9. Nine

Nine

T he short drive to the club takes place in strained silence. Whenever I glance in Art's direction, he's staring straight ahead with a frown on his face. I'm annoyed that we're already back in a situation where one of us is pissed off so soon.

And what did he think I'd been talking to his mum about?

She had come to his apartment because he'd rung her without realising after going on a bender. Of course we were going to talk about him. We weren't going to discuss the weather, were we? For fucks sake.

The car rumbles to a stop on the cobbles outside the club. The black-and-gold sign is unlit, and the wooden front door is closed. In daylight, without the lights and illuminated sign, the fa?ade looks drab and a million miles away from an alluring strip club.

I can't help but feel a little nervous as I stare out of the window. "Will Tara be here?"

"I've no idea," he says, climbing out of the car.

At least he answered me.

I get out of the car and shut the door. A hand catches mine.

"It doesn't matter if she is."

The tension from his shoulders has disappeared, and I instantly relax. For whatever reason, the frosty atmosphere seems to be thawing.

He keeps a firm grip on my hand as he slides a key into the lock, pushes open the heavy front door, and leads me inside. All the lights are on, and instead of music, I hear voices as we walk down the corridor. As we arrive in the main area of the club, a familiar burly figure – dressed in all black, as usual – heads our way. For the first time since I met Big Steve, he breaks into a grin at the sight of us together. His blue eyes flick from me to Art as the two men greet each other with a handshake.

"So, you two are good?" he asks.

Art squeezes my hand. "We're good."

I can't help feeling the trickle of relief because for a few moments there, I wasn't so sure.

"I'm glad you two worked it out." Big Steve scratches the back of his neck. "I knew you would."

"He's an old romantic at heart; don't be fooled by his gruff exterior." There's a twinkle of amusement in Art's eyes as he looks at me, and then he turns his attention back to Big Steve. "I've brought Sophie here to look around. To get to know the real club."

Big Steve pulls a face. "Yeah, it's not all slick and sexy, I can tell you."

As Art and Big Steve chat about security, I look around the room, and I disengage from Art and wander across to the main stage, marvelling at how vastly different the black stage and steel pole look in the harsh glare of the fluorescent strip lighting. Without all the lighting and music, it looks very unenticing.

A man and a woman are talking over by the front of the stage. My ears prick up as the woman raises her voice slightly. I presume she's a stripper because she's definitely got the body for it. Black faux leather trousers cling to her shapely behind, and a tight white T-shirt pulls taut over her generous breasts. Thick bright-red hair cascades past her shoulders, and she's wearing black pointy-heeled boots, which make her a fraction taller than the guy. Apart from false eyelashes and red lips, she's make-up-free. She's gesturing wildly at the pole and the stage, and she seems to be arguing with him. He's slightly shorter than Art but built like a brick wall, and the faded blue jeans and light-grey T-shirt he's wearing look poured on. His light-blond hair is spiked up on top.

I must have been staring too long because he notices me watching them. He says something to the woman, who sits down on the edge of the stage in a huff and begins scrolling through her mobile.

I avert my eyes for a moment, conscious I'm being nosy, and when I look back, he's heading my way.

A bolt of panic shoots through me. I'm just here to look around; talking to people wasn't part of the deal.

The guy flashes me an ultra-white smile, and his piercing blue eyes sweep over me in a way that makes me feel instantly on edge. I don't like him.

"Hey, are you here for the job?"

I frown, taken aback by the question. "Sorry?"

He nods towards the stage and smirks, but his eyes don't leave my body. "The pole dancing job."

I'm not sure whether to be flattered or not. "Erm … no, I'm not."

His brows lift in surprise, and his eyes finally settle on my face. "Shame. A body like yours could be just what I'm after."

A strong hand lands on my right shoulder, and I'm grateful when I hear a familiar voice to the left of me say, "She's with me. And you're lucky I need you, Jamie; otherwise, I'd knock you the fuck out for a comment like that."

Jamie's eyes swing from Art to me and then back again, and he flashes another smile. "I see. No offence meant."

I'm not sure I believe him.

Art slides his hand down my arm, and his fingers grip mine. I notice Jamie's eyes follow the movement.

"This is Jamie. He's the manager."

He flashes another megawatt smile. "Nice to meet you. So, who's this lovely lady, Art?"

Does this guy ever stop?

"Sophie," I reply stiffly.

"I'm showing her round," says Art, "telling her about the business."

"We're sorting out the show for this weekend." Jamie looks towards the stage. "But we're experiencing a difference of opinion, let's say."

Art tugs at my hand. "Then, we'll leave you to it."

He begins to lead me through the tables that were filled with punters when I last came, and his mobile begins to ring. He pulls it from his pocket.

"It's the hotel." He gives me an apologetic look. "I'll be two minutes."

He disappears off across the other side of the club to take the call, leaving me to hover by the tables close to the front of the stage, feeling totally out of place.

The woman with the red hair glances up from her mobile. "Hi."

I give her a polite smile. "Hi."

She pushes her phone into the front pocket of her trousers. "Are you with Art?" she asks, nodding in his general direction.

Unease takes hold of me; I can't help it. I silently pray the woman's not someone else who's got her eye on him. "Yes, I am."

