The gig was most likely illegal: Drugs, black-market goods, or some kind of secret political revolution. I didn’t ask questions. Occasionally, the extra money was the only thing that kept the lights on. “T’m sorry, Miss .. .” He waited for a last name. I gave him my first. “Emilia.” “Pm sorry, Miss Emilia, but this is a private club. The only way you’re getting inside is if you’re a guest of a member.” His gaze settled on a spaghetti stain on my T-shirt. “Considering the unlikelihood of that ever happening, do us both a favor and leave.” I inhaled a deep breath for patience. Although, patience was a virtue, and I’d lost most of those years ago. “Listen, Alfred. I worked a double shift today, and then I walked twelve blocks to get here. I’m tired. I’m so tired I’m considering curling up on your nice floor, shedding a few tears, and making a big scene. See this envelope?” I waved it in his face. “I don’t get paid unless I personally put it in the recipient’s hand. Now are you going to let me do that, or do I need to make a scene?” Alfred stared at me for a long second before he picked up his phone and said, “Security.” Ugh. I shouldn’t have touched his stupid desk. I could sit outside and chance getting struck by lightning until Mr. Brown exited. Although, soaking wet in a chauvinistic strip club, it was clear I’d already gambled with luck tonight and lost. Not to mention, my bed was calling my name, and I needed the two hundred dollars this job would bring in—plus, hopefully, a decent tip. I glanced from the envelope in my hand to the black curtain concealing the room beyond. Alfred’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare—” Pushing the curtain aside, I waltzed in. The sensual smell of perfumed skin, illegal blowjobs, and cigar smoke hit me in the face. The lighting sat at a low romantic glow, and the booths were red, occupied by a few men in expensive suits sipping even more expensive liquor. A couple of women in lingerie served drinks, while a naked brunette danced on a pole in the center of the room. While this club was the furthest thing from the one I remembered as a child, the carnal atmosphere still coated my skin with slimy déja vu.