Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(22)

Ben’s head nods in agreement. “You’d definitely make a lot more if you threw out a few winks and smiles. But Penny’s isn’t your typical club, and a lot of these guys will pay for a good show. That was a good show.”

“Thanks, Ben.” I like this guy already. Even though his attention has shifted from the stage to my chest, where it lingers with a small, knowing grin. I cross my arms over my chest and the grin only widens. I realize there’s no point covering myself. He has probably committed to memory exactly what’s beneath my clothes, as has most of the crowd. Mercifully, Ben turns and strolls toward the main bar. I trail him as he leads me to the area where Cain was standing, my head ducked slightly so as not to attract anyone’s attention.

I think I’ll collapse on the floor if someone says a single word to me.

I need a happy verdict tonight. If I’m going to do this, it has to be at Penny’s. My gut tells me so.

Now that I’m off the stage, the place doesn’t seem quite as threatening. The lights aren’t as bright, the music isn’t as distorted, and I’m no longer alone. There are girls everywhere. There must be forty girls on the floor right now. My eyes roam the club to take in the sleek, simple yet sophisticated furniture and fixtures that I didn’t notice earlier. The style, the atmosphere, all exude the bit of Cain that I’ve seen. Classy, masculine, yet with an edge of something uncertain.

Speaking of Cain . . .

I glance around, looking for him in earnest, and catch Ginger’s eye from behind the bar. She gestures at an empty glass and mouths, “Do you want a drink?”

I nod appreciatively. Charlie Rourke is twenty-two years old and legally allowed to drink, after all, so why shouldn’t I take advantage of that? Drinking underage is the least of my law-breaking problems.

“Where’s Cain?” I ask as Ben settles in next to Nate.

“He left.” A tiny smirk touches Ben’s nice lips. “I think he had something to take care of. Something about a five-knuckle shuffle.”

“Oh.” Disappointment drowns out my hopes. He didn’t even stay long enough to hire me. It’s my fault. I didn’t interact with the crowd, after all. Not like the dancer before me, who was doing downward-facing dog in a piece of floss, inches away from a guy’s face. And certainly not like China, who appears ready to peel off her . . . Yup, there goes her thong. I didn’t even take my shorts off and she’s fully nude. I don’t know how a person does that. Maybe she’s a better actress than I am.

A sharp twinge of pain strikes in my chest again, deepening the relentless throb that has only been growing these last few weeks. I’d like to think it’s a bad case of heartburn, but I’m pretty sure it’s not. What am I going to do if I don’t get this job? As much as I hated being up there, as icky as I still feel, I need a new identity like the one that Sam arranged for me—the kind that lets you start completely over, legitimately.

Without that, I’ll be forced to look for under-the-table work. I won’t be able to drive legally, or open a bank account, or rent an apartment, or register for college. Or travel. Without a legitimate card with a name and my face on it, I won’t be able to start fresh and lead a good, normal life. People don’t realize how vital something like a piece of ID is.

If Cain doesn’t hire me, I guess I’ll have to go back to Sin City with my tail between my legs. Just the memory of that hairy, sweaty guy with his pants around his thighs makes my legs clamp shut.

“Here you go, my darling!” Ginger croons, handing me a glass of something. I drain it in one large gulp. “You did great out there!”

“I’m not so sure,” I mutter, pleading with her pretty eyes—heavily lined with smoky blue kohl tonight—to convince me otherwise. “China didn’t seem to think so.”

Ginger’s face scrunches up. “Ignore her. She’s just giving you the gears. She’s a bitch and she doesn’t like new competition.”

I heave a reluctant sigh. Okay, hearing that helps a bit. Ginger’s always doing and saying things to try and make me feel better. I wonder if that means she’s a real friend. I don’t really know. I’ve only ever had superficial friends and casual acquaintances. The ones where people talked to me because I’m pretty and rich. I’ve never had a best friend before, one I could truly talk to about anything. Sam preferred it that way. I guess it all worked out for the best, as there was no one to miss me when I left Long Island. “Do you think Cain will give me the job?”

She shrugs. “I don’t see why not.” Leaning in, she strikes Nate in his rib cage. “Where’s boss man?”

“Out.”

She rolls her eyes. “For . . .”

“For the night.”

“Thanks for elaborating, Nate.” With an exasperated sigh, she offers me a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll get an answer tomorrow and I’m sure it will be a positive one.” With a wink, she adds, “You’ll be working the bar with me.”

“Hey.” Ben squeezes in between us, throwing a heavy, muscular arm over each of our shoulders. “You bring her in, Ginger?”

She looks at him warily. “Yeah. Why?”

A curious smile passes over his face. “How do you two know each other?”