Praise (Salacious Players Club, #1)(66)

“We’re not. I’m just his secretary,” I correct her.

There’s a small giggle as she leans forward and presses her mouth next to my ear. “You have a bite mark on your ass cheek, Charlotte.”

I gasp, drawing the attention of the girls around me. “Oh my god.” I try to hide my mortification, but Eden just slides her hands over my shoulders, trying to comfort me.

“Relax. It’s hot as fuck.”

“Is it really noticeable?” I ask, trying to cover it with my hand. She moves in front of me, nodding her head.

“Very. So, Emerson didn’t do that?”

I can’t even try to hide it at this point. Twisting my lips, I give a little shrug, and she nods knowingly.

“You don’t think he’s too old for me?” I ask, trying to read her expression. But she only laughs.

“No, I don’t think he’s too old for you. Do you?”

I shrug. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ve known Emerson for a few years, and I’ve never seen him give someone as much attention as he gives you.”

It makes me feel better, but only for a moment. I focus on her face and dread swims through me as I ask, “Wait…you and Emerson have never…have you?”

“No,” she answers plainly. “Emerson is very dominant…and so am I.”

“Oh.” I feel like such an idiot here sometimes, like I don’t get any of this and maybe I never will. It’s like I’m stepping into a foreign world that I will never truly be a part of. I exist only on Emerson’s arm, only here as his accessory, and not really here as myself.

Eden must sense my apprehension because she takes my hands in hers. “Relax, Charlotte.”

And then I ask what I’ve been dying to ask since she started speaking to me. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Are you going to…sleep with them tonight?”

She smirks and glances past the curtain to the men and women waiting on the main floor. Then with a shrug, she says, “I’m at the club, aren’t I?”

I’m filled with dread again. What the fuck has Emerson signed me up for?





I watch from the sidelines as the girls go, one by one, onto the stage, where they strut around half-naked while men and women in the crowd bid for their time. Some of the girls have offered up their company for drinks while others, like Eden, have promised time in a specific room.

They start the bidding at one thousand dollars, and most girls are going for over five, and my jaw nearly hits the floor when a man in the back wins a night with Eden for fifty grand.

My heels click against the stage floor as I make my way into the spotlight.

Be sexy. Be confident. Be Charlotte.

The MC introduces me, and I barely hear a word he’s saying as I scan the crowd. Everyone is staring at me with warm, curious expressions. They’re making me a little more comfortable, even though they all look like they want to devour me—it’s better than looking uninterested or bored.

I instantly notice a familiar man in front. He’s in a black suit, sipping on a glass of something amber brown. He’s the same man who was playing poker on the first night in the club, with a woman kneeling at his side while he petted her head. Something about him terrifies me. He exudes power and wealth, and I can only assume he would be equally as terrifying in bed.

Looking up, I catch a glimpse of Emerson standing near the back wall. His arms are folded tightly in front of him, and there’s something about his body language that seems off. He’s tense.

“Give us a little turn, darlin’,” the man with the microphone says, and I force a bright smile as I circle the stage, letting the crowd see my ass, complete with bright red teeth marks.

Thanks, Emerson.

“Ten thousand,” a dark voice calls from the floor, and I spin in surprise, searching for the source.

The man in black winks at me as he takes a sip of his drink. My body floods with heat. This man will pay ten grand to spend an hour with me. Will he be disappointed if I don’t have sex with him? Surely, he must know he’s just winning my company. I can’t sleep with him. Emerson wouldn’t let that happen…would he?

“Ten thousand for Mr. Kade. Do I hear eleven thousand?”

Movement in the back of the room catches my attention, and I squint through the spotlight to see Emerson raise a hand. We lock eyes for a long, tense moment. He has to win. What if Mr. Kade outbids him? I’m trying not to let my panic show, but I’m shivering in my heels up here. Why would he do this to me?

“Mr. Grant for eleven thousand,” the man calls.

“Fifteen,” the man up front barks.

“Twenty,” Emerson replies. I can barely move as the men volley back and forth, the room thick with tension as they continuously outbid each other. When the man in black shouts fifty with a smug grin on his face, I want to cry. I’m about two seconds away from telling them to stop. I’m not worth this much money. They can’t possibly be willing to pay this much for me.

I shake my head at Emerson, making it so subtle I hope no one notices, but I think I might lose it if he actually coughs up over fifty thousand dollars just for an hour with me.

“Please, don’t,” I whisper, although no one can hear me. I know he can read the words on my lips.