Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“What the fuck?” It smells like a bar and I’m barely inside. Now this is unacceptable. We’re full nude. Walking in and smelling booze needs to be addressed, not tits and ass. If a cop were to walk by, this would require a huge bribe.
“I have shit to deal with. I’m getting off the phone.”
“Wait! What’s happening? Don’t say fuck and shit—” His voice is loud.
And I’m done. I end the call. Derrick knows me. As soon as they sedate him, he’ll be fine. I’ve humored him enough. Heads are gonna roll if this place doesn’t smell like bleach soon. The inside of The Pussycat is a whole different beast in the morning. The leather booths need to be buffed. The candy-red apple looks faded, and we had them replaced recently. The floors that we spent a fortune on because Derrick wanted Italian marble are filthy with spilled drinks. My boots stick to the floor and I grit my teeth.
The only thing that looks clean is the stage. The large oval has three poles. All three have been shined and are sparkling. The black dance floor is also spotless and smells of Pine-Sol.
“Pete?” My voice echoes around the club.
I’m also not putting up with any of the club’s girl drama. I’m not Derrick. He’s terrified of upsetting and losing one, so he babies them. That’s fine—it works for him.
Not for me.
They can go whine to Crystal that I’m a dick or call Derrick. I don’t care as long as they show up on time, swirl around a pole, and rub their asses on whoever can afford it. They do that, we’ll all get along perfect. Music starts and stops. DJ Mac must be warming up.
Peter rounds the corner with a bucket and mop. The smell of bleach is so strong I have to blink for a second. His old man is a Disciple. Peter never wanted to follow in his footsteps, which is good. He doesn’t have the stomach for the life.
“Hey, brother.” We fist bump.
“I’m making changes. I need you and your crew in here earlier and staying later. Hire more guys, I don’t care. Those mats need to be sprayed and bleached, floor cleaned before we lock up at night.” I motion to the black rubber on the floor. “I smell booze, man. That can’t happen.”
He clears his throat. “Derrick fired one of my guys. When I asked him if I can hire another he said wait until he gets back from his surgery.”
“Hire today and let me know how many you need. I’ll deal with Derrick.”
He wipes his brow and nods. “Will do, Axel.”
“Good and give yourself a raise,” I say over my shoulder as I walk toward the stairs.
“You sure?”
I stop at the first step and turn. “Absolutely. I’d rather pay you and your crew than have to pad the fucking cops’ pockets. Make sure I smell nothing but bleach when we close and open.”
“You got it, boss.” Peter takes out his phone.
I take the stairs two at a time, stopping at the top. “Christ.” I almost put my sunglasses back on. The entire upstairs is lit up like Christmas vacation.
“Why the hell are all the house lights on?” I yell over the music that seems to be going on and off from the sound system.
“Hey, Axel.” Deedee comes over, looking like she hasn’t gone to bed yet.
“I need coffee. Is Crystal here?” I bark at her, getting more pissed as the seconds tick by. Why does it seem like no one is doing their job right?
“Umm, yes.” She yawns, not even covering her mouth.
“Get her.”
Her mouth snaps shut. “She’s finishing her pep talk with the new girls… well, the talent… the…” I arch a dark brow at her and she thankfully stops rambling.
“And tell Mac to leave the stage lights on, but dim the rest. I feel like I need sunscreen it’s so bright.” I drop into a chair.
“On it.” She spins so fast she almost topples over. That’s all I need is one of the girls to get injured on day one. I’ll never hear the end of it.
“You okay?”
“Sorry,” she whispers and sits at the table placing her notepad on top. She crosses her leg to rub her ankle. Her large fake boobs nearly spill out of her slip of a dress.
“Crystal?” I bellow as my eyes scan the VIP area. Thank fuck it looks clean and the smell of booze from downstairs is undetectable up here. The upstairs is a huge moneymaker. It’s designed so that all booths can see the stage and the downstairs stage.
Someone has set up a card table like we’re getting ready to judge a beauty contest. A line of aluminum chairs face the stage.
“I’m coming, keep your panties on.” Crystal sashays out of the side dressing room with the girls trailing behind her.