Taking Jana (Paradise South #2) (9 page)

“You’re fine.” Winter giggled. She was melting. Melting from the top down. “I’m sorry about your ex.”

“You live and learn. I guess more than anything, I’m in sore need of someone to talk to.” He smirked. Talking to the dancers at all was never high on his list of priorities. Talk was cheap. Action, well, he was addicted to action.

“We all need to vent,” she said, then her eyes drifted down to her lap, confirmation to him that she kept her cards close to her chest. Her business was hers alone, and that suited him fine. For now.

“But here
you
are, your father sick and all, and you’re sitting here sweetly listening to my dribble! You know, you always stood out to me as a real genuine sweetheart and too gorgeous to even hope to speak to. Even if my father had introduced me, I would’ve choked on my words.” He smiled. “And I don’t want to embarrass you, but”—he looked down at his hands then back up to her eyes—“the first time I saw you dance, you really took my breath away. You were in your own world; you danced for yourself. Untouchable.”

He watched her eyes shift, unwilling to meet his, her cheeks redder now. And to keep from scaring her off, he added, “You know, not like the melodramatic aggression that most girls put out there on stage.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, thank you. I’m verifiably horrible with compliments and attention. Ironic, I know.” And she looked down at her purse again.

“Well, listen, Winter…” He looked down at his calendar. “For dancers…I have a full schedule for the next few months. It’s because of the renovations happening at The Sweet Spot.” He paused, noting her solemn look, more than disappointed, bordering on distraught even.

Now he would ride in on his horse. “But I have something else in mind for you. Not sure if you’d be interested, but I’ve been lacking something here, and I realize now what it is.”

CHAPTER 12

S
he was intrigued
by the man in front of her and by his impending words before he even spoke them.

This
clean-cut
,
baby-faced
prep was playing gatekeeper for her reentry into the sultry underground she deplored. It was a little, well, a lot, too weird. At least in her years in the clubs, sleazebags were sleazebags. But Johnnie Demonte seemed different.

She watched his face, his innocent blue eyes searching hers. The subtle and sexy stubble above his soft red lips made her toes tingle. An immediate tinge of regret followed. Then those full lips of his parted as if ready for some idea, some proposal to fall out of them.

“You can consult. Build my team of girls. Hire and fire. But most importantly, train. No one worked the pole the way you did, and you’re obviously as fit as you’ve ever been. You might be my secret weapon, Winter Snow. With you finding, filtering out, and working with the dancers, I bet we pull in numbers that blow the Manhattan club out of the water! And you’d get my Long Island girls prepped too.”

Was he serious with this? Because he sounded serious. Passionate almost.

He sat across from her, his eyes drilling into hers, waiting while looking very pleased with himself. What was his motivation here? Eager to prove something to his father? Maybe, from the ambitious tone in his delivery. And she knew that fruitless desire all too well.

At the same time, she thought maybe he was just being kind. Could it be that he pulled this idea out of his ass to help her out? It was possible. Definitely possible, hearing his backstory. A fellow stranded soul.

And, yes, during their talk up to that point, he had been pretty bad about hiding his infatuation for her from years back. His body language said what his words had not. His nervous eagerness and his sweet, yet intensely sensual and searing looks.

But he’d also shown an unmistakable and honest concern for her, a sensitivity to her state of mind. Not that she hid her despair from being back in the sewer very well at all, but he seemed to give a shit. And hell, most owners or managers would have groped a tit to “make it all better” and moved on with their day.

And anyway, if nothing else, she had always been good at reading people. And she hadn’t read this type of guy. Not in the clubs, for sure.

Then he comes up with this plan, this alternative for her? A potentially
soul-freeing
way to dig herself and her folks out of the new hole they had tossed her in, for dead, buck naked.

Johnnie had offered her a way, clothed and with her pride somewhat intact.

She wasn’t blind. Again, she saw the raw desire in his eyes, still peering into hers. Even as she sat and thought. But it was different than the degrading,
lust-filled
hunger of the
stage-side
gawkers. It was more of an intimate fascination that filled Johnnie’s gaze. And this pretty boy had access to the absolute hottest women in the
Tri-state
area because of his father, so she discerned that for Johnnie, getting into her pants wasn’t the goal, at least not the main one.

If he wanted anything from her, it was obviously an ear to listen. And she didn’t mind that. Actually, she had turned into such a
bottled-up
introvert, she kind of liked his outpouring about some pretty personal things she didn’t ask to know about. She hadn’t realized that she’d ever missed that aspect of a man’s company. And really, she’d never had it before, never knew it was possible. And that she craved it was an even bigger surprise.

