Club chairs were scattered throughout the room with round, cherry wood tables in between. Several men were lounging in the chairs, sipping on their drinks, while three girls danced on the platforms. Two more women wandered around the room, talking to the different men before getting refills for them at the bar that was tucked into the front corner of the room. All of the women were in various stages of undress. Only one actually wore nothing but a G-string, her boobs on full display but tastefully decorated with sequins and glitter.

This was definitely not your typical strip club. Everything was high-end, including the clientele—who were mostly in suits, their demeanor screaming big money. If this turned out to be my next job, I owed Reanna a huge thank-you. Pussy Willows couldn’t hold a candle to The Den.

Darnell muttered one last thing under his breath to the woman, and with a hand on my elbow, led me further into the room. I followed behind and asked distractedly, “I thought you said your name was Darnell?”

“It is” was his deep, rumbly reply.

“But she just called you Ghost,” I pointed out the obvious. When he said nothing in return, I lamely asked, “So is that your nickname, then?”

“Yeah.” His response was clipped. It would seem he wasn’t much of a talker. Good to know.

Still rubbernecking to take everything in, I followed Ghost to the back corner of the room to a door that looked like it was part of the wall if you didn’t know it was there. There was no door handle to open it, just a strange sequence of pushing on the wood that granted you access to the other side.

It. Was. So. Cool.

I could definitely get used to this place, I thought as the corners of my mouth turned up into a small grin. I was surprised how at ease I felt since walking through the doors. Ghost was still downright terrifying and there were still a few butterflies in my stomach, but it was nothing compared to how twisted my stomach had felt when I was at Pussy Willows.

Once through the super-secret doorway, Ghost took me down a hallway, this one with dark wood-paneled walls and gleaming hardwood floors. We passed two other hallways that intersected the one we were in. Both looked extremely long, with at least a dozen doors down either side. I idly wondered what they were for. There were just so many of them.

Ghost suddenly stopped at a closed door, causing me to almost slam into his thick, broad back. He ushered me inside and closed the door behind us. The office we were in was similar to Dick the Slime’s, but it was way classier and definitely tidier than Dick’s had been.

A blue crushed velvet sofa rested against one wall and a glass desk with two modern-looking chairs in front of it was along the opposite wall.

Even with the place being so classy, the sofa looked out of place with Ghost sitting on the arm of it, his arms crossed and another hard look on his face.

When I didn’t move or speak—rather just stood there like a world-class idiot—he barked loudly, “Strip already,” causing me to jump.

“Oh. Right,” I mumbled, knowing it would come to this. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that they wouldn’t want to see me naked prior to hiring me. Thank heavens I only had a few small stretch marks from when I carried Sophie.

With shaky fingers, I lowered the zipper on the side of my dress. My hands went up to the straps, pushing them over my shoulders and allowing the material to slide down my body and pool at my feet on the floor.

I felt rather self-conscious standing in front of a complete stranger in nothing but a pair of black lace panties and red heels as his eyes raked over every inch of my exposed body. This wasn’t the hungry stare of a man, though, but rather a more clinical gaze of a doctor. It was just another reason why The Den was so different from Pussy Willows.

“Turn around,” Ghost instructed, and I slowly turned for him to see my backside.

I sure hoped my ass looked cute and tight, not saggy and gross. The thought made me clench my muscles to make the cheeks look firmer.

Not that Ghost had any praises for my body; he just studied it silently.

“You like anal?” I choked back an expletive at his random question and turned to see he had moved to the desk and was looking at some papers, a pen in his hand.

How the hell did a man of his size move so silently? And had I just heard him right?

“Excuse me?” I asked, hoping that I was hallucinating.

“Do you like anal?” Nope, apparently I had heard him perfectly.

“Why the hell would you want to know that?” I demanded in outrage. My earlier thoughts about how tasteful The Den was flew out the window. What the hell kind of sick place was this?

“I’ll take that as a no.” His tone said he thought I had a screw loose. His hands scribbled something on the paper in front of him, and I found myself leaning closer to try and see what it was.

“Condoms?” was his next question, and my eyebrows rose of their own volition as my back straightened.

“Excuse me?” I repeated my earlier question.

“Do you prefer condoms? Some women don’t mind bareback,” he explained like he had this conversation every day.

“I’m not sure I’m following you,” I tried again but with a different tact. This might have been a mundane topic for him, but it surely wasn’t for me. And I still had no idea as to why this was even relevant.

“Girls are tested weekly by the doctor that comes on site. You’re expected to be here every Monday morning, no exceptions. Your schedule for the rest of the week is up to you. Just let Trixie know what timeslots you’re signing up for.”

“Timeslots?” I mumbled as my head spun and I tried to keep up with his changing topics.

What was going on here?

“Trixie’s office is the first door we passed. She’s in charge of everyone’s schedules. See her before you leave and work out the details with her. Every girl is paid on the jobs they take. You only work the barroom when you have no one lined up for your time already. You keep whatever tips the men leave for you. Doesn’t pay as much, but my guess you’ll have enough clients lined up so it shouldn’t matter.”

“Clients?” I asked in a daze.

Why did I have a feeling this wasn’t at all like Pussy Willows? And not just for the obvious reasons.

“Every girl gets put on a two-week probation. Once we start getting feedback on your performance, you can work your way up to the bigger clients. Bigger clients equal more money. Until then, you’ll get people coming in for shit stuff—blowjobs, hand jobs, the fetish shit no one else wants.”

I took several steps back as my mind finally registered everything he was saying. My eyes practically bugged out of my head and I felt lightheaded. Reanna hadn’t set me up with a sweet gig. No, she’d thrown me right into the pits of hell.

Her words, if you’re serious about this kind of life, came back to me. She thought I was at Pussy Willows to sell my body? Jesus. Were all strip clubs brothels in disguise?

“Some of the bouncers will tell you that if you fuck one of them you’ll get around that requirement,” Ghost rolled on as if I wasn’t standing there hyperventilating. “I can safely say that I’m the only one you can fuck and have that happen. And that’s not because I’m a prick. It’s because I have the best taste and the boss knows it. The other boys just want some free snatch. So, you want to spread for me, I’m game. You don’t, that’s your choice.”

The realization that if I wanted to work there, I would be spreading my legs for anyone was a harsh one. It was beyond anything I could fathom that he could so casually talk about fucking me so that I wouldn’t have to service the shit clients.

Ghost finally looked up at me and took in how freaked out I was. Whatever he was about to say died on his lips and his brows furrowed in confusion.