I barely manage to contain an eye-roll. “If I didn’t have such thick skin, I might be insulted by the way you throw your words at me like daggers,” I retort, enjoying watching her distress at my ability to maintain my cool. The color in her cheeks flares and her blue eyes flash at me.
Who knew angry could be such a fucking turn on?
My blood is boiling and this man—Savage Hawke—has grated my last nerve. I can barely contain my desire to climb across his desk and smack him across his handsome, smug face for acting so high and mighty. He is a pussy peddler. A goddamn sleazebag who preys on young, impressionable, desperate girls in order to make a quick buck.
Savage Hawke.
He even has a porn star name. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was shooting them in some back room.
It’s too bad he’s so fucking gorgeous. He runs a hand back through his thick, wavy black hair and focuses his Caribbean-blue eyes on me with a calm that makes me want to throw my purse at him.
My traitorous body reacted to him instantly, heat churning deep in my belly the moment I walked into his office and saw him dominating the space behind his large, wooden desk.
The longer we talk, the worse it gets, and I have to press my thighs together to stop the dull ache there.
Damn, it has been way too long since I had a good fuck. What? Twelve days?
I’m so busy fuming and trying to rein in my runaway sex drive, I completely forget to respond to him.
“Ms. Eriksson,” he continues, giving me a smug smile, “I have a very rigorous interview process established to ensure none of my employees begin work here under any duress…”
I lift my brow in speculation and to ensure he’s aware of my disbelief. Bullshit! I bet their “interview process” involves lap dances and blowjobs in the champagne room.
“…Byron conducts a very thorough interview with each girl, including a complete background check to determine if they are under any serious financial strains. If I find they are, I typically offer them a personal loan, to be repaid at standard interest rates, to ensure they aren’t tempted to engage in pursuits some of the other clubs are often known for. We also do weekly drug testing and nightly breathalyzers, as our girls are forbidden from engaging in any illicit drug use and cannot perform while under the influence of any alcoholic beverages.”
I don’t believe him for a second. No damn strip club operates like that. He must think I’m some dumb, na?ve, bimbo blonde to think I’ll fall for his line of horseshit.
He reclines back in his chair and waits for me to say something.
What does he expect me to believe? That he’s a pussy peddler with a heart of gold?
“Surprised I’m not a total scumbag?” His amusement is evident in the slight turn at the corner of his luscious mouth. “There are a hundred trashy strip clubs in New Orleans a man can go to if that’s what he’s looking for—drugs and easy women. I wanted to offer something different. People are always a bit shocked to learn how I run my business. But when I built The Hawkeye Club, I wanted it to be an upscale and supremely classy gentleman’s club, and established a very strict set of rules and regulations to ensure that both my reputation, and the reputation of my girls, remains pristine.”
I huff and take a step closer to his desk. “My sister was the goddamn valedictorian of her high school class and had a full ride to Tulane for pre-med. Then, this morning, out of the blue, I find out from one of her roommates that she has dropped out of school and started working here. She’s twenty years old, for Christ’s sake! Clearly, you can see why I’m concerned. I mean, why the hell would she do that?”
He offers me a small, understanding smile and leans over his desk, toward me. The fabric of his dress shirt stretches across his broad shoulders and strains against his massive biceps. My mouth salivates and I fight the flush I’m sure is creeping up my neck. The worst thing about being fair-skinned is the complete inability to hide my reactions, especially to men like Savage Hawke.
“I do understand, Ms. Eriksson, but I don’t have the answer for you. Have you tried asking your sister?”
Shit. I should have seen that question coming.
I shift uncomfortably and twist my hands in front of my body. “No, she’s been avoiding my calls. That’s why I finally went to her apartment today, to make sure she’s okay.”
He almost looks sympathetic and I wonder how long it took him to perfect this nice-guy act.
“Well, I think you need to talk to her. I don’t think she’s on the schedule tonight, but you can ask Byron downstairs, and, if she’s here, he will gladly show you to the changing rooms in the back so you can speak with her.”
Casting an uncomfortable glance toward him, I move my purse from one shoulder to the other and turn to leave without a word. Absolutely no good will come from me spending any more time in this room with this man.
Savage Hawke is precisely the type of man I always end up getting myself into trouble with: dark, strong, passionate…