“How will I get her out of here?” she asks.
“I haven’t thought of a plan yet,” he says, stretching back on the sofa. “But don’t worry, I always do.”
She curses him under her breath and sits on the edge of the sofa. Gabrielle is wearing heavy makeup. Dark smokey eyeshadow rings her large eyes, and her lips are painted wine red. In the glowing lights, her long dark hair makes her skin look even paler.
“Is she going to dance?” Leilani asks. “There’s no way—the girl has two left feet. She failed every dance class we ever took as kids.”
“The club has its own dance instructors,” Andrew says, a strange glint in his eyes. “Even the most ordinary woman can become extraordinary here. Besides, there’s no way Jackson would let her serve guests unless she’s proficient at dancing. And she’s already trying to become a Jasmine girl—that’s ambitious.”
“What is a Jasmine girl?” Leilani hisses.
“It’s the second tier,” Andrew explains. “If she makes it to the jasmine level, she’ll get better pay and the opportunity to serve more prestigious clients.”
“And if she isn’t selected?” Leilani asks, already sure she doesn’t want to know the answer.
Andrew chuckles, “Well, the lowest ranking girls serve the lowest ranking guests.”
Gabrielle stands frozen on the stage. She can feel sweat prickle beneath the thick layer of foundation, and she hopes it’s as waterproof as the packaging promised. She looks to the side and sees Ashley and Abbie standing in the wings. Both of them look like they’ve just sucked on a lemon.
“Why the hell is Gabrielle up there?” Ashley asks. “She’s been here for less than a week. Everyone knows you have to work here for at least six months before you’re eligible for a promotion.”
Abbie shakes her in confusion and says, “In all my time here, I’ve never seen anything like it. She’s a sweet enough girl, but she’s hopeless. Even Anna couldn’t make her a better dancer. I wonder what Mr. Oliver was thinking, allowing her to go up there.”
“It’s insulting,” Ashley says. “Does she think our work is easy? Does she think just anyone can be a Jasmine girl? She’s so underprepared. When she fails up there, we’re all going to look bad.”
“I don’t understand it either,” Abbie says. “When she first got here, she never wanted to serve a guest, and now she suddenly wants to serve more of them? There’s something wrong with her.”
“Whatever, when she fails, I’ll look even better,” Ashley says.
Gabrielle swallows hard and tries to ignore the women. She’s wearing six-inch heels, and it takes every ounce of her concentration to keep her legs from wobbling. If she falls in front of the guests, she’ll never get the promotion. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
A large crystal goblet seems to float down from the ceiling. Dark red wine sloshes back and forth, almost spilling over the rim. Gabrielle strikes a pose and then kicks her heels off, revealing her narrow and elegant feet. A few men wolf whistle, and Leilani rolls her eyes.
“Do they have a foot fetish or something?” she asks.
Andrew smirks, “Probably.”
Gabrielle raises a thin arm and places her hand on the rim of the goblet. She circles around it, swishing her h.i.p.s back and forth and running her free hand through her hair. She’s wearing a white satin minidress, revealing her long pale legs and the enticing half-moons of her ass.
She arches her back and swishes her hair as if she’s in complete ecstasy and then climbs up onto the rim of the goblet. She dips her legs into the wine and rubs the dark liquid into her pale skin like she’s giving herself a bath. Men holler, and she flutters her thick, dark eyelashes.
“She’s not a very good dancer,” Andrew says, his voice critical. “She’s too stiff. She should be softer and more sensual. A good dancer makes the whole thing look spontaneous instead of rehearsed.”
Leilani gestures out at the room and says, “Well, they seem to like it.”
Gabrielle’s ass cheeks hang over the edge of the goblet, and the men scream and whistle. She stands and twirls in the middle of the wine, letting the liquid splash and stain her white dress. She bends over, and the dress rides up, showing a matching white thong. The hollering gets louder.
She smiles and giggles and runs her hand through the wine. She scoops up handfuls and pours it onto her hair. She splashes and stomps as a young girl and men run toward the stage, letting the wine speckle their faces and suits. She smiles down at them and pours handfuls of wine into their open, greedy mouths.
“What do you think now, honey?” Andrew asks. “Do you believe what I said about the special training—that little performance goes so far beyond dancing.”
