The Billionaire's Command
Page 59
That was my breaking point. I couldn’t allow this to continue.
But although I was a man with emotions and damnable pride, I was also a business owner, and disrupting Sasha’s performance would have harmed the club’s reputation. And so I forced myself to remain seated, even while Sasha turned and bent over to display her curvy ass, even while she finished her dance and blew kisses to the audience. And, worst of all, even while she stepped off the stage and picked her way through the gathered men, gathering tips. Hands skimmed across her hips and ass, patted her waist approvingly.
On stage, behind her, one of the club’s employees scooped up the discarded bits of her costume.
A better man, a good man, would have let it roll off his back like water. It was just a job for her, and I knew it. She didn’t desire the clients’ caresses. She let them touch her because she wanted to get paid. It was all very reasonable.
Well, I wasn’t a good man.
I waited until she was finished milking the crowd and the next girl had taken the stage. Then, as Sasha made her way back toward the dressing room, I stood and followed.
I caught up with her just outside the dressing room door. A hand on her arm stopped her cold, and she whirled around, a seductive smile plastered on her face, ready to deal with whatever client had decided, on that particular night, to push the limits of what was acceptable.
How many limits were pushed? How often?
But there was no client. There was only me.
I watched her face change as she realized who had accosted her. The smile faded, and her brows drew together in a familiar expression of confusion and irritation. “Alex?” she asked.
“Miss Sassy Belle,” I said. “I see you’re in fine form tonight.”
Using her stage name was a low blow, and her quick indrawn breath told me I had hit home. Regret filled me immediately, but she only said, “Are you here to see Germaine?”
“No,” I said. “I’m here to see you.”
Having this confrontation in public was a terrible idea, and so I drew her toward the nearest private room. The door was cracked, and after a quick peek inside to make sure the room was unoccupied, I tugged Sasha in after me and closed the door. Then I locked it, for good measure.
“Alex, I’m working,” she said. Her voice was filled with annoyance, and she matched it with folded arms and a scowl. She was nearly naked, wearing nothing but her high heels and her bustle, and it would have been all too easy to succumb to temptation and pretend I had come to the club for business and been overcome with desire when I happened to glimpse her on stage.
Easy, but dishonest, and it wouldn’t get me what I really wanted.
“I know you’re working,” I said. “That’s the problem.”
Her chin dipped slightly. She was confused. “We talked about this,” she said. “I told you I was coming back to work. And I told you I’d be dancing on stage. I haven’t been hiding anything from you.”
“You’re right,” I said. “You haven’t done anything wrong. You could have come back to work and not said anything about it to me, but instead you were very forthright about your intentions, and I appreciate that you don’t attempt to conceal things from me.”
“Okay,” she said, drawing the word out until it was halfway to being a question. “So then what’s the problem?”
“Sasha, I don’t want you working here anymore,” I said. “I can’t deal with it. I watched you dance tonight, and seeing those men touch you—I just can’t tolerate that. I’m sorry. I’ve tried to be enlightened and open-minded and fucking understanding, but I guess the truth is that I’m pretty old-fashioned. I’m possessive. I get jealous. You’re mine, and I don’t want anyone else even looking at you.”
She unfolded her arms, and her hands hung at her sides, open and empty. “Alex,” she said.
“You hate this job,” I said. “Why are you torturing yourself? You’re frugal. You told me you have money saved, and I have a feeling you’ve got a considerable amount stashed away. You don’t need to keep doing this.”
She crossed her arms again, hugging herself tightly, and looked away from me. “I can’t do anything else,” she said. Her voice was steady, tightly controlled.
“That’s not true,” I yelled, all of my frustration exploding out of me. I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. Getting upset would only make her less inclined to listen to me. “Sasha. I realize we haven’t known each other very long, but I think I’m a decent judge of character. My work requires me to be able to assess people quickly and accurately. And you, sweetheart, are far, far more talented and competent than you give yourself credit for. You’ve spent years taking care of your family and making sacrifices for them. But maybe it’s time, now, to start taking care of yourself.”
She brought one hand up to cover her mouth. The other remained tightly clamped across her midsection, like she was trying to hold herself together. She stared at me for a moment, eyes wide, and then she started crying.
I had seen women cry before, of course. Most of them were very dainty about it: they shed a few tears, sniffled a little, and remained lovely throughout. But Sasha, being Sasha, didn’t pussyfoot around. There was no delicacy here. She sobbed harshly, her eyes streaming. Her nose turned red and started dripping. Her mouth, partway covered by her hand, became a raw grimace.
I had never seen anyone look more beautiful.
I took her in my arms and held her while she wept against my shoulder. My shirt would be ruined by her makeup, but I didn’t give a shit. I couldn’t bear to see her so unhappy.
“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” I said, stroking her hair. “I’m sorry I’m such a jerk. You know I can’t help myself.”
“I know,” she sobbed.
I sighed, and waited her out.
At length, she quieted, and wiped her nose against my shirt.
“Sasha,” I said, appalled but trying to hide it. She made a muffled laughing noise, and I looked down at her, suspicious. “You just did that on purpose, didn’t you?”
“You were so horrified!” she said. “Whatever, just buy a new one. I know you can afford it.”
“That isn’t the point,” I said.
“I don’t want to keep working at the club,” she said. “You’re right that I hate it. But I don’t know what else I can do.”
