Lev: a Shot Callers novel(99)

“Is everything all right?” she asked slowly, carefully.

I forced a sigh and gave her a grave look. “Not really. Come on. We’ll talk about it.”

Down the hall, she paused before we went into the office. “Have I done something?”

I threw her a sad smile, opening the door, and she went inside. I followed and closed the door behind us. While Birdie moved to sit opposite Sasha, I stayed by the door, hiding my giddiness.

Sasha sat back in his chair. “How you doing, pretty bird?”

Birdie frowned. “F-fine, I guess.”

“Good.” He sat forward. “I’ve noticed you working with the girls. And after today’s rehearsal, I gotta tell you…” He paused for effect. “…I’m wondering why you never gave me an opportunity to give you a management position. Because I gotta say, Birdie…I need you.”

“Wha…?” She turned to look at me before facing Sasha. “What is this?”

Sasha grinned then. “This is you getting a promotion. A well-deserved promotion, if you want it.”

Her eyes bugged out. “Are you playin’, baby? Because that ain’t funny. I got two babies to feed and I need the money. So if…”

Sasha slid over a piece of paper. Birdie picked it up with shaking hands and she whispered, “What’s this?”

Sasha smiled softly. “That’s your base wage. Underneath that is the bonus you’ll be getting for last week’s overtime.”

Birdie stuttered, “But…but…but…” Then rasped, “But that’s double what I’m getting now.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You saying you’re not worth that? Because I can adjust it to—”

She cut him off with a firm, “Don’t you dare! You hush now.”

And Sasha laughed. “Does this mean you’ll accept my offer?”

She raised a brow. “Slow down, sugar. You haven’t even told me what it is I’m gonna be doing. How about you start with that?”

I stepped forward, moving to stand by Sasha’s desk. I smiled down at my friend and told her, “Sasha was hoping you’d be the stage manager. Which puts you in charge of the girls, ordering new costumes, helping to choreograph their dance routines, setting up nightly rosters…that sort of stuff.”

Sasha nodded in agreement. “It also means you’ll have to work longer hours. Not too many, but at least another five hours a week.”

Birdie thought about it for a long moment then smiled up at Sasha. “I’ll make it work.” She held up the paper that Sasha had scribbled down her management wages on and waved it around. “For this, I’ll make it work, baby. You got yourself a stage manager.”

She squeaked excitedly as she stood and hugged the both of us, leaving Sasha and me for a moment alone. I smiled after her, clapping my hands together at the feeling you got from seeing someone you cared about succeed in a way they never thought possible.

I took a seat in the chair that Birdie had vacated and sighed lightly, “That was awesome.”

Sasha’s eyes narrowed at me.

My eyes widened. “What?”

He searched my face before muttering, “Who the f*ck are you, Mina Harris?”

I rolled my eyes at him and his goddamn dramatics. “You know who I am, Sasha.” I mumbled, “I’m just a girl.”

He shook his head. “No. You’re not.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he said it softly, and there was less acid in that statement than I had ever heard from Sasha. My brows bunched. “Hey. Are you okay?”

He ran a hand down his face. “No. Not really.” I wasn’t prepared for that admission, nor when he, suddenly looking weary, confessed, “If this doesn’t work, we’re going to have to shut down. We’re losing too much money.”

I knew this. It hadn’t been said, but we all knew it. It was one of the reasons the girls were working as hard as they were, and when Sasha surprised us all with an all-new interior, our excitement for opening night doubled.

The club looked classier than ever. While the stage remained the same, new flooring had been put down, and gone were the red velvet drapes, replaced with heavy black curtains that looked elegant and stylish. Most tables were replaced with booths with black leather seats and white pins. The bar stools were exchanged for high-back chairs. The walls had been painted black, and Sasha had paid a man an exorbitant amount of money to have the photographs I took of the girls in playful and provocative positions spray-painted every few feet.

Our flyers were a hit. Lev, Vik, Nas, Anika, and I made our way all over, posting posters on the walls of popular hangouts and handing out flyers. It had been a long few days, but the hype was showing. Our social media page—which was Nas’ idea, God bless her—skyrocketed overnight, with people tagging their friends in interest. Women who wanted to dance for the club had contacted us via email and expressed how thrilling it was to have a local burlesque act.

The current reaction was a positive one. Now we had to wait and see if our hard work had paid off.

“It’s all going to work out,” I told him, my confidence flaring.

He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes tightly. “If it doesn’t, we’re f*cked. We invested everything into this place.”