good to you.
Faith had been one of my brightest stars here. She’d taught herself how to work the pole in mind-blowing ways—scaling to the very top, spinning around, and striking impossible poses that made the audience howl with pleasure and disbelief.
The special thing about Faith, however, was that she hadn’t stopped there, hadn’t been satisfied to be the best. She started teaching her moves to fellow dancers, started taking a few under her wing, showing them what it was to be successful. If she had been interested in staying on here, she would’ve been my first choice for manager. She had everything necessary to be a good one—a desire to succeed, a thirst to learn, and an eagerness to impart wisdom so that others could be successful, too.
Too often, though, love took my best workers away from me.
Faith left the fold to be with the man she loved, and the protégés she trained continued to be my moneymakers, one in particular. I wished Faith could continue working here, but she never belonged. I recognized that from the beginning and understood the desperation that had driven her into my employment.
What I would always be thankful to her for, however, was the trail of successes she left behind, the people she led to great things.
“Last call, Parker. Can I get you anything from the bar?”
I blinked a couple of times, happy to be dragged from my ruminations and back into the frantic but comforting pace of the present. I hated to dwell on things that had already happened, but it was becoming easier and easier to slip into my memories. I hoped that wasn’t a sign that I was getting old.
“Thank you, Sol, but no,” I said, pointing at my practically full cocktail that was sweating beads of condensation on its napkin. “And it’s not your job to keep me soused. Where’s Marnie?”
“I cut her earlier,” Sol said, glancing at a clipboard she’d had tucked beneath her arm. “She wasn’t feeling well, and she didn’t have that many tables open. It was easy to divide them between Claire and Jessica.”
“Fair enough.” It had been a good decision—one Sol would’ve asked me about before making just a few months prior. Instead, she’d taken the initiative to pluck out a weak cog and cobble together a workaround to ensure the machine continued to chug. That was good. It showed me she was gaining confidence.
“Would you like me to do the books tonight and lock up?” she asked, returning the clipboard to under her arm.
“No, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll take care of all that.”
“Are you sure?” Sol eyed me critically. “With respect, you look like you could use some rest.”
“That’s just a lazy way of telling me I look old and shitty,” I said mildly. “And you can’t just tack on ‘with respect’ to anything and think you can get away with it.”
Sol frowned. “Sorry. Jennet told me it was the best way to get away with saying offensive things.”
I wanted to laugh, but I kept my mouth in a straight line. Laughing would give me the wrinkles I was trying to avoid.
“Are you telling me that you’re trusting Jennet on lessons in manners?” I asked, unable to keep one corner of my mouth from turning upward. That probably cost me fifty dollars in expensive serums and creams.
Sol’s frown could now be classified as a scowl, but her smooth skin would resist wrinkles for years. “Good point.”
Jennet had been Faith’s roommate—another bright light Faith had introduced to this club. I’d taken her on as a part-time DJ, and she’d excelled at it, even dealing with a drunk and unruly customer at one point. She’d been another one taken away by love, however, and I’d recently attended her fairy tale wedding.
I wondered why Sol stuck with this. She was happy with Xander, her boyfriend, and he made no qualms about her working here. The club had been where they’d met, after all, and it held a special place in their lives. But would the day arrive when he’d
Faith had been one of my brightest stars here. She’d taught herself how to work the pole in mind-blowing ways—scaling to the very top, spinning around, and striking impossible poses that made the audience howl with pleasure and disbelief.
The special thing about Faith, however, was that she hadn’t stopped there, hadn’t been satisfied to be the best. She started teaching her moves to fellow dancers, started taking a few under her wing, showing them what it was to be successful. If she had been interested in staying on here, she would’ve been my first choice for manager. She had everything necessary to be a good one—a desire to succeed, a thirst to learn, and an eagerness to impart wisdom so that others could be successful, too.
Too often, though, love took my best workers away from me.
Faith left the fold to be with the man she loved, and the protégés she trained continued to be my moneymakers, one in particular. I wished Faith could continue working here, but she never belonged. I recognized that from the beginning and understood the desperation that had driven her into my employment.
What I would always be thankful to her for, however, was the trail of successes she left behind, the people she led to great things.
“Last call, Parker. Can I get you anything from the bar?”
I blinked a couple of times, happy to be dragged from my ruminations and back into the frantic but comforting pace of the present. I hated to dwell on things that had already happened, but it was becoming easier and easier to slip into my memories. I hoped that wasn’t a sign that I was getting old.
“Thank you, Sol, but no,” I said, pointing at my practically full cocktail that was sweating beads of condensation on its napkin. “And it’s not your job to keep me soused. Where’s Marnie?”
“I cut her earlier,” Sol said, glancing at a clipboard she’d had tucked beneath her arm. “She wasn’t feeling well, and she didn’t have that many tables open. It was easy to divide them between Claire and Jessica.”
“Fair enough.” It had been a good decision—one Sol would’ve asked me about before making just a few months prior. Instead, she’d taken the initiative to pluck out a weak cog and cobble together a workaround to ensure the machine continued to chug. That was good. It showed me she was gaining confidence.
“Would you like me to do the books tonight and lock up?” she asked, returning the clipboard to under her arm.
“No, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll take care of all that.”
“Are you sure?” Sol eyed me critically. “With respect, you look like you could use some rest.”
“That’s just a lazy way of telling me I look old and shitty,” I said mildly. “And you can’t just tack on ‘with respect’ to anything and think you can get away with it.”
Sol frowned. “Sorry. Jennet told me it was the best way to get away with saying offensive things.”
I wanted to laugh, but I kept my mouth in a straight line. Laughing would give me the wrinkles I was trying to avoid.
“Are you telling me that you’re trusting Jennet on lessons in manners?” I asked, unable to keep one corner of my mouth from turning upward. That probably cost me fifty dollars in expensive serums and creams.
Sol’s frown could now be classified as a scowl, but her smooth skin would resist wrinkles for years. “Good point.”
Jennet had been Faith’s roommate—another bright light Faith had introduced to this club. I’d taken her on as a part-time DJ, and she’d excelled at it, even dealing with a drunk and unruly customer at one point. She’d been another one taken away by love, however, and I’d recently attended her fairy tale wedding.
I wondered why Sol stuck with this. She was happy with Xander, her boyfriend, and he made no qualms about her working here. The club had been where they’d met, after all, and it held a special place in their lives. But would the day arrive when he’d
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