"What's your name?" he asks again, frowning.
"Jasmine Burke."
He stares at me, leaving me to squirm under his gaze, before he finally says, "Follow me, Jasmine." He turns before I can respond and I find myself almost running to keep up with his long strides.
We walk down the hallway the girl from earlier had disappeared down and my eyes dart around, trying to take in my surroundings but feeling completely overwhelmed by everything. He comes to a stop at the end of the hallway. Unlocking the door he opens it and steps to the side to allow me in first.
This one has the same color scheme as the main room.
The office has a softer look with tan walls. The couch across from me looks comfortable and my aching feet from the heels I never wear are begging me to sit on it. The room seems to be organized to perfection, except for the desk that has papers strewn all over it. "Please sit down," he says as he stands behind the desk. It surprises me that he doesn't sit down as his tall frame almost towers over me.
I sit down in the black leather chair across from him, clasping my hands in my lap.
"Tell me about yourself." His eyes focus on me and I squirm under his gaze. Although the same brown color as Dylan's, for some reason his seem softer, despite the scrutiny.
I clear my throat. "I'm a really hard worker. I learn things really quickly." I bite back a groan. I sound like an idiot.
"How much do you know about the position?"
I beg my voice to be stronger than I feel inside. I swallow once to wet my throat before explaining that I don't know anything about the job, beyond the very brief description given in the advertisement.
He smiles before pacing behind the desk. "Have you ever been to a strip club before, Jasmine?"
I shake my head.
He chuckles, walking around the desk until he is right next to me, leaning back to sit against the desk, legs crossed at the ankles, eyes on me. "What makes you think that you are qualified for this position then? You seem uncomfortable just being in my office, what will you do when the club is full of dancers and customers?"
I take a breath, trying to calm my nerves. "I'm hard working and extremely efficient. I'm also a quick learner. I need this job and am willing to do whatever you ask of me." Judging by the intrigued look on his face, I may regret that last statement.
"I don't know why, but I may be willing to take a chance on you. The position pays twelve dollars an hour, and the shifts depend on the schedule and what I need done. Rosters are done a week in advance. You will have one day to show me if you can handle this environment. Report here tomorrow morning at nine."
I smile and nod my head. I stand and offer my hand. "Thank you, Mr. . . . I'm sorry, I don't think I got your name."
He walks forward and stops within inches of me, hands by his side. "That's because I didn't give it to you. The name is Cutter." Having him this close to me makes my heart speed up in a way it hasn't before. My breathing picks up just a bit and I hope that it goes unnoticed by him. I can't help but wonder if the reaction is nerves, or something more.
I nod my head and turn to leave, but as I open the door, I face him one more time.
"Thank you."
When I close the door, I breathe a sigh of relief. I finally got a job. Before the deadline. Dylan is going to be so . . .
The realization then hits me that there is no way I can go home and tell Dylan where I am working. As the panic swells inside me and my face flushes red, I decide to tell him I'm working in a busy restaurant that needs someone to organize their files. At least I'll be bringing in money now. Maybe that will give me some reprieve from the nightmare I am living with.
***
I walk up the steps to my house, saying a silent prayer that Dylan is sober and in a good mood. Ever since he lost his job at the hospital, he's been drinking almost every night. Booze and his anger problems don't mix very well, which makes my situation a lot harder.
Dylan and I were high school sweethearts-he was a senior when I was a freshman. Young love, puppy love, blinders, you name it, where Dylan is concerned I have it.
In the beginning, I was young, naïve. I didn't see the signs. Then time went on and I couldn't help but let the words he would say bleed into my very soul. I mean, really, who would want me besides him? I'm not educated. My body isn't ideal. I can barely make edible food, and I can't please him in the bedroom.
The first time he hit me I was stunned. I was ashamed. In the end, it became easier to make up an accident to everyone else than look in the mirror at myself. After time I just began to isolate myself, no one could ask questions if I wasn't around. I mean, if I left, where would that leave Dylan? Where would it leave me? Seven years together and I still can't answer what might happen if there wasn't a Jasmine and Dylan.