Page 71 of After Midnight

Maybe that means I need to work harder.

For a split second, I consider letting him cross one of my boundaries tonight, put his hands or his mouth where I typically don’t allow them to go. But then I see Sebastian’s dimpled smile, and I remember how he held me in bed after we slept together for the first time, then how he laughed while getting his toenails done at the salon.

And there’s no way I can let any other man touch me in that way—even if I could charge good money for it.

Lingerie top now lying in a tiny lump of glittery fabric on the floor, I cross the room to James, moving languidly, touching my breasts and my hips as I walk, letting him see every inch of me. When I reach him, I take the glass of gin from his hand, finish what’s left of it, then sink onto his lap, smiling as his hands find my waist—right where I’ve taught him they can go.

“You look sleepy tonight,” I whisper to him as I start to writhe in his lap, moving my body sensuously to the slow music. “Maybe I can help wake you up.”

James lets out a small sound, like a mix between a laugh and a scoff, and something about it puts me on edge. “I’m not tired. Just observing.”

“Oh?” I run a hand through my long hair, then settle my weight more firmly into his lap and tip my head at him. “Well, what do you think?”

His eyes narrow slightly, and his tongue wets his bottom lip. “I think you’re trying too hard.”

I try not to physically react to his words, try not to let him see any shift in the expression on my face. But it feels like a slap. Because I am trying hard. It’s supposed to look effortless though.

I don’t want him to know he’s caught me. So I lift my lips in a small smile and say, “Of course I try hard for you.”

“Hmm.”

He leans back on the couch, draping his arms along the back, and looks up at me where I’m seated in his lap. And even though I’m the one on top and am supposed to be the one in control of this situation, something about the look on his face makes me think he doesn’t see it that way at all.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that boy-band boyfriend of yours, then?”

This time, I’m quite sure his words have the desired effect, because his lips turn upward in the corners, but his smile appears sharp rather than kind, and there’s a look in his eyes that’s different than usual, like something unsettling is simmering just under their blue surface.

“Thought so.”

How does he even know about Seb?

I think back to that photo of us laughing and smiling in the nail salon. It went viral, and I got thousands of new followers before I set my profile to private. Was he one of them? Is he lurking somewhere in my follower list now, hiding from me in plain sight?

That realization sends a curl of cold dread through me. I share snippets from my life on there: where I like to go boarding, places I go out to eat, gym days with Riley. None of that is meant to be consumed by clients from Caliber; I keep Remi and Mirage carefully controlled, both for my safety and my sanity.

In one moment, it feels like the two worlds I’ve fought so hard to keep separate have suddenly collided, and it leaves me feeling short of breath.

But I don’t want James to see just how deeply he’s rattled me. I can’t give him that power. So I take a steadying breath, put on my best Mirage smile, and say, “You sound jealous.”

His sharp smile flickers, and I think I’ve successfully surprised him. He probably expected me to deny it or demand to know how he knew that information. But that would just be pouring fuel onto his fire, showing him he can get under my skin. What he doesn’t know is that my Mirage armor is a lot thicker than that, and he’s going to have to try a hell of a lot harder if he wants to see me crack.

Even if deep down, I already feel like I’m starting to fracture.

After James pays me and we leave the private room, I head toward the backstage door, though I move slowly through Caliber on my way there, just in case James is watching. I don’t want him thinking I’m running off to hide; I want him to think I don’t give a fuck that he knows way more than he should—even if I do.

So I move leisurely through the club, which is starting to wind down now that it’s early Saturday morning. And when I see James leave from the corner of my eye, I breathe a sigh of relief, then immediately go backstage.

My heart is thumping hard, and my hands curl into fists at my sides. Dolly asks me if everything’s okay, and I tell her I’m fine—even though the anxiety prickling in my chest says otherwise.

I waste no time in the dressing room, opting not to talk with the other girls or linger to remove my makeup. Instead, I pull on a baggy sweatshirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, shove my feet into my beat-up Ugg boots, then grab my shit and leave.

When I walk out the employee door, where one of our security guys is posted, I pause, standing under the floodlight that illuminates this entrance. My eyes sweep the employee parking lot, but I don’t see any movement, don’t see any figures lurking in the dark.

“Something wrong?” the security guy, Logan, asks me.

I shake my head. “No. But thanks.” I give him a smile, then move quickly to my Jeep, and I lock the doors as soon as I’m seated inside.

Every so often, we get creeps at the club, guys who try to follow the dancers to their cars or catch them alone in the dark. But I’ve never had an issue with that; I’ve always felt safe here.