Working Girl

  Contents

  Part 1

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Part 2

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Part 3

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Part 4

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at How I became Lotus Raine by Erika Ashby.

  Copyright © 2014 by A.E. Woodward

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Edited by: Ryn Hughes of Delphi Rose

  Cover by: Robin Harper of Wicked By Design

  Proofread by: KMS Editing

  Interior Formatting by: Kassi Cooper of Kassi’s Kandids Formatting

  I’VE NEVER REALLY SEEN the moon in all of its unadulterated glory. Never been any place dark enough for me to truly appreciate its beauty. The lights of Las Vegas dull its brilliance, just as the glitz and glamor distract the people that visit.

  Booze.

  Wild women.

  Gambling.

  Violence.

  You name it, we have it.

  Growing up in Sin City is anything short of exciting. Every day brings some sort of drama and madness to my life. In the same sense, Las Vegas is stifling, but not in the traditional sense that one might consider. The prison it has become has nothing to do with the oppressive heat and everything to do with the showcase that it promises. The facade. The riches that never come. The hopes and dreams that end where the strip begins.

  And even though the lights shine bright, the city slowly kills me, dulling not only me, but the people around me. Someday I hope to be able to see the stars and the moon with a clarity I’ve never had.

  But for now, it’s only the artificial light that I see.

  I HATE NIGHTTIME, but for some reason all the memories I’ve ever had have taken place at night. Maybe it’s because I’m actually a vampire? Just kidding, but there are times when I think being a vampire would be more socially acceptable. What’s with nights? you may ask. Well, for as long as I can remember I’ve spent my nights in a back room with an endless string of different girls, my nose stuck in a book, headphones pressed to my ears in a vain attempt to drown out the sounds of ecstasy while Mommy dearest earns a buck. At least it’s a “legitimate” brothel, and not one of those slums you see on TV.

  Sure I’ve grown up at the school of hard knocks, but that doesn’t mean that I have to belittle myself. I keep my nose to the grindstone, determined to make more of my life than the “family” that surrounds me. There has never been a day where I didn’t have a goal. Certain of the direction I want my life to head in, I know that this life I’ve been given isn’t it for me.

  In an attempt to quiet my racing thoughts, I pull out a book and flip to the page I dog-eared earlier in the day, allowing myself to get lost between the pages. The longer I read, the more lost I become, until eventually I just don’t feel anymore.

  “Yo, Presley.” I nearly jump out of my skin hearing the knock on my window.

  Looking up from my book, I let out an exasperated sigh. It was just getting to the good part. Boy was about to tell girl that he loved her. No matter how many times I read a love scene, they still make me happy. Full of hope.

  “Hey, Ruby.” Folding the corner of the page to mark my place, I place my book on the desk and head to the window. “Whatcha got?”

  “Got a nice looking one, finally. I feel like it’s been weeks!” She slides the card through the window and I force a smile. See, this is what makes it legitimate. The ability to run credit card transactions. It almost makes me forget what is going on throughout the rest of the building. “Ring him up for the works. No hard limits for me tonight.” She’s buzzing and I can practically hear the excitement in her voice. Ruby seriously loves her job, but she always gets a little overzealous when she has a customer who is even the slightest bit attractive.

  I steal a glance at the security camera in the negotiating room she’d booked out earlier and I’m unimpressed by the guy propped up on the couch. Too muscly for my taste. I don’t dig juice-heads. Their egos usually match their exterior; too big for their britches. My fingers dance across the keyboard as I quickly type up the invoice and run his card. My job might be monotonous, but it helps out just enough so that I’m able to afford the classes I so desperately need to get out of dodge.

  Once the printer spits out the paperwork, I slide it out to Ruby. “Make sure he signs.” I reach up and grab the key to her room. “Slide the papers back through on your way to the r—”

  She gives me a flick of her wrist, grabbing the envelope through the slot. “I know, I know. You’re so damn thorough.” Giggling, she sashays back into the negotiation room, closing the door behind her. I can’t help but shake my head as I plop back into my seat and kick my feet up on the desk, immediately grabbing my book and attempting to lose myself in another world.

  My solace is short-lived as the office door flies open, her words hitting my ears before I even register her presence. “I just don’t get it.”

  I roll my eyes, breaking my gaze from the magical words that I so desperately want to read, and look into the icy blue eyes of my best—no, correction—my only friend, Chrissy. Growing up, making friends proved to be a challenge for both of us. It wasn’t easy to organize play dates when you lived in the slums, oh and then there was the chance your mother might suck off someone’s daddy. “Get what?” I ask with a slight annoyance.

  She collapses into the chair on the other side of my desk and moans. Her blonde hair cascades her oval face perfectly, her crystal blue eyes dancing as she looks at me, and I feel sad. Such a waste of beauty.

