Athena's POV:
I still remember how hard I fought to get a job at that small club in my old neighborhood. That was where Yannick dumped me, only returning whenever he wanted pleasure. Back then, I knew his schedule by heart. He always showed up on Friday nights after a long day at his company. He usually fought with his father, so he would come to my place to let off steam by yelling at me. Then, he would stay until Saturday evening.
On the other nights, I danced at various clubs. I loved to dance, but more importantly, I needed to start making my own money. My sisters and I couldn't keep depending on him, especially since he always threatened to sell Ortella to the black market—the same place where he had bought me. So, I worked at the club and slowly became popular with the men there. Eventually, Yannick found out what I was doing. He showed up while I was performing, and that day became one of the most traumatizing moments of my life.
But that was in the past. Two years ago, I bought my own spot to open a club, and it has been doing very well. I have about twenty dancers who all depend on the club to survive. However, everything changed because of a man who came in and offered me a thousand dollars to spend the night with him. I slapped it across his face, but that move might have cost me my entire business.
Now, my club is on the verge of being torn down. I've been trying desperately to meet with that man so we can reach an agreement. After going to his office countless times, I finally got an email from his assistant. He told me that the man, Mr. Anderson, is free to meet tonight at a club—but only if I come as his date.
"I will kill him if he touches me," I said for the tenth time as Cyril helped me with my makeup.
"I believe you," she answered. She had to, because that man better not think I'm weak. I'm showing up tonight to have a serious discussion. If I can get a recording of him offering me money for sex, I can use it against him. After all, he is a famous philanthropist who claims to spend his life helping women who have been treated badly.
"All set," Cyril said, finally stepping away from the mirror. I took a look at myself. I had told her not to do too much. I wore a short-sleeved white top that ended just above my belly button, long red trousers, and low heels. I needed to be ready to run if things went south.
A girl has to do what she can to survive this cruel world.
My hair was pulled back in a thick bun with a few curls framing my face. I grabbed my purse and double-checked that my recording device and pepper spray were inside before picking up my car keys. "Thanks... can you please clean up before you leave?" I asked with a small pout. She laughed.
"Of course. I'll make you a meal, too. This club means a lot to all of us, so thank you for doing this," she said seriously. I waved it off. I've told them before—it's my club. They all came to me to work, so I'm responsible for them. No one is losing their job just because some old man threw a tantrum because he couldn't get what his dick into me.
***
I couldn't find a parking spot at Red Velnon. It's a famous club owned by the Jeffery family, who own many entertainment spots across the country. I ended up parking in front of a bakery a few blocks away and walked the rest of the distance. It was a "gentleman's club," so I didn't expect it to be overcrowded. As I walked up, the doorman let his eyes wander over my body before biting his bottom lip. I clenched my fist, feeling a strong urge to punch him.
Why do they always look at me like I'm a piece of meat? I glared at him and didn't say thank you when he held the door open. I walked toward the elevator and pressed the button. The bottom floor was for regular guests, but Mr. Anderson has a platinum membership. His assistant was supposed to be waiting for me at the entrance to the exclusive part of the club.
I stepped into the elevator and pressed the "Platinum" button, leaning back against the wall with cold palms. I tried to tell myself that the man couldn't do anything to me. He's probably in his late fifties and doesn't look like he goes to the gym, so I could take him down if I had to.
Rule number one: no drinks. I wasn't going to take a single sip of anything they offered me, whether the bottle was sealed or not.
The elevator stopped to pick someone else up. As the doors opened, my eyes went wide. The two men standing there looked just as surprised to see me.
Great. I just had to run into Damon Royal and his friend, Smith Jeffery. I should have expected it; the Jefferys own this building, after all.
****
The air in the elevator felt heavy and hard to breathe. It reminded me of when I was five years old, hiding in a small cupboard in our one-room apartment. My mom was with my uncle and didn't want me to watch, and it was too late for me to play outside. I stayed in that dark cupboard and heard her making noise; I cried, thinking he was hurting her. It was only years later that I understood she wasn't in pain at all.
"Miss Athena," Smith said, breaking the icy silence. I kept my eyes on the floor numbers. Please, just let us get there.
"Uhm... hey," I cleared my throat and gave a small smile. Luckily, the elevator was big enough that they could stand at one end while I stayed at the other.
"Are you a member of the platinum club?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. I wanted to lie and say yes so he would stop talking, but he owns the place. He could check, and he probably knows every single member.
"No," I answered shortly. I didn't owe him an explanation. Yannick told me to get close to the Royals, but he also told me not to let Damon touch me. That meant I should make them trust me, but I didn't have to like Damon or even talk to him right now.
"So... why are you going up there?" Smith was persistent. He clearly couldn't take a hint. I finally looked at him, and he just shrugged. "I mean... only members are allowed, so if you're trying to go up without a card, that's bad for my business."
He was good at making it sound like he wasn't just being nosy. Finally, the doors opened. A man in a grey t-shirt and black trousers was waiting there. He looked to be in his thirties.
"Good evening, Mr. Jeffery, Mr. Royal," the man said politely. The two men stayed in the elevator, not stepping out yet. The doors almost closed, so I figured they weren't getting off on this floor. I stepped out, but then they followed me anyway.
"You," the man said to me. I snapped my head toward him and glared. The respectful tone he had used for the other two was completely gone. "Follow me. Mr. Anderson is waiting," he said rudely.
I clenched my fists. I knew Damon and Smith had heard him speak to me that way. I decided not to give them another look and just followed the man. I could feel Damon's eyes staring into my back.
Whatever they thought of me, that was their fucking business. I wasn't going to waste my time explaining myself to anyone.