Read Online Beautiful Failure by Mariah Cole - Free Book Online Page B

“I’m sure you know what type of business this is, so I’ll spare you the introductory bullshit and get straight to the point: If I choose to hire you after your audition, I expect you to give a hundred and ten percent every day. I don’t care why you’re here and I don’t give a damn about whatever sob story you may tell years down the line. This is a business , and my clients want to see women who actually enjoy what they’re doing. If you’re the type that’s going to cry every night because you’re ashamed to dance, get the fuck out of my office right now.”
    I don’t move. I sit still and watch him light his cigar.
    “There are several rules you’ll need to learn, but we’ll get to those in a minute. Do you have any questions for me?”
    “Why is the club hidden?”
    “ Hidden ?” He furrows his brow. “I believe secluded is the word you’re looking for, because people do know that the club exists. We moved last year and simply changed the name.”
    “Why?”
    “How inquisitive. We needed more space, and we wanted to step things up a notch.” He puffs a wisp of smoke across the air. He’s being incredibly vague and for once in my life I actually want the details.
    As if he can pick up on my hesitance, he leans forward. “You can walk out of this room at any time. The last thing I need is a woman who is unsure of herself. Insecurities aren’t welcome at The Phoenix. Ever .”
    “I’m not going anywhere.”
    “I see that. Do you have any more questions before we start the official part of the interview?”
    I shake my head.
    “Okay.” He leans back and sets his cigar down, letting the smoke unfurl in slow spirals. “Show me your tits.”
    “ What ?”
    “Show. Me. Your .Tits.”
    I’m blushing right red. I can feel it. “Now?”
    “Yes. Now .” He looks at my chest. “You think I’m going to let you hit the stage or dance for my clients without knowing if you have something worth seeing? Take your shirt off.”
    I swallow and move my hands to unbutton my blouse. Once I reach the last button, I slip my hand around my back and unsnap my bra, letting my C-cup breasts fall free. I shift in my seat and stare into his eyes, realizing that he’s looking at me as if he’s incapable of turning away.
    “Get up and stand by the bookshelf,” he commands.
    I do as he says and keep my eyes locked on his.
    “Your pants...” His voice is hoarse. “Take those off.”
    I unbutton my jeans, aware that he’s watching every single movement I make. I take my time unzipping my fly, and push the pants to the floor. I’m now wearing nothing but a heart necklace and a lacy black thong.
    He stands up and walks over to me, circling me slowly. He sighs and gently touches me, trailing his fingers against the tattoo that’s etched onto my left shoulder.
    “You’ll have to cover that up,” he whispers, and then he rubs the other tattoo that’s on the back of my neck. “This one too...”
    I nod and he runs his fingers through my hair from behind.
    “I don’t hire nervous girls, Emerald ...”
    I stiffen. I never told him my name. I’m about to turn around and ask him how he knows it, but he wraps an arm around my waist and holds me still.
    “We ran your plates the second you pulled into the parking lot.” One of his hands is still in my hair. “Nothing that happens here is mentioned outside of these walls. Understand?”
    I nod, but he spins me around.
    “I need you to say it.”
    “I understand.”
    “Good. Put your clothes back on.” He clears his throat and watches me again.
    When I’ve re-buttoned my shirt, he tilts my chin up and looks into my eyes. “Do you know how to dance?”
    “Yes.” I lie.
    “In six inch stilettos?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good. You get two weeks to shadow your future coworkers and train and then you’ll audition. After that you’re on your own. The first three rules are simple. Rule number one: Don’t fuck the customers. Rule number two: Don’t fuck the