“Why don’t you take it home and study it under a magnifying glass?” I suggested while digging through a stack of papers. I carefully put them back and noticed a small book with leather binding and a narrow strap that clipped shut. When I opened it, the pages were filled with contact numbers and notes.

“It says here that Jenny likes puppies, baking sugar cookies, and—”

“Spreading her legs in a national magazine? Classy.”

The magazine slapped on the desk. “That’s pretty high-and-mighty coming from a girl who works a pole.”

I stood up and sat on the edge of the desk. “Have you ever seen me dance?” I asked in a sultry voice. I made an extra effort to smooth out the sharp edges in my tone since I was upset. “Obviously you haven’t, or you wouldn’t have made such an insulting remark. Dancing is a form of art, and while I can work a pole, I don’t spread my legs or show my breasts when I’m on that stage.” I leaned across the desk and slowly grabbed the magazine, gently setting it back in the drawer. When I stretched across him, I couldn’t help but notice the rapid pace of his heartbeat throbbing in his jugular. It made me wonder where else that blood might be throbbing. “I suppose you’ll find out soon enough when you come to my show.”

“Won’t even notice since I’ll be watching the crowd,” he said indifferently, rising to his feet. “How about you finish up in here while I wait in the hall? Someone might be on the other side of the door, and I don’t like surprises, so hurry up.”

After Wheeler slipped into the hallway, I finished searching the room. The contact book seemed to be the only thing of value, but what if I got caught stealing it? My paranoia was quashed by the fact that Delgado barely visited the club. Once a month—tops. He wouldn’t miss this little book for a day or two, and Wheeler could get me back inside to return it. I tucked the book in my purse and flipped off the light.

But my breath caught when I heard talking just outside the door.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I whispered. “Fawn, get your little tushy back to work.”

Her manner of speech was like a sixteen-year-old California rich girl. She played up that role, always smacking on gum and sometimes dressing too young for her age. I didn’t like that type of behavior; men shouldn’t be conditioned to find adolescents attractive.

Carefully, I cracked open the door and peered out. She was smiling up at Wheeler, fanning her one-inch false lashes and drawing attention to the three pounds of glitter spattered all over her eyelids. The next thing I knew, Wheeler backed her into the wall and pressed his entire body against her.

I’m not sure why, but that made my insides crawl. It made me want to grab that stupid elephant off the desk and knock him in the head with it. But since she was buried beneath six feet of man, I slipped out the door and slinked in front of the bathroom across the hall.