Big Brother Billionaire (Part Three) by Lexie Ray

Chapter 1
     
    Things were fine—great, even—for whole weeks. I continued dancing at the club, using much of the money I earned on improvements to my apartment that Ron continued to suggest. We made love often and fervently, focusing on the fact that we didn’t want to lose each other into that strange darkness again.
    During the day, we tooled around Miami on Ron’s bike, took walks, or went to the beach. At night, he accompanied me to the club.
    “I love watching you dance,” he said, as I packed up my oversized purse for the night, getting ready to depart the apartment. The purse was more like a gym bag—or a weekender, rather—full of makeup, costumes, and a change of clothes, just in case.
    “Are you sure it’s not weird?” I asked, wriggling my nose. “Everyone’s watching me—all the other customers, I mean. That’s just my job.”
    “Are you dancing for them?” His voice was quiet, contemplative.
    “No,” I said, hesitating over picking stilettos with laces that went all the way up my thighs versus knee-high, shiny pleather boots. I could keep my costumes in my locker at the club, but I wanted to ensure everything got cleaned and maintained regularly. “I dance for myself. Always have. It wasn’t ever for attention. It was for the money.”
    “If I asked you to stop dancing, would you stop?”
    I turned around in the closet and looked at Ron. He seemed pensive, resting his chin on a fist as he sat on the bed, picking at his leather loafers. His long hair was down tonight, giving him a wild look.
    “Why would you ask me to stop dancing?” Maybe I hadn’t been proud of my craft in the beginning and desperation had been a small part of my decision to start, but I felt like I was doing really well for myself. I was a popular dancer. Some customers came to see me and me alone; I had regulars. And what would I do if I gave it up? What was I qualified to do? I’d never made it very far supporting myself in retail or the food industry. In my desperation to try to stay afloat, I’d somehow found my niche. I felt like I belonged in that club.
    “Maybe I feel a little jealous,” Ron said, shrugging. “I mean, those men get to see about as much of you as I do. I can’t help but be a little bit possessive. I mean, you’re my girlfriend.”
    “There’s nothing to be possessive about,” I said. “It’s my job to make the customers think I’m sexy so they’ll give me their money. I don’t do it because I want to flirt with them. It’s a job, like any other. It gives me the means to survive.”
    “But you could do something else,” he argued. “You could do anything you wanted if you just put your mind to it, Parker. Why sex? Why dancing?”
    “I don’t sell sex,” I said, wrinkling my nose. There were plenty of dancers who did, but I was trying to keep myself above that fray.
    “You sell your sexual image,” he said, throwing his hands up in the air. “And I frankly don’t like it. I don’t like assholes ogling your tits when you’re up there. Those are my tits.”
    The skin between Ron’s blue eyes was slowly creasing again, and I thought back to that night on the couch, the way my wrists had ached. I chose my words carefully—or at least I thought I did.
    “If I didn’t work at the club, I wouldn’t have the money to afford all the nice things I have in this apartment,” I said. “You like all the new stuff, right? I love it, and I’m glad I have the money to buy it. But without the club, I wouldn’t. I tried to work other places, Ron, and flipping burgers doesn’t afford this kind of lifestyle.”
    “There has to be something other than dancing,” he said, pushing himself up and pacing around. “I mean, how could I even tell my friends what you do and be able to be proud of it?”
    That stung. He wasn’t proud of me? He wasn’t proud of the money I made to make our lives better and our home a more beautiful place? He wouldn’t tell people what I did for a living