Warning: This book is packed with so much cheesy goodness, it makes Velveeta jealous. This story is guaranteed to melt your heart as well as your panties and leave you in a sticky mess. Enjoy!
For Yukon…
Copyright ? 2016 by Alexa Riley. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to [email protected] http://alexariley.com/
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Edited by Aquila Editing
1
Tiffany
“Here's another,” Nora says, slamming down a flower vase so hard on my dressing room vanity, I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter on impact. The sound makes me flinch in anticipation of the worst.
Not waiting for a response, she huffs out of the room, her high heels clicking on the tile floor.
I’m not sure if I’m more annoyed at her or the freaking flowers. My dressing room looks like a damn florist shop. It’s bad enough I have to deal with other girls in the show hating me and wanting my spot as the main attraction, but I also have to deal with entitled rich men thinking they can buy me. Plucking the card from the flowers, I read the message.
Foxy Bow,
Have dinner with me this evening. I’m staying in the high roller suite.
Brent McCloud
I can’t stop the eye roll as I toss the card in the trash. Like I needed to know the man was staying in the high roller suite. Or how about the fact that he couldn’t even be bothered to find out my real name. Because he doesn't care what it is. He wants Foxy Bow. The showgirl who’s flirty, sexy and bubbly. Someone I play on stage. Someone who isn’t me. I’m Tiffany Smith, but no one seems to care who she is. Why would anyone care about a girl who grew up in a trailer park? A girl who lost her heart to the foster boy who lived next door. Who cares about a girl who ran away from home at fourteen years old and spent a few years on the streets? Until I was headlining a show in Vegas, nobody gave a shit about me.
The urge to pick up the vase and throw it across the room is almost more than I can bear. Plopping down in the vanity chair, I refresh my make-up, knowing I have to be onstage in minutes. A stage I used to enjoy being on once upon a time. I worked hard to make myself the main attraction. The money is good, and it’s something to keep my mind busy. But now that I have it all, I seem to become more agitated about it every day.
Maybe because now I have nothing to work for anymore. I have zilch to drive me on or keep me motivated. No, now I just move through the motions with no end goal in sight. It seems like I keep hitting one disappointment after the other.
I was born into a family that never really wanted me, and they made it clear. I’d only ever known a sliver of pure happiness in my life, and it was snatched away from me at such a young age. Who knew your heart could be taken so young? But mine was, and I know it will never return.
Dropping the blood-red lipstick back onto the vanity, I quickly change out of my robe into my first act wardrobe. Glancing in the mirror, I take myself in, making sure everything is place. Foxy Bow is always perfect and has all the men vying for her attention. Sometimes my cheeks ache from the fake smile plastered to my face. It’s drawn on as much as my make-up is, and no one ever seems to notice the smile never reaches my eyes. I feel like a doll made to look perfect.
Mr. Townsend is the owner of the Snake Eyes casino where my burlesque show headlines. He told me I attract men because I have an air of sexy innocence. I know he’s right. I have a baby face that makes me look much younger than I am.