you take a seat in the end booth, he’ll be right down. He made sure Sally—that’s the head cleaner—did that one already. The tables are biggest there. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

“A coffee would be great, thank you. Just regular, milk but no sugar.”

“No problem. I’m Vicky.”

“Mia. Obviously.” I laughed as I shook her hand over the bar. “Thank you.” I got up and headed for the booth she’d indicated. It was several down from the one we’d been in three weeks ago, and she was right. Also the only clean one.

I moved the ashtray to the edge of the table so I had more room and then tucked my purse on the seat next to me. Nerves danced in the pit of my stomach once again, but I managed to fight them long enough to open my file, remove the necessary notebook and pen, and thank Vicky for my coffee.

It smelled so good, and I sighed after taking the first red-hot sip. Yes—I was the freak who could drink coffee the second it was made. A trait I’d gotten from my father, and one I liked. I didn’t have to wait as long as everyone else to start the caffeine hit.