Leilani shakes her head in disbelief and says, “That was the strangest striptease I’ve ever seen. What was it?”
“The art of seduction,” he answers.
Leilani wants to slap Andrew across the face. She hates the way he’s looking at her baby sister as if he wants to taste her. She wants to get up, grab Gabrielle, and take her far away from this place. But she’s not the only one with that idea. Half a dozen men crowd the foot of the stage and shout up at Gabrielle.
“Little beauty, what’s your name?” one shouts. “Your little feet are so beautiful—can I lick them?”
“Hey, little girl,” shouts another. “How much does it take for a night with you? I’d spend all my money on you tonight.”
“Does the white dress mean you’re a v.i.r.g.i.n?” shouts another. “I’d love to take your cherry.”
A drunk man pushes the others aside and shouts, “I’ve never seen anything like you. I’ll give you ten million dollars for another private show. What do you say?”
Leilani bites her lip and digs her nails into her palms. Gabrielle is only eighteen, and her figure is still girlish and immature. Though she’s wearing layers of makeup, she looks young and naïve. What’s wrong with these men? She thinks. Don’t they want someone more experienced and womanly?
“Baby, I’ll give you twenty million if you get drunk with me tonight,” a man in the crowd shouts.
“I’ll pay fifty million for the whole night,” the first man shouts back.
Gabrielle leans over the edge of the goblet and bats her eyes at them. Even from a distance, Leilani can tell that her sister is drunk. Her eyes are unfocused, and her movements are slow and lazy.
“You have to ask Mr. Oliver,” she purrs. “He’s my boss, and only he can accept your offers.”
Gabrielle looks up at the security camera dangling above her and winks. Leilani catches the movement and wonders who she’s winking at. Is Jackson watching the whole thing from somewhere in the club?
Jackson watches Gabrielle wink at him on his LCD screen. The screen is as big as the back wall of his office, and Gabrielle appears life-size in front of him.
“I have to say, she surprised me,” Hill says. “Not much can at this point, but she did. She usually looks so dumb and awkward, but she used that to her advantage, and she seduced them at the critical moment. I’d say she has a bright future here.”
Jackson swirls his wine and asks, “How much did the men offer for her?”
“Well, a lot of them shouted outrageous things, but the legitimate offers are well over six million in total. They might even add up to ten—we’re still looking into it.”
“More than ten million, hmm?” Jackson asks, swallowing the rest of the wine in a single gulp.
Most girls only need to get one million in offers before they’re promoted from blue to jasmine, but Jackson secretly set Gabrielle’s minimum to five million. He can’t believe she’s doubled that.
“It’s a club record, Mr. Oliver,” Hill says.
“I know that,” Jackson snaps.
“One guest even offered to pay fifty million for the whole night with her,” Hill says. “I’m not sure the offer is legitimate, but we’re checking. If it is, shall we accept it?”
Jackson smashes the empty wine glass against his desk, slicing the edge of his finger on one of the shards. Hill’s face pales, and he jumps forward to help, but Jackson waves him away.
“She got into the whore character really fast,” Jackson snaps.
“She certainly did,” Hill says with pride in his voice. “Now, do you want to approve the offer or not?”
“Tell her if she dares to spend the night with him, I’ll break her pretty little leg,” he says.
He wipes his bloody hand on the leg of his pants and jumps to his feet, ignoring the shocked expression on Hill’s face.
Gabrielle watches as a bulky bodyguard with a menacing scar across his cheek, grabs the fifty million man by the collar and drags him away from the stage. Does that mean Jackson refused the offer? She wonders. That doesn’t make sense—he brought me here to pay my debt, and fifty million dollars would help a lot. I can’t believe he refused the offer.
She looks down and sees that the other men are being dragged away from the stage. The curtains swing closed, and she stands. Without the hot spotlights, the goblet of wine is cold, and she shivers. She stands and climbs over the edge, feeling drunk off the wine fumes.
As she passes the curtains, she sees a pale, familiar face on the other side. Leilani is standing on the stage, peeking in through the gap in the curtains. Her eyes are wide and wet as if she’s on the verge of tears.
“Leilani, what are you doing here?” Gabrielle asks.
“Oh, Gabrielle, what has Jackson done to you?” Leilani asks. “Are you okay? Can you make it a little longer? I swear I’m going to get you out.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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