“I’m not saying that you shouldn’t deduct the appropriate amounts from my pay,” Chantelle explained hastily. “I just don’t want to appear on your books.”
Chantelle held her breath as she waited for him to make a decision. Finally he smiled and said, “Alright. You told me on the phone that you’re twenty-two. You look younger, but call me an old fool, I’ll take your word for it. I know what it’s like to have life kick you in the teeth, so I’m willing to give you a chance. I’ve been looking for a dancer to bring a little sophistication to the club. I think you could be that girl, but let me down, girl, and I’ll fire you on the spot!”
“I promise to do my best.” Chantelle crossed her fingers and breathed a sigh of relief. She was hired! All she needed to do now is find the courage to ask him for the biggest favor of all. But, that could wait until her first night on the job.
“Okay.” The man’s stern expression softened and he smiled.
“Thanks, Mr. Armstrong.” Jumping up, she offered her hand to her new employer. “I must hurry back.”
Rushing out of the building, Chantelle headed to her battered Ford Escort. All in all things had gone well. She had spent less time than she’d thought she would and might be able to quickly finish her cheese sandwich before her lecture started.
Gunning the engine, she quickly reversed out of the club’s parking space. She then slipped a pair of prescription glasses onto the bridge of her nose and glanced at her reflection in the rear view mirror. She smiled as she pulled off the wig and shook her shoulder-length Sisterlocks free. Now all she needed to do was find somewhere convenient to pull over and take off the fake number plates that were neatly covering hers.
Chapter Two
“Armstrong’s got the best bloody dancers in London. You’ll have a great time!”
Property developer Dominic O’Brien gritted his teeth and tried to follow Russell Clark’s inane conversation as they traveled through Shoreditch in the man’s Hummer limousine. He was beginning to understand why the Mafia reputedly eliminated unwanted competition and annoyances. Russell, a rival property developer but on a much smaller scale, had deliberately bought a building he knew Dominic wanted and now the obnoxious older man was trying to jerk him around because he had the upper hand. Dominic already owned nine of the ten adjoining properties on the block, but without Russell’s he couldn’t tear them all down and build the multi-million pound luxury homes he planned to. Russell had bought the property out of spite, at the last possible moment offering the owner ten thousand pounds above the price she had agreed with Dominic. Had the woman asked, Dominic would have raised his offer, but by the time he had gotten wind of the situation the sale had gone through. Russell had stubbornly held on to the property for the last three months.
When they had met earlier in the day the man had suggested Dominic join him on a visit to a strip club to see a magnificent black dancer. Dominic had immediately refused. He could pretty much get any woman he wanted—black, white or other—and if he wanted a woman to strip for him, he could afford to pay one to come to his home and do so privately. But then Russell had upped the ante by promising to give him a final decision on the property, if he came to the club.
“I’m not here to enjoy myself,” he reminded the man curtly. “We do this deal tonight or this is over.”
If at the end of the evening Russell didn’t accept his more than generous offer, he would sell the nine properties he owned at a minimum 50% profit as less than a week ago there had been an announcement of a major shopping centre to be built within a twenty-minute walk from the properties—close enough for convenience, but distant enough to not detract from the purely residential theme he planned to implement. His PA had already had taken calls from several other property developers interested in buying if he decided to sell. It would be a blow as he had a gut feeling the properties would more than quadruple their value within a year. But you win some, you lose some—he would use the money to invest in another up-an-coming part of the capital, if needs be.
This was Russell’s last chance before he cut his losses and moved on.
The members-only club was classier than Dominic had expected. A huge black bouncer shook Russell’s hand and patted him familiarly on the shoulder, before a smiling, scantily-dressed young woman ushered them to a table for two right in front of the stage, once she’d confirmed that they weren’t part of a larger party.
Dominic seated himself in one of the two comfortable leather seats and looked around the large, softly-lit interior. A woman, who looked to be in her mid thirties, performed on the stage, her daring routine twice making Dominic hold his breath, fearing that she would fall on her head and break her neck.
Thankfully, she finished her routine safely and another soon took her place. Dominic tried to look interested, but he was miles away, already thinking ahead to his next possible investment if this one fell through. Russell had so far not given any indication as to whether or not he’d decided to sell on their way to the club, so Dominic hoped for the best but was mentally prepared for the worst. Even if he had to resell the properties, he was looking at a potential profit in the region of two and a quarter million pounds.
He would sell them to any developer other than Russell, though.
“This is the woman I wanted you to see.” Russell’s eager voice penetrated Dominic’s thoughts. He blinked and focused on the woman on the stage.
His breath caught as he watched her start to move. She was magnificent. Short, straight hair framed her beautiful, oval face and large, dark eyes gazed coolly out at the crowd. Her smooth, dark skin glistened as she moved effortlessly in four-inch heels which added to her already taller-than-average height and made her long legs look endless.
All Dominic could think of was having those legs wrapped around his waist.
Unlike the other dancers, she didn’t jump up onto the pole, but occasionally used it as a prop. It somehow gave her act a sophistication he wouldn’t have expected in a strip club.
He had seen Grace Jones perform the song live during her Hurricane Tour 2009 at Paradiso, Amsterdam while he was there on business and had admired her incredible athleticism for a woman of sixty. Grace had engaged her fans, enticing them with her sexy moves; this dancer moved like the music originated from inside her body and yet she was coolly aloof, alluring and strangely innocent all at the same time.
It was the most erotic thing Dominic had ever seen in his life. He was certain that every man in the room was aroused to some degree. He was definitely sporting wood. He needed to get some action soon—with one thing or another, it was over a month since he’d last had any.
The dancer turned and all the men in the room groaned at the sight of her apple-shaped bumper which looked as though it could just about park a long, black limousine. When she bent over, Dominic tore his eyes away from her delectable bottom and sought her gaze.
Their eyes connected as she smacked the rounded left cheek of her behind and Dominic almost came.
He grimaced and shifted in his chair, trying to find some comfort within the confines of his trousers for his sudden, rampant erection.
***
Chantelle let her eyes roam over the men in the club, praying as usual that no one from the university was among them. She wasn’t worried about fellow students—it was unlikely that any of them could afford the pricey membership fee, but lecturers with their greater disposable incomes were a definite threat. Heaven help her if Professor Baines walked in and saw her on stage! He had unashamedly hit on her since her freshman year and wouldn’t be above resorting to a little blackmail if he had anything he could hold over her head. What she was doing wasn’t illegal, but if word got back to the university it could well put paid to the First Class Honors she was hoping to achieve on graduation less than six months away.
Initially she hadn’t been concerned, assuming that most of the club’s members would be leery, older men who liked to gawk at naked young women. Once she’d begun working, she’d realized how upscale the clientele was—actors, footballers and even members of parliament. She’d almost quit on her first night when she’d realized how wrong her assumption had been, but by then it had been too late—she’d already quit her supermarket job.
She needn’t have worried, though. Except for one drunken footballer cursing and demanding if they knew who the hell he was as Colin and two bouncers assisted him out of the club when Chantelle refused him a lap dance, she hadn’t been bothered by anyone in the nine weeks she’d been working at the club.
Bending over, she slapped her behind gently—she’d learned the hard way that it stung like a bee when she had done it too enthusiastically on her first night—and had a good look at the crowd through her parted legs.
Usually the men were too busy looking at her behind to make eye contact. Tonight was no different. Except for the tall, powerfully-built man seated at the table closest to the stage.