The Billionaire's Stripper Dirty Secret

Sabrina POV

I didn't want to cry on the cafe counter, but the eviction notice sat heavy in my Apron's pocket. Two days that's all the time I had left before my landlord threw me into the street like yesterday's trash. There was Smith's voice in my head, reminding me of tonight, the stiletto heels I borrowed from Ana waiting in my locker, the mask that hid my shame under purple lights.

Ana plopped onto the stool across from and grabbed the washcloth from my hand. "Alright, spill. What's up?"

"Nothing" I forced a smile and snatched the wash cloth back.

"You've been sighing like the whole world is ending. Did something happen? Tell me!" Her loud voice turned heads in the cafe.

"Keep it down." I quickly covered her mouth with my damp hands.

"Do you want Sam to scold us?"

Sam is the owner of the cafe and no small mistakes ever escaped him.

She rolled her eyes and yanked my hands off her. "Yuck!"

"That's what you get for scaring customers." I teased and resumed wiping the counter.

"You don't tell me anything anymore." Her voice, barely a whisper. The pain in her voice made me halt my chores.

I sighed, feeling torn. I wanted to tell her everything but If she knew the truth that I was two days away from being homeless, she would inconvenience herself for my sake. I couldn't let that happen.

Ana leaned closer, conspiratorial. "Fine, don't talk. But guess what?"

I arched my brow. "What?"

She smirked, "Table eight is here."

I froze, eyes wide as I breathe through an electric jolt down my spine.

Table eight.

Adrian.

I hated how my stomach flipped, hated how my eyes searched for him before I gave myself permission to look.

He sat exactly at his usual seat, corner booth, phone in hand. Clad in a charcoal suit jacket that hugged his broad shoulders like it was tailored by God Himself. A gold watch gleamed on his wrist, that probably cost more than my scholarship and rent combined.

"Chris didn't tell me his brother was coming." Ana mumbled, still smirking.

I tried not to stare, but failed miserably. Adrian never came alone. He was always with Chris, Ana's boyfriend. I'd memorized his schedule like scripture. Always here on the third Saturday of the month. Not the second. Never the second.

"I wonder why he's here." My voice cracked.

Ana elbowed me "He loves your coffee."

My heart skipped a beat, I cleared my throat "That's not true. How can he?"

Ana scoffed. "Please. He once rejected mine and demanded yours."

I shrugged, "That doesn't mean anything. He doesn't even know I exist."

She scoffed, "But he sure knows your coffee?"

She suddenly grabbed my arm, shaking me with excitement. "Get over there and serve him."

"What!"

"You heard me. This is your chance. Opportunity's knocking, babe."

"My chance." I whispered heart thudding. I only needed him to look at me once. Just once. Long enough to remember my face in a room full of strangers.

"You are right." I mumbled, wiped the sweat from my brow and set to work.

"That's my girl!" Ana smiled, making way for me to pass with his usual order.

"Do I look presentable?" I asked Ana, my heart beating against my chest in an irregular rhythm.

Ana rolled her eyes. "Girl, if I looked like you after a three-hour shift, I'd own the world. Now go."

I swallowed hard, palms slick as I balanced the tray. Deep breath.

Don't trip. Don't stutter. Just deliver the damn coffee.

Crossing the cafe to his seat felt like walking into the enemy's territory. I could feel his aura before I reached him, that cold aura that made everyone else fade into the background. That coffee musk scent that makes me want to nuzzle his neck.

I set the tray down with practiced grace.

"One black coffee and bagels," I murmured with my sweet voice, forcing a smile even though my pulse was a drumline.

"I didn't order this," his voice low, raspy and disinterested sent a ripple through my stomach.

My trick worked. I bit my lower lip to hide the stupid grin clawing its way up. "It's on the house."

He nodded without looking up. Not a glance. Not a reply. Just legs crossed, sleeves rolled up, and those long fingers scrolling his phone like I wasn't there.

I bored him.

The thought was like a knife to my chest, sharp and humiliating. I forced my feet to move, returning to a disgruntled Ana.

"I don't even know what you see in him. He's such a snob."

"Ana!" I cautioned quickly looking back to make sure nobody heard, especially him.

"What! Have you forgotten how he threatened me to stay away from Chris."

"Which he later apologized for."

"By offering me 10,000 dollars. It felt more like a threat than an apology."

"Chris wouldn't be happy that you are talking about his brother like this."

She scoffed, "Chris knows how I feel about him. He keeps saying he's always like that. That man is made of steel I swear. He tolerates me for Chris' sake."

"That's not true."

"Whatever, just forget him."

I wish I could. How could I forget a man whose mere presence makes my heart ache. How do I explain wanting someone who doesn't know my name?

The way he wore control like a second skin. Someone so far out of reach he might as well be a satellite?

But he'd never look. Not at me.

I was just a broke college girl in a frumpy uniform, scrubbing counters to survive. And when this shift is over, I'd trade the apron for borrowed stilettos, paint my lips red, and become Angel, the masked dancer men paid for a lap dance.

My phone buzzed in my apron, snapping me back to reality.

Smith. The manager of the club I danced at.

Dread pooled in my gut as I slipped into the storeroom and answered. "Hello."

"What took you so long to pick my call?"

I kept quiet. If there's one thing I've learned from working for Smith is to keep quiet when he's angry.

"A VIP requested you tonight."

I scrunch my face in disgust. "No, I told you I don't sleep with clients. Vip or not."

"Angel," he cooed, like the devil petting his snare.

"He is a very important person and a client that this club cannot afford to miss. Just make an exception tonight, yeah? He wants you to impress his friend."

My grip tightened on the phone. "The answer is still no."

"You've made an exception before, why not now?" He scoffed and I had to bite the inside of my cheek.

"That was different! It was a blow job" My voice cracked.

"And you forced me!"I yelled, thankful that I was in the store room alone.

He laughed, a dark, ugly sound. "Forced? Funny, you didn't complain when your mother's hospital bills were paid."

My heart ached at the reminder.

I had buried my pride and pleasured Smith and his friend to save my Mom. Six months in the ground and I was still paying for the choices I made to keep her alive.

"I knew the clients before," I sighed exasperated. "I don't know this one now and you're not giving me a name even,"

"What is the difference, huh?" He hissed. I suppressed my urge to tremble.

"What difference would a name make? You just go there, grind on him, probably suck his dick, open your legs and get the money!"

I gasped. "Who do you think I am?"

"A whore!" He spat. "Just like every other stripper that works for me here!"

Tears streamed down my eyes at his cruel words.

"You think you are special just because you haven't slept with anyone yet. I own you. I'm done being lenient."

"I'm not doing it," I whispered.

His tone turned to steel. "This isn't a request anymore. It's an order."

The line went dead.

I stared at the blank screen, heart pounding like a war drum.

What have I gotten myself into?