Johnnie was a few years younger than her and maybe worlds more innocent, but maybe not. She couldn’t quite tell. But his sweet look and demeanor and his youth made her feel a rush of heat from deep within her core. Unwarranted. Completely against her code. God, was she craving…him?

No.
It was hormones and emotions and stress and loneliness. That was all.

Because she had always been turned off by club guys, whether they were gawkers or staff, or management, especially Eddie. But, Jesus, the strip club king’s own son? Him and his deep blue eyes, framed by thick,
mile-long
lashes that any dancer would die for. There, just staring at her.

Again,
no
! If it ever went there, she’d be stooping as low as Ilana in her ER for Christ’s sake. Lower, in fact. Messing around with her employer in the industry she absolutely detested!

But now he was giving her an out, a real chance. Beyond the heat in her core, it was warming her goddamn heart.
Remember, Jana, this is not why you came here. Far fucking from
it.

Johnnie lightly cleared his throat, gently bringing her back. God, how long had she been in her own world? She blushed as he leaned forward in his desk chair. “I would compensate you well. If this idea works to reinvigorate this club’s revenue stream and jumpstarts the new club in Merrick, well, hell…you’d more than deserve a healthy compensation package, but what do you feel is fair?”

Really? He was asking her? This really was too good to be true. Or was it?

“You look shocked,” he said.

“I’m…yeah, a little taken aback. And…you know, my dad taught me that the one who names their price first always loses.” She smirked.

But he kept his steady stare, silent and patient. And the corners of her mouth turned down because he was obviously going to make her name her price, no doubt.

So think, and do it
fast.

*

She needed forty grand in combination with her credit cards and all, but really, at the end of the day, upward of two hundred thousand, if she were zooming out at the horrid nightmare. But she couldn’t ask him for that much, for what she really needed.

I need
time.

“I, uh, should probably think about it—the salary that is. But the position sounds…like something I could take on,” she said, hiding her enthusiasm as best she could.

Because training, mentoring lost girls, lost like she’d been at eighteen, actually sounded okay, manageable. No, better than that. She could pay it forward…for Charlene.

Charlene’s voice flooded her mind, her dear friend’s firm words on her first night out on stage so many years ago.

Most veterans don’t teach the newbies; they sabotage them. Jana knew she had been damn lucky. Char had saved her life a few times over, well beyond saving her ass on stage her first week. Char had been mother, sister, protector and true friend through to the end of their time at the Newark club before they’d parted ways—Jana to school and the club in the City, and Char to Vegas.

Johnnie’s idea was much more than saving her from peeling down for the money she needed. Much, much more.

“I’m glad you like the idea. I might’ve suggested bartending, or even managing the place for me so I could expedite the new club’s opening on the Island, but the same money wouldn’t be there for you. And, selfishly”—he smirked—“I like the idea of working with you. Near you.” He blushed and looked down at his hands.

She felt flushed herself and somewhat flattered. She changed the subject for both their sakes. “God, I don’t think I could manage this place, anyway. In this business, a man is better at the helm,” she said. She was smart. She knew the double standard all too well. And knowing was half the battle.

He nodded. “In most cases, but if there was a woman who could run this place, it’d be you,” he said in a serious tone.

She appreciated the vote of confidence, but seriously?

“You’ve seen me dance, conquer a pole, sure. But I’ve never had to deal with the crap I know Eddie had to handle, and now you probably get to deal with on a daily.”

Plus, at just over five feet tall, her stature didn’t physically or psychologically lend itself to managing a venue like this. And another negative, she had a temper that could ignite a small propane plant. The club clientele alone could set her off if she had to deal with drunk, horny pricks 24/7, guys trying to push the limits with the girls. She’d get the place sued a few times over. As a nurse in Manhattan, she’d stood her ground during some pretty heavy ER clashes, but that was nothing in comparison to the shit she knew went down in a strip club.

“I saw you push your
seven-inch
spiked heel into the chest of a brute football player when he wouldn’t let go of another girl on stage. You have balls. I’ve seen it firsthand.” His eyebrows lifted as if to punctuate his point.

But his gaze didn’t falter after that.

God, she swore he’d leap across the desk at her there and then, just by the look in his eyes. She grinned through the awkwardness, then he shook his head as if breaking a spell he was under. Her cheeks got hot. She should cut this off. Like, now.

*

Why could nothing be simple?

