As it loaded, I pulled out my plans for the strip club, Rock Solid. I had a handful of ideas that would provide a good basis for conversation. I was sure Michelle had drawn up her own plan, but those ideas were hers, not mine, and she was adamant that we all proposed our ideas.
Despite being business-savvy, she was creative, and she was certain the two mixed. She always told us that you could be the smartest, most driven businessperson in the world, but if you weren’t creative, you’d fail at some point, because creativity takes many forms. Paintings, writing, singing, acting—they were all creative acts, and just because you were creative didn’t mean you weren’t business-savvy.
I hoped that she’d given me this job because she thought I was both of those things. If not, I had to prove it. This job was important to me because I was still the baby of the company, and if I got it right, I felt like I’d prove I had it in me to do this.
I loved my job. I loved marketing—from the branding to the statistics to the plans to get your name out there. I loved helping people realize their potential, maybe because every time I did, a part of me realized my own.
Maybe, if I got through this job and the stops for the wedding, I’d convince myself I was worthy of the opportunity I’d been given four years ago at long last.
My day was going to shit and I’d barely left my goddamn apartment.
If it wasn’t the zipper on my favorite skirt breaking, it was the fact that I had to sew a button back on my blouse, and my shoes were rubbing like a sex addict in solitary confinement. I was incredibly fed up, and I muttered to myself in frustration as I got in my car.
I hated this car too. Goddamn sleek, sexy bitch. She was hotter than I was, and I wasn’t exactly shit stuck in the sole of someone’s shoe. Speaking of shoes—the Devil Shoes were languishing at the bottom of my suitcase, thinking about the hell they’d inflicted on my poor, little pinkie toes.
I put the car into gear and pulled out of the apartment parking lot. I was only a few blocks from the Strip, but as I knew Rock Solid had parking spots and I was wearing four-inch heels, I had no intention of walking. I’d have rather dissected a frog than walk that far in the Devil Shoes twopoint-oh.
Okay, these were actually comfortable four-inch heels, but whatever. Heels were heels, and nobody else needed to know they were comfortable.
Vegas was much quieter at this time in the morning. It was barely nine a.m., and the only people out were the locals headed to work or the tourists who hadn’t been up all night gambling. That wasn’t very many people. It made driving to Rock Solid easy and quick, and I pulled into the small lot five minutes before I was due.
When I’d killed the engine, I looked out the window at the building. I was so familiar with this place thanks to the entire night we’d spent there three weeks ago. I was more than a little disconcerted to be back so soon. I’d honestly never foreseen a circumstance that would say I’d need to come back.
Yet there I was. Waiting. Outside the club.
I glanced one last time at the clock on the dashboard that blinked bright orange and grabbed my purse from the passenger’s side, making sure to grab the file beneath it. It was too big to fit inside my beloved royal-blue Michael Kors purse, so it had resorted to being its perch.
I would have strapped the purse in, but maybe that was overkill.
Maybe.
Once I’d gotten out, I locked the car then took a deep breath. With my heels, my white blouse, and my belted pencil skirt with a light blazer to match, I knew I looked professional. Even my lightly curled, auburn hair bouncing around below my shoulders looked professional, but I was nervous. This was by far my biggest assignment since I’d joined MM Marketing, and that wasn’t a fact I was going to forget any time soon.
I had to make it count.
Although I knew that it wasn’t the sole cause of my nervousness. I had no idea how strip clubs worked. Did the strippers practice at the club during the day? Did they use the poles for fitness? Were they open all day or just in the evening? Would I run into Mr. Multiple Oh-Oh-Oh, as my friends had so courteously dubbed him?
I shook the thoughts off as I approached the front door. There were a few lights on inside, so I hugged the file close to my chest and pushed. The door opened with a slight creak, and I bit the inside of my cheek as I stepped into the club. The sound of a vacuum somewhere in the building filled the air with a gentle buzz, and as I approached the bar, the swishing sounds of the glass dishwasher broke through the vacuum.
I looked around but couldn’t see anyone, so I set my things on the bar.
“Hi!” A bubbly, blond woman appeared at the end of the bar.
I jumped, my heart beating hard.
“Oh my gosh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you’d seen me.”