Page 4 of New Nebraska Heat

“No. Don’t be offended.” She chuckled and the nervous look faded.

“How’d it go at Midas this morning?”

A long sigh escaped her lips. “Well…”

I scooted closer in my bar stool, the steel legs scraping against the varnished oak floor. “Bryce was nice to you, right?” He damn well better have been or I’d be having words with him. And soon, considering his surprising text message, saying he’d be visiting the club tomorrow night for a long overdue catch up.

She looked up, a shocked expression on her face. “You knew the interview would be with Bryce Harding?”

“I suspected. He’s a workaholic and takes anything related to the image of his companies pretty serious.”

She bit her lip. “You didn’t… tell him I work here, did you?”

I gulped down a bit of my own nervousness—another strange feeling for me—worried where this was going. “Serenity, he sold me this club. He knows I have no social life. That I keep to myself and basically live here.” I motioned down to what was left of my burger and the book about Stoic philosophy by my plate. “I did tell him you’d worked here a few months, but he would’ve guessed we had some connection from the club anyway. Does it matter?”

She swallowed hard and her eyes glazed. “I don’t think he approved of something about me. He was looking at me strangely the whole time. Maybe cause I work here? There’s no way I’m getting the job. It’s okay though. I’m really grateful you got me the chance.”

“Hmm. Bryce might be loaded but he’s no prude. Far from it. That shouldn’t have mattered.”

“Well, it could be he’s not wanting his businesses associated with human girls who have—” she broke off and rubbed at her neck.

I wanted to reach out for her hand, to reassure her, but I had a debilitating fear she’d pull away. She had an aversion to brushing elbows with Vance, and I found I didn’t really want to know if that apparent phobia of touch or proximity applied to me, too. Didn’t think I could handle it. I could literally punch through a car windshield if the situation called for it, but with her, at times, I was like some bashful teenager.

I silently scolded myself and tried to ease her current fear. “He’s not judgmental like that either. He’s a good guy. Honestly, just wait a few days, I’m sure you’ll get an update.”

“But I wanted to ask you something else,” she blurted.

“Please do.” She was the one person I wanted to give anything to if it was within my power.

“You’ll probably say no.” She rung the rag in her hands. A few cloudy droplets dripped from its dirty fibers and she stooped quickly to wipe the floor before standing back up.

This girl.

I tutted softly, smiling. “Never mind a few spots on the floor.Come on, how can I say no, if you don’t ask?” My tone was bordering on tease. Not that I’d ever have done it with malicious intent. Never to her.

“I was wondering”—she paused, stopping her fidgeting and gulping deeply, her words taking on a light tremble—“if you might… let me do some dancing, up on stage?”

What the fuck!? Serenity, up on stage, in front of the leering crowd? I lost control inside for a moment and my jaguar slipped through the mental cage I confined him in, letting out an ear-piercing roar. God dammit. I corralled him back in, barely managing to stifle his disapproval from spilling out between my lips. But his message had been clear. He hated the idea of her dancing for other men as much as I did.

But she never asked me for anything…

“Uh…”

“Please, Hunter.”

My name in her mouth sounded like myriads of cherubs all singing in sweet symphony. How could I resist now? “You do realize there’ll be vamps every night.” I softened my tone even further. “You don’t see the crowds much, but there’s a good mix.”

“I’ll dance for vamps.” The reluctance in her tone was clear, but her words didn’t waver. “I’m up there and they’re down here.” She motioned over to the closest elevated stage and seating area. “The dancers must make a lot more than me, right?”

“They do. Quite a bit. But it can depend on their looks and routine, and just, you know, factors.” I fiddled with the label on my beer bottle, sighing inside.

“I get it. I’m too thin still and I’ll need to cover my… well, I’ll need to use some makeup. But I promise you, I can dance.”

“I believe you.” I forced a smile. “And don’t worry, you look great.” In fact, some paranormals—not just the men—wouldn’t care what she looked like, they’d just get off on the fact she was human. “But you won’t take a bit of extra pay if I just let you keep the dishwasher and cleanup job?”

“No. That would feel too much like charity. And besides, I want to earn even more. Like the dancers do.”

“Okay.” I could barely get the words out, hesitation battering at my mouth and brain. “If you’re sure. And only if you still feel this way tomorrow, you can do a shift early in the night and see how it goes.”