Page 79 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys

Club Midnight, with its sleek black exterior and mirrored windows, almost looked respectable during the day, like it couldbe an upscale restaurant rather than what it really was. Pushing through the front entrance, which was only allowed when the place was closed to patrons, I found the atmosphere of the club calm, elevator music pulsing softly through the speakers. Didn’t see anyone except for the day bouncer, but it was two hours before my shift. I was meeting some of the other dancers early to strategize for the private party this weekend. How do you impress tech bros? Probably the same way you impress any Alpha. Shake your ass, show your tits, and pretend they can have more than what’s on the public menu.

"Hey, Justin," I greeted the bouncer, pulling my employee ID from my pocket. He knew who I was, but showing identification was required. Vince was such a stickler for protocol.

"Afternoon, Nelly." He towered over me. I liked Justin. He was always respectful, eyes never dipping below my face. "Vince wants to see you in his office. Told me to tell you as soon as you got here."

My stomach tightened. We’d cleared coming in early with him, and I couldn’t think of anything else I’d done that would get me called into the boss’s office. "Did he say why?"

Justin shrugged his boulder-like shoulders. "Just said to send you his way when you got in."

I nodded, forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Thanks for the heads-up."

I finished my coffee as I walked through the lobby and the dropped the empty cup into a black trash can. A laugh called my attention to the bar, where Jade and Crystal were chatting and drinking coke. The sight of them made me smile. Why were these dancers a million times nicer than the ones I used to work with? There was still a competitive spirit, but not so diehard they’d cripple someone for a solo. It had taken me a long time to detox from that environment. Money wasn’t worth clawing for lead roles.

On the way here, I’d made a deposit. Five thousand in cash. That was two weeks’ worth of tips, and the teller hadn’t batted an eye. Not at the cash, not at my glossy black coffin nails, and not at the thick stage makeup. Though if she had, I wouldn’t care. My ability to care about other people’s opinions had started fading around the same time the Imperial Ballet Company kicked me to the curb. Now, my field of fucks was officially barren.

I went to the waxer without blushing, keeping things neat and tidy.

The manicurist got a hundred dollar tip each appointment.

My bathroom was filled with body scrubs, moisturizers, and face masks.

The money I spent to maintain my body was outrageous. But I was the product here. I was selling a fantasy.

A flash of melancholy swept through me. What would my grandparents think if they could see me now? They'd sacrificed so much, making sure I could train at one of the best ballet academies in the country. All those years of hope and dedication, culminating in my brief glory at the Imperial Dance Company. One injury, and every sacrifice lost its meaning.

I debated saying high to Jade, Crystal, but I knew if I didn’t go to Vince now, he’d be a jerk about it later.

“Crystal, I’m here,” I called out. When she looked over and waved, I returned the gesture. “I’ll join you right after talking to Vince,” I repeated, pointing up the stairs that led to the management offices. She nodded.

As I made my way toward the manager's office, my mind raced through possibilities.Had I been found out? Had I violated some rule? Was my schedule being cut? Or, worse, had that entitled Alpha from last week complained?

The memory of his hot whiskey breath against my ear made my skin crawl all over again. His initial offer had been insultingtoo—a hundred dollars because that’s what a Beta was worth. Though, the more I’d refused him, the higher his number went, as if turning him down upped my value. Like I was playing hard to get, and all it took to open my legs was opening his wallet wider.

“Three hundred, but not a cent higher," he slurred, his hand attempting to slide beneath the stiff, sequined fabric of my costume.

I removed his hand firmly. "That's not on the menu, sir."

His face contorted, Alpha pride wounded by ‘Beta’ rejection.

"Do you know who I am?" The classic line of the privileged and powerful.

"Someone who's about to waste their private dance time," I replied, keeping my professional smile in place. It was always a delicate balance, turning these Alphas down. I still wanted his money for the private dance, and I didn’t want him moaning to management.

He fumed silently through the remainder of our time together, his eyes burning holes into me. I kept my movements mechanical, not putting any extra effort into giving the asshole a show, and I prayed for the songs to be over faster. My chest felt tight, my heart heavy, until I finally escaped the stifling closeness of that VIP room.

Now, standing outside Vince's office, I wondered if that refusal was about to cost me my job. The thought made my insides lurch. I put one hand against my stomach, pushing firmly as if that would settle the churned up digestive juices. It wasn’t just my belly rebelling though. My heart beat sluggishly. The wine-hued door in front of me blurred as my eyes lost focus. My thoughts buzzed.

This job was my lifeline, the only thing keeping me from feeling completely useless. Crystal and the others kept my loneliness at bay. I’d grown to love coming into work, anddancing again in a different, unrestrained way. When I thought nothing could revitalize me, this club gave me the hope I’d desperately needed. I couldn’t go back to square one job hunting. Did I have to start the calculations again? I had money in the bank. I wouldn’t be destitute. I could stay afloat for quite a long time now. But the days and weeks and months seem to speed past me, offering little relief, and money only lasts for so long if it’s not replenished.

Before I could spiral further, I told myself to chill the hell out, and I gripped the strap of my bag—filled with my stage outfit for the night, a new deodorant, some wet wipes—tightly for comfort.

I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Come in," called Vince's gravelly voice.

If I was going down, I’d do so with dignity. I’d walk into Vince’s office as if it were just another stage. I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and turned the handle.

And then… then I froze in the doorway.