(Natalie'sPOV)
The neon sign outside the club buzzed like an angry wasp.
As the red lights went on and off in a way that made me wonder if it was about to fall.
I hesitated at the door, rethinking if I should really degrade myself for the money, but before I could second-guess, I was already inside. I clutched the hem of my skirt, biting my lip. My heartbeat was even faster than the music playing in the bar.
This is it. My very first job. First night. Don't screw it up, Natalie.
The air inside the shop was heavy, the stench of cologne, smoke, and cheap alcohol. The club was big and graded. Different floors for different kinds of people.
The boss, Mr. Rocco, was a tall, broad man with a lot of gold chains around his neck; his shirt had too many buttons that were undone. He spotted me almost immediately when I walked in. He smirked like a cat who had just caught a mouse.
"There's my new girl," he called, his voice smooth but laced with mischief. "Come on, sweetheart, apron's waiting. You nervous?"
I was nervous, I tried to force a smile, but it came out rather crooked. "A little," I replied.
"A little?" He laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulders like they were old friends. "Don't worry. Just smile, take the orders, don't mix whiskey with cola unless they ask for it, don't go into any corner where my eyes can't reach, little bird, and if someone gets too handsy, shout my name. Got it?"
I nodded quickly.
"Good girl. Now get to work before my customers start complaining about dying of thirst."
The night had begun.
I later found my way behind the counter, trying to find out which bottle was vodka and which was gin. My hands trembled, and then my first customer arrived. He leaned in and asked for a martini. I froze like a deer in the headlights.
"Uh— right away, sir," I said, pouring with both hands like the bottle weighed a ton.
The man chuckled while watching me struggle. "You're new, huh?" he asked, a smirk tugging his lips.
I nodded quickly; my cheeks were already turning crimson.
"Cute," he said, "don't worry, doll, you'll get the hang of it." He winked, the kind that made my stomach twist. "Name's Tony, what's yours?" he asked, smirking again. The kind of smirk that literally meant let's exchange contacts or meet me at my house.
"Natalie," I replied.
"Well, Natalie, I think you just made this shithole ten times prettier, don't you think?" he said.
My face burned. All he had to do was buy the drink and leave; no need for all the stupid questions. I started regretting why I told him my real name. I muttered a shy "thank you" and slid him the drink.
Just when I thought it all ended there, it didn't.
"You blushing again? Adorable."
"Careful, sweetheart, you'll drown us with all that innocence."
"Hey, why don't you sit with me when you're done working, hm?"
My hands shook as I tried to keep up with the orders. I accidentally spilled soda on the counter, fumbled with coins, and dropped a glass that shattered across the floor. The only thing they could do was laugh. Some laughed at me like they were mocking me, some like they were trying to get under my skin. I almost prayed they choked on their drink.
I couldn't take it anymore. My heart began to pound in my ears.
I can't do this. I'm messing everything up.
When I finally thought I was getting the hang of things, then came the worst. It was a tall man with slicked black hair, and if I should say, too much aftershave, he reached out and brushed his fingers along my wrist when I was handing him his order.
"You're too sweet for a place like this," he said with a sly grin. "What's a girl like you doing here? Looking for someone to take care of you?"
My breath caught, I literally froze, eyes wide. I didn't know if I would yank my hands away or smile it off.
Before I could answer, Mr. Rocoo's voice boomed across the bar.
"Hey! Hands off the merchandise."
The man laughed, holding up his hands. "Relax, Rocco. We're just talking."
"Talk with your mouth, not your hands," Rocco shot back, swaggering over. He clapped Natalie on the shoulder. "She's new. Don't scare her off before she learns the ropes. She'll serve you soon enough; let her gain experience first!
The man backed away, smirking. Natalie exhaled, shoulders sagging.
"Thanks," she whispered.
Rocco smirked down at me. "Don't thank me, doll. Just toughen up. This is a bar, not Sunday school. If you can't handle a little flirting and some teasing, you won't last a week."
I bit my lip and nodded. "I'll try."
"That's the spirit. Now hurry up, table four's been waiting."
And so it went on. Natalie stumbled, blushed, apologized, laughed nervously, and kept trying. Every man seemed to want her attention — some playful, some persistent. Each time she felt cornered, Rocco would step in, not with heroic fury but with the lazy confidence of a man who knew the place belonged to him.
By midnight, her hair was sticking to her forehead, her throat was dry from talking, and her apron was stained with beer. But when a group of college kids cheered for her after she finally poured a perfect round of shots, she felt something strange: pride.
Maybe she could do this.
Maybe.
****
Adam stood in the marble hallway of the mansion, his phone pressed against his ear. His expression was carved from stone. His tone was sharp and professional, the type of no-nonsense, because when the Boss asked for something, you didn't waste words.
Meanwhile, across town, Rocco's phone buzzed where it rested against the counter. He looked up from his ledger and the pretty girl behind the bar. Natalie had just finished rubbing down a glass, her cheeks still rosy from all the attention she had gotten on her first night.
"Sorry, dove," Rocco muttered. He flashed her a crooked grin after checking his screen. "I gotta handle some business."
"No problem, sir." Natalie blinked, shaking her head quickly.
"Don't worry. I already sent your tip and your opening pay slip to the back. Consider it a little thank-you for surviving the sharks tonight." He waved her off with a half-smirk.
Her smile widened at that, a little shy but grateful. Rocco didn't give her more than that before stepping aside to take the call.
ON CALL:
Rocco: Adam.
Adam: Rocco. The Boss wants the VIP lounge tonight. Tell me it's free.
Rocco: Adam… you know the lounge doesn't come cheap. We're talking premium rates here.
Adam (cold laugh): Money is never a problem for him. Just clear it.
There was a pause, and after that, there was a sigh of a man who knew better than to argue.
Rocco: Yeah, it's free. I'll reserve it right now.
Adam: (lowering his voice into something darker): And another thing. Arrange four girls. Not the sloppy kind — the best you've got. The Boss is going all out tonight.
Rocco: (chuckling and already scribbling names): Say no more. I'll line them up. By the time he walks in, everything will be perfect.
Adam: Good. Don't screw this up, you know how he treats people when they don't follow his instructions?
Rocco: Of course I do, I'll make the arrangements and of course.... the girls.
The call clicked off. Adam slipped the phone back into his pocket, his face unreadable, though his thoughts turned heavy. More like a hunt than a night of fun.
He stepped into the dimly lit study where Victor lounged like a king, cigarette smoke curling lazily through the air.
"It's done," Adam said, voice respectful and steady. "VIP lounge is yours. Four girls waiting."
Victor smirked, eyes glinting like a predator catching the scent of blood. "Four? Hm. Good. Tonight I feel generous."