Page 71 of Bourbon Truths
“Let’s get a table,” I said as I released my stance and nodded toward the door.
I walked inside without giving her a second glance. I knew she would follow me. She was desperate, at her wit’s end. She needed this meeting.
We were seated at a table in the back against a wall, giving us an optimal amount of privacy. I’d arranged the table with the host early on.
Goldie fidgeted as a waiter took our orders for water. Her hands shook, and I wondered if I made her nervous.
Of course I made her nervous. What was I thinking? I was a strange man trying to convince her to perform for the city elites. If I’d been her, I would have run all the way back to my apartment and locked the doors.
Ignoring how nervous she was, I proceeded with the meeting.
“What took you so long to call?” I asked, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.
“Why don’t we start off with a little introduction, eh? You know, the old ‘hi, my name is…’.” she motioned her hand for me to continue.
“What took you so long to call?” I asked again, ignoring her attempt to get me to talk casually.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, she said, “Sorry I didn’t jump at the chance to call a number from a stranger who contacted me three times after following me around the fucking French Quarter.”
I stilled a small smile and continued. “Why did you end up calling?”
“Because apparently I’m a masochist.” She got up. “This isn’t working out. Thanks for the… water.”
I sat casually in my chair, not worried about her departure. “Your tens of thousands of dollars in debt aren’t going to just disappear, Goldie.”
As if on cue, she swung around in shock. I casually played with the straw in my water and eyed her from under my lashes. It didn’t take a genius to figure out how to press this little hellion’s buttons.
Quickly sitting down again, she said as quietly as possible, “Where did you get that information? That is a violation of privacy.”
Her blue eyes blazed with fury as she stabbed her finger against the table and demanded answers.
God, she was beautiful, even when she was mad. Her eyes were full of life, an attribute I was greatly lacking. The blush on her cheeks showed how young she was despite her old eyes.
Why had Jett found her first? Right about now, I would have given anything to grab her hand, pull her onto my lap, and bury my head in the sweet smell of her skin.
Every orifice of my body prickled with the need to pull her into me, to make her mine. I didn’t know her, but just after one interaction with her, I was sold. There was something about her, something special that was infectious. I knew she was going to make a mark on me.
She waited for me to answer about her invasion of privacy, but instead I continued with my tactic of reminding her about the destitute life she was living.
“Do you want to escape the hole you’re living in now, Goldie? Do you want to feel safe, taken care of, and debt free?”
“No, I want to live in the gutter while being fucked in the ass by Bourbon’s hobos,” she shot back sarcastically.
I couldn’t help myself. The corner of my mouth tugged to the side from her comment. She was feisty.Good luck, Jett.“That mouth is going to get you into trouble.”
“Oh, is that right? Well, frankly, I don’t give a fuck.” She leaned closer and said, “Stop bullshitting me; just tell me what the hell a Jett Girl is and what it entails.”
I admired how tough she was. “Fair enough. Have you heard of the Lafayette Club?”
“Only from what my friend Lyla, told me, and it was practically nothing.”
Lyla was her roommate. That I knew. I also knew she worked at Kitten’s Castle as well. I’d been so transfixed with Goldie that first night, I wasn’t able to scope out the roommate. From what I understood, Lyla was in the same situation as Goldie but not as desperate. She could handle her own.
“It’s a high-class gentlemen’s club where very important men go to conduct business. The Jett Girls are the in-house entertainment, ranging from still art and choreographed dances to serving drinks. The girls are never touched, they are never completely naked, and their personas are entirely anonymous. They go by aliases and wear wigs and masks during their presentations. If they were ever seen on the streets of New Orleans, you would never know they were a Jett Girl.”
“Okay…,” she dragged on skeptically.
I could tell my little elevator pitch had scared the crap out of her, but I continued. “All Jett Girls are required to live in the club and get an education, which is fully paid for, so when they’re ready to move on, they have something to move on to. All debt a Jett Girl accumulated before she signs on is immediately erased the minute she comes into the club. You are completely taken care of: food, clothes, housing, etc. Every Jett Girl gets the feeling of being safe and sound while living in the Lafayette Club.”
