Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(42)

“She seems to have her head on straight, from what I’m hearing. And she can’t keep her eyes off you.”

Here we go. This is what I’ve been putting up with from Ben and Ginger. Apparently, now I’m going to get it from Nate. “I don’t know when this place turned into a f*cking high school cafeteria at lunchtime, Nate.”

He ignores me. “You know, everyone here would be happy if you’d make a move.”

I peel my focus off Charlie’s muscular legs looping around the pole to look my giant confidante straight in the eye now. “Oh, yeah. They’d be really happy to watch the boss exploit the fresh twenty-two-year-old stripper,” I mutter, my voice full of sarcasm. Nate’s voice turns rough as he crosses his arms. “Yeah, they would, Cain. Well,” he adds, “maybe not China, but she’d get over it.”

My eyes roll. China’s had a thing for me for years now. While she’s respected my insistence that we keep our relationship platonic, I’m no idiot. I know her interests have lingered.

“My point is that you’ve proven your point. You’re not in this for the ass or the money or a power trip. You’re not a f*cking criminal.” He levels me with one of his more ominous Nate stares. “You’re not your parents.”

I turn to match his stare and lower my voice. “Charlie doesn’t need to be tied to someone like me. I can’t do that to her.” He knows what I’m talking about. He carries my guilty secrets with him as if they were his own.

A loud round of cheers erupts and I turn back to the stage in time to see Charlie’s top fly off, a coy smile curving that wide mouth of hers as she watches me take in her black lace bra. Beneath that . . . My breath hitches. Damn. I’m pretty sure I could have that. Tonight, if I wanted. If I were a complete *.

Thank God my office came equipped with a private shower. I’ll have that dial cranked to ball-shrinking cold tonight. Just like every other night since she started this whole game of hers.

I never expected this from her.

And I never expected to enjoy it so much.

“Why haven’t you let her work the rooms yet, then?” Nate asks.

I take a sip of my drink. My fourth of the night. “I don’t think she’s ever worked a V.I.P. room before.”

“So what? Neither had Mercy. Or Hannah. Or Levi . . .”

I know exactly what Nate’s getting at. I’ve never stopped any of the girls from doing what they want to make money, as long as they’re safe and it’s legal, because I’m smart enough to know that if they’ve wrapped their heads around the idea of doing it, then me telling them no isn’t going to stop it from happening. They’ll just end up at some sleazy place like Sin City or Teasers. Or worse . . . in a back alley. Somewhere no one’s looking out for them. “You know, for a man with a daily word maximum of ten, you’ve gone way over today.”

The only response I get is a snort. And that lethal stare.

“Fine. I don’t want Charlie doing that shit with anyone.” I don’t judge these girls for what they do and I won’t treat them with less respect because of it. Hell, I’m enabling them. But, I remember the knots in my stomach every time I saw Penny go back into a V.I.P. room. I hated her going back in there. I hated the idea of her on those guys’ laps.

But I let it happen.

And every time I tried to picture myself with Penny, the knowledge that I allowed her to sell herself like that crept into the image, like dirty fingerprints on an otherwise beautiful canvas. When I clued in that Charlie likely hasn’t worked the V.I.P. room before . . . I’m not going to lie, excitement coursed through me.

She’s not tainted by those dirty fingerprints.

Yet.

And I selfishly don’t want to let it happen.

“With anyone except you, you mean,” Nate cuts into my thoughts with that knowing tone of his.

“I haven’t laid a—”

“But you want to. Admit it.”

I say nothing.

“She’s the first person I’ve seen you look at twice since Penny was around. And you never used to come out and watch Penny onstage like this. Charlie’s gotten under your skin. That’s gotta mean something, Cain.”

“It means I must be really hard up.” That’s the understatement of the f*cking century. The night I moved Charlie into her new place, Grace—a twenty-eight-year-old heiress to a prominent Sonoma Valley vineyard—was in town and paid me a late-night visit. I couldn’t keep Charlie’s violet eyes and doll face out of my head. That would have been fine, had I not called her name out as I was coming.

After that night, I’ve avoided calling Vicki or Rebecka or any of the others on my speed dial, figuring I’d get my infatuation with the girl under control before I risked insulting another woman like that. Two weeks later, my balls are ready to burst. I don’t know how the monks survive. Probably by not watching live strip shows daily.

I inhale sharply as Charlie unclasps the black lace bra, wincing with a spasm of pain in my groin as two candy-pink nipples appear. Ben is right. They should be fake, they’re so perfectly round and . . . perfect. I both love and hate that she’s up there on the stage. Love because it’s the only way I’ll get to see her like this and it feeds the sick fantasies constantly swirling around in my head. Hate because everyone else is seeing her like this and having those same f*cking dirty thoughts.