“No one asked for your snarky opinion.” He blows smoke in my face.
Dick.
Divan walks in with me and follows as I make my way to Daniel’s office. “Do I need a personal escort?”
“No, I just wanted to tell you that everything is cool. Last night made me understand some things. Like why you bugged when Shayne touched you.”
“Yeah, well jail does fucked-up things to people.”
“I know that’s true.” Divan grabs my arm before I walk into Daniel’s office. “Just try to remember you’re not inside anymore. And even felons deserve to be happy.”
I stare at him. Last night is still a little fuzzy. I don’t remember how much I told Divan and Lorenzo, but judging by his tone and grip on my arm, I suspect I revealed way more skeletons than I would have sober.
I knock, then poke my head in Daniel’s office. He’s sitting behind his desk with his feet up, looking through some paperwork. He’s wearing that stupid cowboy hat and a pair of outlandish snakeskin cowboy boots.
“Take a seat, kid.”
I walk in and plop myself in the leather chair opposite him. I’m ready for a lecture of some kind. Something along the lines of how I royally screwed up last night. How I hesitated. Or didn’t do the right kind of moves. I’m prepared for whatever he’s going to throw my way. I didn’t want to do it in the first place, so it’s on him if I fucked up.
He tosses the thick wad of paperwork down in front of me.
“Contract,” he says.
“Contract for what?”
He sits up straight in his chair. “All rights to the name Jack the Stripper and a three-year deal to dance here exclusively.”
“Excuse me?”
“There’s a five thousand dollar signing bonus, too.”
“What?” I choke. Okay, so maybe I underestimated myself when I said I was prepared for anything Daniel was going to throw my way. Because I sure as hell wasn’t expecting this.
“You’re a natural, kid. Did you see that line at the door? They’re all here to see you.”
“Me?”
A new circus act.
“Well, you and Jack. So, what do you say?” Daniel’s eyes are alight with dollar signs.
“I say when the hell did you have time to write up a contract?”
“I had it drafted last night after your performance.”
I pick up the contract and flip through it. “You’re serious about this?”
Daniel leans forward. “There are two things I never joke about, and money is the other one. You’re going to make yourself, and me, a ton. So, sign on the dotted line and let’s get started. You have a heap of raw talent, and I can help you harness it.”
A professional stripper?Me?
“Don’t think too much about it, kid. Stigma is the silent killer of hopes and dreams.”
“Well, lucky for you, I don’t have any hopes or dreams at the moment, so why the fuck not?” I pick up a pen and sign my life away.
Jack the Stripper has officially been born.