Only Forever by Cristin Harber

CHAPTER ONE
     
    One Hour Earlier…
     
    Emma
     
    Wednesday night at Emerald’s is always packed. Even as I spin circles in my chair, I know that telling Bruno at the last minute is a bad idea. I could fake sick, and then he would have to let one of the other girls take my time on stage. But when have I not been honest with him? Never. I think back to my birthday card, in which he mentioned business opportunities. That could be a great conversation opener. Actually, the more I think about that, the more I hope he’ll somehow respect my short-notice request.
    I don’t want to dance anymore. My man is home. Maybe he’ll understand that.
    Then again, I don’t know. Bottom dollar is what makes Bruno tick, and me announcing that I quit at the last minute won’t be pretty. I’ll just ask him— no . This is not a request. I don’t have a contract, but a pukey nervousness is churning in my stomach. It’s only a job in an industry with very high turnover. That’s a fact of life. So, quitting is no big deal.
    Right. I’m gonna puke all over my favorite black-velvet robe.
    Ugh. No, I’m not. But I could use some antacid because I’ve talked myself into believing this Bruno convo will be such a big deal that it’s almost ridiculous.
    I take a deep breath and tighten the silk sash over the velvet. The robe reaches high on my neck and dramatically falls to the floor, trailing behind me when I walk on stage as if I’m a queen. It’s dramatic, sultry, and sexy. I’m at my best in this ensemble, enhancing it with long, feathery fake eyelashes, smoky makeup, and hair pinned up high. It’s a look that is so not me but somehow is more me than any other getup I’ve worn here. No crazy makeup, no spectacular wig—it’s just me tonight.
    With my matching black heels that give me another six inches and make my little butt look like a serious booty, I make my way toward Bruno’s office. That’s not his normal hangout at night, but him being there is a sign that I’m supposed to find him to talk business. Rarely does he leave the floor when girls are on stage. When he does go backstage, everyone knows because his Rasta-bodybuilder security team tags along.
    “Hey.” I stop in front of a big guy whom I secretly call Hercules.
    “Hold up, Ginger.” His hand comes out to stop me.
    “Bruno in his office?”
    “He’s busy.”
    My very shakable confidence is fading. I quit. No dancing tonight. I have a boyfriend out of the blue and won’t do this behind his back. Simple enough, but I have to tell Bruno now , or this will become a bigger problem. “Please. I’m short on time, and it’s important.”
    He shakes his head. “Later.”
    Shoot. I square my shoulders back and lift my chin. My game face is on, and I’m ready to talk shop, even if I’m basically in my underwear and holding my favorite hooker heels. “Come on. I need to talk to him.” I give a blink, blink of the feathery eyelashes. The man doesn’t budge. “Please. It’s business.” Business is Bruno’s favorite word. No— money is his favorite word. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. “And it’s time sensitive.”
    His brows bite together, his eyes wary. “Said he had business to talk with you?”
    “Yup. I even got a formal invite for the conversation, so…” I gesture to his hand. “Can I get a pass?”
    He turns sideways and speaks into his mic. “Bruno?” He shakes his head to say there’s no response—which is already obvious.
    “Please,” I mouth. “So important.”
    He studies me then nods. “Reggie, you back with Bruno?”
    He waits, listening and nodding.
    “Ginger says she has an invite.” After a long pause, he nods as if he’s agreeing with something. “Says a formal invite. So?” Seconds tick by. “Alright.”
    He’s handsome, big, and looks like all of the rest of Emerald’s muscle men. We never shared more than a couple of polite words. I wouldn’t call us close friends, but when his eyes land on me, he’s…