The club was loud in the way that made you stop thinking. Bass shaking the floor, lights cutting through smoke, bodies packed close without anyone really touching. I liked it that way. Noise kept things simple. Noise meant I didn't have to explain myself to anyone, not even me.
I got there early. I always did. Early meant less eyes, less commentary. The girls were already in the dressing area, half-ready, half-tired. Nobody asked how anyone was doing. We all already knew the answer. You just nodded, grabbed your spot, and did what you came to do.
I changed slowly. Not because I was trying to be careful, but because rushing made my chest feel tight. The outfit was red tonight. Short, tight, impossible to ignore.
Management loved red. Customers did too. I checked myself in the mirror and adjusted it without smiling. The reflection looked confident. That was the job.
Out on the floor, the music shifted. The DJ called my name. I stepped onto the platform and let my body move the way it was trained to move. Hips, waist, legs. Controlled.
Measured. I kept my face neutral. No fake seduction, no promises. Men watched anyway. They always did.
I didn't look directly at tables anymore. It made it easier. You focus on rhythm, not faces. Hands stayed where security could see them. Touch was allowed. Crossing lines wasn't. I made sure of that. I always did.
Then I felt it. Not a touch. A stare.
It came from the far right side of the club.
Private section. Dark leather seating, men who didn't shout or whistle. Men who didn't need to. I didn't turn my head at first. I already knew who it was.
Adrian Cole didn't blend in. He didn't need to be loud. He sat back, one arm resting on the seat, drink untouched. His guys were talking, laughing, pointing things out. One of them leaned forward, clearly entertained by the show happening around him.
I caught pieces of their conversation when I moved closer during my routine.
"Man, these girls know exactly what they're doing."
"That one right there? Dangerous."
"Worth every dollar."
Adrian smirked. Just a small curve of his mouth. "They're professionals," he said calmly. "They read the room. Give men what they want without saying a word."
His tone wasn't mocking. It wasn't kind either. It was observational. Like he was discussing a business model.
One of his guys laughed. "You sound impressed."
"I respect strategy," Adrian replied. "Doesn't mean I respect the work."
That made my stomach tighten.
I kept dancing. Kept my back straight. I didn't look at him. I didn't need to. I could feel the shift. The way his attention narrowed. The way the room felt smaller when he focused on one thing.
When my set ended, I stepped down and disappeared behind the curtain. My hands were steady, but my chest wasn't. I leaned against the wall for a second, breathing through it. I hated that he had that effect. I hated that he existed in my space at all.
A few minutes later, the manager pulled me aside. "Private section might want you later," he said casually.
I nodded. No questions.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Adrian stand. He said something low to his guys, his expression unreadable now. Whatever casual interest he'd shown earlier was gone. In its place was something colder. Sharper.
As he walked past the edge of the stage, his eyes finally met mine.
There was no heat in them. No appreciation. Just judgment.
And something else.
Interest he didn't want to admit.