  “I don’t understand why you’re in here, making next to nothing, while being bored off your ass, reading another dumb book, when you could be out there getting your kicks while making twice as much money.” She runs her fingers through her perfectly coifed ‘just had sex’ hair and sighs.

  Chrissy just turned twenty-one, like me. The
only difference between us: she decided to follow in her momma’s footsteps. “You know why I work this room. It’s the only way Big Earl will let Momma keep her job. Besides, Chris, I already told you. I’m not gonna have sex for money.”

  “You act like its some big deal.”

  “Well, it is,” I argue. “Just because it’s all we’ve ever known, doesn’t mean it’s all we can do.”

  She fidgets in her seat before finally leaning back. “I don’t get it. Because I just had the best Joe ever. I’m pretty sure I orgasmed from my toes.”

  Cue my holier than thou rant. “See, therein lies the problem. Did you say best sex ever? No. You said Joe. He was a client, a nobody you can’t even name. There were no feelings. He stuck his itty bitty penis in you, you felt a tickle and you act like it’s the best thing since sliced bread.”

  Chrissy puts her hands up. “Calm down, girl. Just trying to bring you over to the dark side.” She laughs before lighting a cigarette and placing it between her lips. “You read too many damn romance novels.”

  I shake my head. My reading isn’t the problem. The life I’d been born into is. “So when do you get off?” I question and immediately I want to take my words back because I know what’s coming.

  “I already did.”

  Bingo.

  Giggles fill the room, and I can’t help but smile. Resting my face in my palm, I stifle the laughter. “Jesus, you’re ridiculous.”

  “No, but seriously, I just got off.” She takes a drag and I give her a pointed look. “My shift just ended, whore. Whata ’bout you?”

  “I’ve got the desk until 2 a.m.”

  “Suckfest.”

  “Keep me company?” I plead.

  “What’s in it for me?” she asks, even though she knows damn well what’s in it for her.

  Opening my drawer I reveal my stash of liquor nips.

  “You sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

  “Not girls,” I counter, “ just self-medicating hookers.”

  Snatching a bottle of vodka from the collection, she glares at me. “I do not self-medicate. I have fun.”

  “Whatever. Pink or purple?” I ask, immediately launching into our infamous time wasting game. As kids, we always had a girl sitting with us while our moms worked, but she was usually too involved with her clean up procedures or re-doing her makeup to give us much attention, so we created something to keep us entertained.

  “Purple.”

  “Boxers or briefs?”

  Chrissy giggles. “Commando.”

  “PC or Mac?”

  “Who cares.” She twists the top off her bottle and immediately chugs it. “You suck at this.”

  “Fine, let me speak the language. Condoms or raw dog?”

  “Don’t be a whore.” She jokingly tosses the now empty nip bottle at me.

  “Takes one to know one.” Chrissy gives me her warning glare, and I know she’s seconds from ditching my ass. Gotta smarten up. I don’t really feel like being alone tonight. “Okay, fine. Books or movies?”

  “Easy, movies.”

  Despite disagreeing, I continue. “Love or money.”

  “At this point in my life, money.”

  Unfortunately for Chrissy, I know it’ll always be money. For some reason she missed out on the love gene. Perhaps it’d been shaken from her after watching her mother get the shit kicked out of her by our boss, Big Earl. But I doubted it was that. We’d both been brought up in the same environment. It was the age-old question. “Nature or nurture?” I ask without really thinking.

  “Seriously. How’d you get to be such a dork?”

  We keep at it until we run out of nips, and as my shift approaches its final minutes, I start filing my paperwork when I feel Chrissy’s arms snake around my neck. “I love you, Presley.” Her lips press to my forehead and I know she means it. Chrissy and I have been through hell together, and a bond like that never dissipates. No matter her career choice, she will always be my girl.

  “You too, Chris. Now help me get the fuck outta here.”

  We finish up, locking away all the documented dates from the evening. Big Earl will review them in the morning, making sure that I haven’t fucked up, or allowed any of the girls to skim. He’s always looking for something to hold over my head. Truth is, he didn’t take kindly to the fact that I refused to join the “family business.” He doesn’t understand my aversion to it. Needless to say, him wanting to find fault in my bookkeeping skills only makes me try that much harder.

  We make our way through the solemn halls of the brothel. There is no simple way to describe the atmosphere here at two in the morning, but it’s depressing and I’m thankful to have someone walking them with me. You never know the troubles that could be lurking just around the corner.

  Once outside, Chrissy lights up another cigarette and we walk the few hundred feet to “Menses Mansion.” Despite it being the only home I’ve ever known, I know it’s shit. I mean, it’s literally called “Menses Mansion.” An old dilapidated apartment building reserved just for families; it’s a shit hole. Well, that, and it is the surrogate period palace for the girls at the brothel. Chrissy, myself, and our moms live here, along with an endless string of different girls, based on their cycles. Once they start to bleed, they get the boot from the main house and have to stay with us.