But although I was a man with emotions and damnable pride, I was also a business owner, and disrupting Sasha’s performance would have harmed the club’s reputation. And so I forced myself to remain seated, even while Sasha turned and bent over to display her curvy ass, even while she finished her dance and blew kisses to the audience. And, worst of all, even while she stepped off the stage and picked her way through the gathered men, gathering tips. Hands skimmed across her hips and ass, patted her waist approvingly.
On stage, behind her, one of the club’s employees scooped up the discarded bits of her costume.
A better man, a good man, would have let it roll off his back like water. It was just a job for her, and I knew it. She didn’t desire the clients’ caresses. She let them touch her because she wanted to get paid. It was all very reasonable.
Well, I wasn’t a good man.
I waited until she was finished milking the crowd and the next girl had taken the stage. Then, as Sasha made her way back toward the dressing room, I stood and followed.
I caught up with her just outside the dressing room door. A hand on her arm stopped her cold, and she whirled around, a seductive smile plastered on her face, ready to deal with whatever client had decided, on that particular night, to push the limits of what was acceptable.
How many limits were pushed? How often?
But there was no client. There was only me.
I watched her face change as she realized who had accosted her. The smile faded, and her brows drew together in a familiar expression of confusion and irritation. “Alex?” she asked.
“Miss Sassy Belle,” I said. “I see you’re in fine form tonight.”
Using her stage name was a low blow, and her quick indrawn breath told me I had hit home. Regret filled me immediately, but she only said, “Are you here to see Germaine?”
“No,” I said. “I’m here to see you.”
Having this confrontation in public was a terrible idea, and so I drew her toward the nearest private room. The door was cracked, and after a quick peek inside to make sure the room was unoccupied, I tugged Sasha in after me and closed the door. Then I locked it, for good measure.
“Alex, I’m working,” she said. Her voice was filled with annoyance, and she matched it with folded arms and a scowl. She was nearly naked, wearing nothing but her high heels and her bustle, and it would have been all too easy to succumb to temptation and pretend I had come to the club for business and been overcome with desire when I happened to glimpse her on stage.
Easy, but dishonest, and it wouldn’t get me what I really wanted.
“I know you’re working,” I said. “That’s the problem.”
Her chin dipped slightly. She was confused. “We talked about this,” she said. “I told you I was coming back to work. And I told you I’d be dancing on stage. I haven’t been hiding anything from you.”
“You’re right,” I said. “You haven’t done anything wrong. You could have come back to work and not said anything about it to me, but instead you were very forthright about your intentions, and I appreciate that you don’t attempt to conceal things from me.”
“Okay,” she said, drawing the word out until it was halfway to being a question. “So then what’s the problem?”
“Sasha, I don’t want you working here anymore,” I said. “I can’t deal with it. I watched you dance tonight, and seeing those men touch you—I just can’t tolerate that. I’m sorry. I’ve tried to be enlightened and open-minded and fucking understanding, but I guess the truth is that I’m pretty old-fashioned. I’m possessive. I get jealous. You’re mine, and I don’t want anyone else even looking at you.”
She unfolded her arms, and her hands hung at her sides, open and empty. “Alex,” she said.
“You hate this job,” I said. “Why are you torturing yourself? You’re frugal. You told me you have money saved, and I have a feeling you’ve got a considerable amount stashed away. You don’t need to keep doing this.”
She crossed her arms again, hugging herself tightly, and looked away from me. “I can’t do anything else,” she said. Her voice was steady, tightly controlled.
“That’s not true,” I yelled, all of my frustration exploding out of me. I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. Getting upset would only make her less inclined to listen to me. “Sasha. I realize we haven’t known each other very long, but I think I’m a decent judge of character. My work requires me to be able to assess people quickly and accurately. And you, sweetheart, are far, far more talented and competent than you give yourself credit for. You’ve spent years taking care of your family and making sacrifices for them. But maybe it’s time, now, to start taking care of yourself.”
She brought one hand up to cover her mouth. The other remained tightly clamped across her midsection, like she was trying to hold herself together. She stared at me for a moment, eyes wide, and then she started crying.
I had seen women cry before, of course. Most of them were very dainty about it: they shed a few tears, sniffled a little, and remained lovely throughout. But Sasha, being Sasha, didn’t pussyfoot around. There was no delicacy here. She sobbed harshly, her eyes streaming. Her nose turned red and started dripping. Her mouth, partway covered by her hand, became a raw grimace.
I had never seen anyone look more beautiful.
I took her in my arms and held her while she wept against my shoulder. My shirt would be ruined by her makeup, but I didn’t give a shit. I couldn’t bear to see her so unhappy.
“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” I said, stroking her hair. “I’m sorry I’m such a jerk. You know I can’t help myself.”
“I know,” she sobbed.
I sighed, and waited her out.
At length, she quieted, and wiped her nose against my shirt.
“Sasha,” I said, appalled but trying to hide it. She made a muffled laughing noise, and I looked down at her, suspicious. “You just did that on purpose, didn’t you?”
“You were so horrified!” she said. “Whatever, just buy a new one. I know you can afford it.”
“That isn’t the point,” I said.
“I don’t want to keep working at the club,” she said. “You’re right that I hate it. But I don’t know what else I can do.”
