What We Do in the Night (Day to Night #1) - Stylo Fantome Page 0,4

with it?”

Derrick audibly gulped and shook his head. His friend gave a bored sigh.

Then from the other end of the room, the door burst open.

“Oh!” Angel exclaimed. “I didn't know you were in here. Don't worry, Val, I can take them down.”

She clip-clopped her way down the cooler in her large, white, stripper heels, her silicone grade tits standing at attention the whole way. Derrick smiled big as the angel approached them, and the guy in the suit nodded his approval.

“Now this is more what I was expecting,” he murmured, but his gaze was still on Valentine. She glared back at him.

“It was a pleasure hosting you this evening, gentlemen,” she said. “Have fun. Have all the fun. Have more fun than you've ever had before in your life. And then come back tomorrow, and do it all over again, only completely different.”

Angel tittered and laughed while Serge opened the door, then she led the guys down the staircase, babbling away. She really was perfect at her job, Valentine didn't have the patience needed for newcomers. When Serge slid the fake wall back into place, she let out a deep sigh and pulled the gold card out from her top.

“I swear, sometimes dealing with these douchebags is too much,” she mumbled, tossing the card onto his little table. Serge laughed and wrapped a beefy arm around her shoulders.

“Aw, c'mon, you love it!” he reminded her. “Now tell me – those guys, they give you any shit? You looked annoyed. If they gave you any shit, I'll kick 'em right the fuck out.”

“No,” she assured him. “The one in the hoodie, he's going to get into trouble, though, I guarantee it. He's an idiot, probably my age or younger. I give him a couple hours before he gropes somebody.”

“Gonna be a fun night tonight,” Serge said gleefully before taking his seat again. “And the other guy? Seemed like a jerk, too.”

Valentine put her hands on her hips and stared thoughtfully at the hidden doorway.

“The other guy ... I don't quite know. He was wearing the mask, so it's his first time, but he acted like he'd seen all this before. I think he'll fit right in,” she said.

“Boring. Hey, wanna play Rummy for a while? I can have Otto radio if someone's at the door.”

“No, Serge,” Valentine laughed as she headed for the exit. “But thanks anyway.”

“I'mma keep tryin', sweetheart!”

She waved a hand over her head as she reached the door.

“And I'mma keep appreciating your effort!”

BY THE TIME ANGEL CAME back upstairs, there had been no more clients. The girls said goodbye to each other, then Valentine made her way downstairs. Back down to her real job.

It seemed some of the crowd from upstairs had finally found their way downstairs, as well. In the Club Room, the dance floor was a lot more crowded. Valentine held her arms above her head as she scooted and shuffled between people, rolling her body to the rhythm. She paused for a moment near the go-go podium – an actual go-go dancer was on it now – then started to do a slow rotation around the floor. Wanting to make herself as visible, and as available, as possible.

Wanting to catch just the right type of fish.

Luckily, it didn't take too long. She hated slow nights – hence why she'd worn her neon green outfit. Basically a matching sports bra and a skin-tight knee length skirt, it showed off her tanned, toned body to the extreme. It almost always guaranteed her a score, so she tried not to overuse it, and only brought it out on the “slow” nights.

“You glow in the dark!” a man yelled from behind her. She swiveled around, then smiled when she recognized him. It was the guy from before, the one who'd been standing at the booth near the entrance. Apparently her wink had done its trick.

“I try my best,” she laughed back, dancing up close to him.

“Your best looks pretty damn good to me,” he assured her, staring straight down her cleavage. She kept smiling, working her dimples to the extreme.

“That's all I could ask for.”

She could see him swallow thickly; it almost made her laugh.

“I'm Richard,” he introduced himself, leaning down close to speak in her ear.

“Valentine,” she replied.

Most of the women at Caché used a fake name, she knew, but she'd always figured her name was so ridiculous, most men would think it was fake, anyway. She couldn't be assed to remember a fake identity, not with all