She pushes herself off the stage and walks over to me. "He's a good guy." She folds her arms across her chest. "Not like that cretin." Bitterness drips from her tone, and for a moment, I'm not sure who she's referring to. Then, I realise her hazel eyes are narrowing at Jamie, who's across the room, talking to Big Steve. "He's a tosser." Then, just like that, the smile's back on her face as she looks at me. "But we don't see Art that often."

Despite Jamie being in conversation with Big Steve, his eyes are on us.

Even from this distance, he creeps me out, and I focus on the woman instead. She seems nice enough.

"So, what's it like, working here?"

She swings her hair over one shoulder. "Okay. Better than it was when I first started. It was owned by different management then. It got a bit rough, and the punters could get a little too excited and handsy, if you know what I mean. As soon as Art took over, he dragged it out of the gutter. It's got a much better reputation now, and it's a nicer place to work. The girls' welfare's paramount. If a guy oversteps the line, they're out."

Everything Art's told me is true. It's just a business to him. He's rarely here.

"So, you've been doing this for a while?"

"A few years. It's easy money. Most of the other girls are in the same boat. Some are working to get a deposit on a house; others have got kids and are just trying to make sure they're fed and clothed. What I make in a couple of nights would've taken me a month to earn in my old temp job."

"Seriously? That much?"

"Seriously. Of course, there are slower nights when it's not as busy, but it's still usually pretty good. You tend to have your regulars."

I hesitate. She's easy to talk to, and I've got a million questions.

"So, you have the same guys who come in, and you …" I try to find the right words but can't. I really don't want to offend her.

She smiles at my awkwardness. "It's okay. Ask away. I've got a thick skin. That's something you develop, working here. Most of the punters are fine, but there's always the odd one who acts like a dick and tries it on."

I frown. "What happens then?"

Her crimson lips widen into a smile. "Big Steve throws them out."

I nod. "So, when guys come in, do they all want the same thing?" I ask because I really have no idea.

"It depends on the guy. Usually, they want a lap dance, but some just want to talk about regular life stuff. Their missus. How their kids are doing or why they're worried they might lose out on a promotion at work. Sometimes, I feel like a therapist." She laughs. "A very underdressed one."

I look up at the stage. "I can't imagine standing up there, in front of everyone."

Her eyes scan me up and down. "Why not? You've got a nice little figure."

"It takes more than that though, doesn't it?"

She smiles. "I'm Red, by the way."

"I'm Sophie." I pause. "I think that you've some balls to do what you do every night."

Red scrunches her nose, as if she doesn't entirely agree. "Yeah, it was weird when I first started. I'd never done anything like this before. And you need amazing core strength for pole dancing; it took a lot of practice to get good at it. My boyfriend hated it to begin with, but like I said, the money's good, and it keeps me fit."

"I'm guessing your boyfriend freaked out."

"At first, but after a while, he came round. He knows I'm safe and it's professionally run."

As I scan the club, the coil of nerves in my stomach begins to ease for the first time since being here. Red's helped settle some of my anxieties. I like her.

"To be honest, I wasn't happy when I found out Art owned a strip club."

Red laughs. "I can sort of understand that. Like I said, we don't see that much of him." She pauses and looks at me, as if thinking about something. "Put it this way: in the three years Art's run the place, I've never heard of him being involved with anyone and definitely never known him to bring a woman here."

Hope fizzes in my chest at her words, but before I get a chance to savour the feeling, my thoughts are interrupted.

"I didn't think I'd be seeing any more of you."

We turn to find Tara standing behind us, dressed in skinny black jeans and a tight cerise-pink tank top. Her kohl-rimmed eyes cut into me, and she puts her hands on her hips. "Not after the way you scarpered on Saturday night."

Last time I ran. But not anymore.

"Tara, that's enough," Red interjects.

I fold my arms. She's not having the last laugh this time. "Let's stop beating around the bush, shall we? You didn't tell me about the club because you wanted me to know the truth; you told me because you hoped it would break me and Art up." I narrow my eyes. "I know you're in love with him."

Tara glares at me.

I carry on, "And isn't it a bit of a coincidence that you started working here after you met him at Savage?"

For a moment, she looks taken aback, and then she snaps out of it. "What the fuck are you trying to say?"

"It's just odd – that's all."

"Yeah, we met at Savage. That's a grown-up club, so you wouldn't understand, Pollyanna," she sneers. "Now, why don't you run along, little girl?"

Bitch.

"Tara, leave it." Art's off the phone and back beside me.

Her demeanour instantly changes as she bats her eyelashes and flicks her long blonde hair over her shoulder. She's like a different bloody woman. "I'm only having a laugh."

"No, you're not; you're trying to stir up trouble."

She flounders for something to say.

"From now on, I'll deal with business through Jamie and Big Steve only."

He's cutting her out.

Her eyes widen in shock, as if he just dealt her a devastating blow. "You what?"

"Do you understand?"

She lowers her eyes and inspects her nails. "Yes."

"Good." He laces his fingers through mine. "This way."

I can't stop the smug smile from creeping across my face as I walk past a crestfallen Tara. He's made his feelings abundantly clear.