It is Jana.
So simple. She just had to iron out the details and leave. Get in and get out. She could not, absolutely could not, let a male distraction enter her world right now.

“I really should get back to my father.”
And catch up on sleep…in the hospital room armchair again
. Oh, that armchair. God, the thought of it made her back ache. No, she needed a bed. She’d try the house again, maybe her mother had aired out the place? God, she hoped so, since she’d apparently opened for business.

“Do you want to finish discussing salary another time then?”

Oh shit, right. “No, now is probably best, I don’t have any time to waste.” She pursed her lips, then sighed. “Do you really need me to name my figure? I just—”

“Fifty grand for a
three-month
contract plus a percentage of the increase in gross revenue. How does that sound?”

Fifty grand, clothes on…three months? That was more than the thirty to forty she’d pull stripping in one month. But three months away from her ER? Damn it, three months away from her Trauma Team? Forget about making lead, they wouldn’t hold her current position that long, not a chance. She abhorred the mental picture of Ilana Simon in her place.

But fifty grand, without stripping?

Still no. That wouldn’t cut it. She’d have to sink all her savings into the medical bills along with loading herself up with credit card debt. But with no job to go back to, and who knew how long to land a new ER spot?
Shit!
And she didn’t want a new ER. Hers was the epitome, the premiere! A 4.0 GPA was only a quarter of the crazy she went through to land
that
ER!

Calm. Be calm.
Her brain crunched quickly, but her nerves, the pressure, his stare, none of it helped. Okay, with nursing she got base
eighty-five
grand, a bump from her recent year anniversary. It would be another year before her next raise. But what did that matter? Because she’d…she’d…damn, now she’d lost her place in her head.

Shhhh
.
Start over.
From a different stance this time.

Okay, so Johnnie had calculated before he’d said his number. She knew he had. He was smart, had business savvy, an Ivy League degree, and he was well traveled. Also, he wasn’t the beggar here—she was. So if she stripped
elsewhere
for the
three-month
timeframe that he proposed, she’d earn a hundred and forty grand total, give or take.
One-forty
, three months, naked lap dances, lose ER job.
Fuck shit.
Versus thirty to forty in one month, naked, then
eighty-five
for the year from her ER position that she’d keep, but really, how would she live, eat? Even if she moved from Tribeca to, say, the Bronx, it wouldn’t matter. Plus she’d be drowning in credit card debt while her savings would be sapped.

On the other hand, with one hundred and forty thousand for three months, and a prayer to God in heaven that she could puppeteer her boss, Dr. Nora Lance, to hold her spot so she could seamlessly resume her position at the hospital, on her team, and in her chosen life, she would be golden.
One-forty
, three months. That would get her out of this hell practically unscathed, financially speaking. Well, her savings would still be fucked, maybe credit card limits, too. But if she could keep her clothes on at that number, or close to it, then she’d make it out emotionally and psychologically. She’d be okay. Yeah, she could pull it off.

She shifted her eyes to Johnnie, who had a slight smirk on his mouth as if he liked watching her squirm. He was a flirt and an instigator, and he was forcing her to play his game.

Shit. His fifty to her
one-forty
.
One-forty
was based on stripping—clothes off. She didn’t want to insult him. Okay, think. Fifty, and remember the commission. Maybe he really believed she’d make such a difference in the quality of the dancers and, therefore, the volume coming into the club that she’d rake in the cash with the commission aspect.

But then a separate doubt surfaced. Would she actually create that much of an increase in the club’s revenue stream to make up the gap of what, ninety grand? Even at a five percent commission, she’d have to help bring the club’s revenue up like $1.8 million. She really didn’t know how much a club brought in, but the cover charge was twenty dollars per head, plus drinks and VIP
add-ons
. She figured she only needed…seventy thousand more covers? Seventy thousand more heads in the door in three months?
Jesus
.

Okay, so Johnnie was definitely pushing her against the wall. He was toying with her, and she was in no state right now.

“A hundred and fifty,” she blurted, then covered her mouth, shocked at herself. But then she remembered her own calculations and sat up straighter. She had stripped for nearly eight years, damn it, and
he
didn’t really know how badly she wanted to keep her clothes on. “Instead of consulting for the three months you’re asking for, I could dance somewhere else and I’d make upwards of a hundred and forty. So, I figure—”

“Done.” He smiled, standing up and coming around his desk. “But I’ll throw in a bonus if you prep some of the
higher-end
girls to train more girls at our other clubs. My father will flip. This will be the game changer,” he said, holding out his hand to her. But she could only stare at it.