Page 5 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
He was still watching.
But the look was different.
Not contempt anymore. Something else. Darker. More dangerous. Like something provoked.
I blew him a kiss. Then turned and kept dancing.
This time, I knew I wasn't dancing for the crowd.
I was dancing for him.
When the music stopped, I couldn't remember how long I'd been up there.
Knees weak. Heels rubbing blisters. Hair a mess. Bills covering the stage. Fabric soaked through, clinging to every curve. I bent down, gathered the money roughly. Maria rushed up, threw a thin robe over me.
"You!" She pointed at me, voice full of shock and delight. "First time on stage—you're telling me that was your first time?!"
"Yes." My voice was hoarse.
"I thought you'd last ten minutes max before coming down crying, but instead—" She didn't finish. Just slapped a stack of bills into my hand. "Count it. At least twenty-five hundred. That's not even counting the VIP tips. You just blew all the veterans out of the water tonight."
I looked down at the money. Heavy in my palm.
Twenty-five hundred.
Cover the interest. Sophie's expenses next month. The fat guy would back off for at least two weeks—
Something in my chest loosened. Like a fist clenched too long finally opening a crack.
"Don't just stand there counting." Maria tapped my hand. "Put it away. I'll settle up with you before you leave." She paused, lowered her voice, a hint of something at the corner of her mouth. "Oh, and someone requested you. Wants to buy you a drink. VIP section, private room. Five-hundred-dollar tip upfront."
I looked up. "Who?"
"No name." She shrugged, but her eyes said more. "Just said they saw your set tonight. Want to buy you a drink."
My heart skipped.
I asked her, "That guy in the back corner booth..."
"Which one?"
"The one... forget it. Nothing."
Maria smiled slowly, knowingly. "Oh, really."
"I just—"
"Sure, sure, just asking, I know." She winked, pressed the room number into my hand. "Up to you if you go. But I'm telling you, anyone sitting in that section tonight? Not ordinary people."
I stood in the hallway, looking at the paper in my hand.
Room 208.
Was it him?
I wanted to say I was going to figure out why he looked at me like that. To prove something. That this was just work.
But all those reasons became excuses the moment I pushed through the door and headed toward the VIP section.
