Pay For Play - Victoria Ashley
WHAT THE HELL IS THIS crap . . . I hold the packet up as I flip through the crisp white pages one last time, trying to wrap my head around everything that this process entails. Was the person who created this application completely drunk and out of their mind? Seriously; I want to know.
All this just for a job at Club Royal. This was not what I was expecting when I walked through those overly expensive gold and pearl doors a few hours ago seeking information. I know it’s an exclusive club, but this is just beyond crazy. The club has a street named just for it. Of course they’re going to expect too much.
Sitting back in my chair, I let out a tired laugh and shake my head, trying to make sure that I’m seeing correctly.
One year contract.
Exclusive to Club Royal.
On call every weekend.
No drinking during shift.
No dating any other employees of Royal Inc.
Boyfriend/girlfriend not allowed at club during shift.
Keep the drama at home.
Performance evaluation done by management once a month.
That’s not even all the rules. This is only from the first page. There’s at least two more pages of regulations left to go and six pages of who knows what.
I jump in my seat when my roommate slams the front door closed and starts yelling. “Go away, asshole!”
Remi turns back to the door when her “friend” Taylor drunkenly mumbles something from the other side. “Just go home and go to bed, Taylor. You’re getting on my damn nerves tonight.”
She walks away from the door, plops down on the couch and turns on the TV as if she wasn’t just making a scene at the door a few seconds ago. “What’s for dinner?” She leans over the back of the couch to look at me. “I’m starving and I’ve wasted my last bit of energy arguing with that jerkoff.”
Holding up the papers, I roll my eyes and toss them to her. “I haven’t had a chance to eat. I’ve been looking for a side job to give me a break from the monotonous computer work I do.” I walk over to the couch and hover over her shoulder. “I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this stupid application for Club Royal. Is the owner nuts or what?”
I close my eyes and try to get an image of what the owner must look like as Remi fingers through all of the information.
“I’m guessing the owner is some short, bald man with a tiny penis. I wouldn’t be surprised if his belly hangs over his belt and he has overly small feet, yet he wants his employees to be top notch,” I mutter. “I’m not sure a second job is worth all that, Remi. I’ll just stick to webpage design for now.”
“Good choice.” She tosses the packet down onto the coffee table in front of her, before giving me an odd look and watching me walk back over my desk to take a seat.
“What?” I tiredly blow my hair out of my face. I’ve spent the last ten damn hours behind this computer and I can barely stand to look at it for another second. “Are you going to tell me how I look like shit again, because trust me, I know. No need to hear it from you. I’m exhausted and my eyes hurt like hell.”
She smiles, flashing me her perfect pearly whites. “I was just thinking . . .” Her eyebrows raise, concerning me. It’s never good when she thinks. “You’re in front of that screen all day, like you said, and I feel like you need a damn good reason to love that computer again so you won’t need a break. You need to want to make love to it, baby.”
“Should I be scared?” I ask.
“Not if you like beautiful dicks.”
I was just taking a drink of my water, while finishing up a new design and her words cause me to spit all over the screen and everything around it.
“Does that mean you don’t like beautiful dicks . . . or that you do?” I watch her as she stands up and walks to the kitchen. “There’s this website called Alphachat.” She pulls out two glasses of wine and taps one of the stools, for me to take a seat next to her. “And oh my god, I swear with everything in me that the top Alpha of that shit has the prettiest dick I’ve ever laid eyes on. What I wouldn’t give to run my