  The minute I open the door, I can smell what kind of night it’s going to be. The mixture of alcohol and vomit is strong enough to burn my nostrils and I share a look with Chrissy, who instantly sobers. “Jesus,” she says, following me down the hallway to our apartment door.

  With shaking hands, I reach out and push against the flimsy wood with its peeling paint, revealing a sight I have, unfortunately, grown accustom to. My mother lies on the couch, her belly pressing against the cushions, her head hanging off the side, hovering above a pool of her own bile. Sadness overtakes me and tears prick my eyes.

  “S’okay, Presley. I’ll help you get her cleaned up.”

  I look over my shoulder at Chrissy, whose forced smile pulls at her lips. It’s times like these that affirm it for me. No one would ever understand me and all I’ve been through quite like she does. I nod before we launch into a routine that we are way too familiar with, but no matter how many times I’m responsible for taking care of my drunk-ass whore of a mother, it never seems to get any easier.

  SEVEN A.M. COMES AWFULLY QUICK when you spend your evenings arranging dates and listening to girls turn tricks. It’s the first day of the beginning of the rest of my life…and I’m running late because, well, it’s not easy to wake up when you’ve only had three hours of sleep. Thank you, Mommy dearest.

  I’m cursing my shitty situation as I walk into my first class, thankful as for the coffee in my hand, when the doors crash loudly behind me and the eyes of every seated student in the overcrowded room take me in. Of course the lecture has already started.

  Fan-fuckin-tastic.

  So I, in all my awkward glory, lift my hand…and wave. Yes, I wave. I want to crawl back into the hole I came from and die, but instead I press on. Owning my fuck up, I start searching for a seat, praying that the attention has diverted away from me. Out of the corner of my eye I spot a gap and start to make my way to the only open seat left.

  My heart sinks as I hear a pompous voice beckon to me from the front. “How nice of you to join us, Ms…”

  I stop in my tracks. If I were a weak person, I’d let this asshole win. I’d walk out of here with my tail between my legs, ready to live a life filled with strange men crawling on top of me. But I’m not. I’m strong. I know what I want. And this . . . this is my ticket out of that god-forsaken brothel. “Adams,” I chirp. “Ms. Adams.”

  The professor nods approvingly, gesturing to the open seat I’d been heading for. “Take a seat, Ms. Adams.”

  I do as I’m told, and he continues on with his lecture as though my embarrassing moment never happened. The seat squeaks in protest as my ass hits the chair and I’m immediately hit wi
th claustrophobia. The desk is tiny, and I’m not quite sure how I’m ever going to fit my coffee, book, and papers onto it. I’m fumbling with my shit when I decide to set my coffee down, only, I miss the desk and the cup crashes to the ground with a loud whoosh. Freezing in place, I’m desperately hoping no one notices the chaos that surrounds me as I bend down to clean up my mess. Hearing the professor continue with his lecture without missing a beat, I curse under my breath.

  I’m just thinking I’ve managed to escape the coffee spill unscathed, when the guy next to me bends down and whispers, “Need some help?”

  I pause from clean up patrol and turn in his direction. Starting at his shoes, which are leather and look very expensive, my eyes continue up his well dressed body, and my eyes roll before his brown eyes meet mine. He smiles the most adorable smile I’ve ever seen. I didn’t know they made boys like that. Not that I’d grown up around the best examples of men, but even the guys I went to high school with were douchebags. But that was understandable in itself, considering I live in Las Vegas. Sin City doesn’t breed nice guys—I learned that a long time ago. But just looking at this guy I can tell that he’s different. He looks genuine, and sweet. Oh man, focus, Presley. I divert my attention back to the mess I’ve made. “I’m all set.”

  Stifling a chuckle he sits back up in his seat. “Well, you really know how to make an entrance.”

  I grab the now empty cup of coffee and stuff the used napkins into it, shooting a glare in his direction. He’s trying to be cute, but instead he sounds like a jerk. Biting my tongue, I finally manage to sit down and start listening to the lecture that I’ve already managed to miss fifteen minutes of.

  Okay, so I don’t really listen, I doodle in my notebook instead. But in all fairness I could teach the damn class. Bookkeeping 101 is the first class I had to take on my course of study, but let’s be honest, I have enough first-hand experience. I should have earned a pass for taking the class solely based on my on-the-job training, that was if I wanted to tell anyone where I received my on the job training. But that wasn’t about to happen. I’ve been keeping books since I was sixteen. It was illegal, but Big Earl didn’t care. He just forged some documents for me, in case anyone ever decided to investigate the brothel.