“They have needs. And I have needs. I have the need to meet their needs. We get along well.”
“Intéressant,” he said. “You have no interest in men?”
“I like men. I get along great with most men. I don’t fuck men.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
Kingsley tapped the bar, thinking.
“Are you going to stay in that get-up all night?” Sam asked him. “Just wondering.”
“You don’t like it?”
“You look amazing,” she said. “And I’m not kidding. You’re sexier than Tim Curry in Rocky Horror, and that’s saying something. But you’re in a strip club full of men.”
“They’re only jealous I look better in a corset and heels than they do in their suits. I have fantastic shoulders, don’t I?” He tossed his hair playfully.
“To die for.”
“Let me ask you something, Sam. Do you love working here?”
“I like working here. I can’t say I love it. I’m good at it.”
“What would you rather be doing?”
She sighed and shrugged her shoulders.
“Using my brain more often. Getting into trouble more often.”
“You like trouble?”
“I love trouble.”
“Then let me make you offer.”
“What’s the offer?” Sam asked.
“Come get in trouble with me.”
14
“TROUBLE?” SAM REPEATED.
“I’m offering you a job. Work for me.”
“Work for you? Doing what?” Sam asked Kingsley as he threw a leg on to the bar and straightened his stocking. “I need a personal assistant,” Kingsley said, tilting his head
to let Holly and Raven kiss him on the cheek. They tried to
steal his boa, and he slapped their hands away.
“Personal assistant? How personal?” she asked, sounding
cautiously curious.
“You can live in my house for all I care, as long as we get
the work done. And I do have a very nice house.” “What’s the work?”
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he looked around the club.
He caught Duke’s eye and waved him over.
“I’m taking Sam with me. Can you handle things without
her?” he asked Duke.
“Sure. Carla’s here now. No problem,” Duke said. “Good. Sam? This way, s’il vous plait.”
Sam followed Kingsley through the club and to the street.
What a pair they made—he in his corset and stockings and she
in a three-piece suit, black Oxfords with white spats. Some drunk teenagers across the street whistled. Kingsley waved
his boa at them.
His silver Rolls Royce waited behind the club. His driver
hopped out of the Rolls and opened the door for them. Gia
gave Kingsley a little smile of approval and a slap on his ass
as he got in the car. Women—did they ever stop thinking
about sex?
“So, where are we going?” Sam asked as the car pulled
into the street.
“To a hotel.”
“Why?”
“Before I answer that,” Kingsley said, “let me ask you a
question.”
“Ask.”
Kingsley stretched out his leg and put his high-heeled foot
on the seat next to her.
“Have you ever had sex in the back of a Rolls Royce?” Sam furrowed her brow at him and leaned forward. “Look at me.” She pointed at herself. “What part of ‘I’m a
lesbian’ do you not understand?”
“You said you were fucking all the girls at the M?bius, oui?” “Fucking might be too strong a word. But I’ve gotten them
all off at one time or another.”
“They aren’t all lesbians.”
“Yeah, but I’m really good at what I do.”
“So am I. Care to find out?”
“No. No I wouldn’t. And you can let me off right here.” “Let you off? Or get you off?”
“Not funny. Let me out of the fucking car,” she said, reaching for the door handle.
Kingsley tapped on the window that separated him from the
driver. The window rolled down an inch. Kingsley ordered
the driver to pull over. As soon as it stopped, Sam reached for the door. Kingsley put his high-heeled foot on the door
to block her.
“Let me out,” Sam ordered.
“You passed,” Kingsley said.
She crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin. “Passed what?” she asked.