Regardless, I can’t keep him standing here while I play mute. My tongue—temporarily frozen—starts working again. “Yes. I am. Please,” I clear my throat and step back. “Come in.”

He edges past me through the door and I catch that fresh woodsy scent that I first inhaled in his office. It’s pleasant. More pleasant than mine, probably, given that I just spent the night in bed, perspiring. “I’m sorry. The air-conditioning unit broke down and the landlord hasn’t fixed it yet. It’s kind of hot in here.” “Kind of hot” isn’t the right description. It’s stifling.

Cain’s eyes roam over my space as if taking inventory. There’s not much to catalogue. I rented it furnished, which entails a simple two-person folding table, a puke-orange love seat made of a weird vinyl-like material, and a bed that’s called a double but is more like a twin. I’m not the neatest person in the world but, aside from a few shirts strewn over a chair and a hamper of washed but unfolded laundry, everything’s put away. My kitchen is spotless. Not a crumb. That’s more a necessity of survival than tidy habits. It’s me against the roaches, and one open bag of bread will secure their victory. I’ve even strategically placed a can of Raid on my counter as a warning to them.

It’s not really working.

Cain’s focus settles on my hastily made bed for a moment and a thought hits me. Is this where he gives me the “if you want the job . . .” ultimatum that the dirtbag from Sin City did? Maybe that’s his M.O.—in the privacy of my own apartment instead of his place of business? Maybe he lives by that “don’t shit where you eat” philosophy.

Could I do it?

Unable to help myself, my eyes roll over the defined ridges of Cain’s back, visible through the clingy shirt. I don’t think it’s simply his physical appearance that catches women’s attention. The way his body moves radiates a strength and control that many women would find sexy. I imagine he’s quite demanding, maybe a touch aggressive. The type to take a woman up against the wall because that’s what he felt like. I doubt much emotion ever plays into Cain’s motives.

Still . . . I have to admit, sleeping with Cain for this job wouldn’t exactly be comparable to, say, a public flaying. It would be sordid and completely physical, but just thinking about this man on top of me on my bed right now stirs a need in my belly, one I haven’t felt for months.

But . . . no!

What the hell am I going to say if that’s what he intends? Fresh beads of sweat are rolling down my back. And my superior improv skills? It’s as if they never existed. Confident, witty Charlie Rourke has left the roach-infested building, leaving a wooden pawn in her place. I need to pull myself together. If I can do it for drug dealers, then I can certainly do it for a strip club owner.

Cain turns to regard me again and I fight the urge to fidget. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he says, “A girl like you shouldn’t be living in this area.”

By his authoritative tone, I can’t help but feel like Cain is scolding me, and my cheeks heat slightly with embarrassment. I give a one-sided shrug. “It’s not so bad.”

That might have been convincing if not for the sudden screams of “skank bitch!” and “festering dick!” through the wall.

Silence hangs in the air as Cain regards me with an even stare, likely waiting for my response to that. There isn’t much that I can say, short of trying to make light of it. I give him a sheepish grin. “Ike and Tina are getting awfully creative with their pet names.”

He doesn’t return the smile. Clearly, he didn’t find that funny. I wonder if he finds much funny. I can only imagine the kind of place Cain lives. He’s so well put together, from his wavy dark hair down to his stylish but masculine shoes. If he only saw the kind of house I grew up in, maybe he wouldn’t be looking at me with such pity now. Or maybe it would be ten times worse, because he’d be wondering how I fell so far from my privileged life.

“Here.” He holds the tray of drinks toward me, his eyes locked on my face. “There’s an iced latte, a Frappuccino, and a regular coffee—cream and sugar on the side.”

“A caffeine overdose. Exactly what I need right now,” I muse, tucking my hair back behind my ear.

Finally, that one earns an amused upper lip curl. “I’m sorry I left before you finished last night. I had to . . . ,” he sighs, his eyes hooded for just a flash before returning to normal, “. . . to go.”

Busying myself with the lid of the iced latte, I wordlessly await the ruling. Will it be pole-dancing topless and bartending at the best strip club in town or . . . worse? Much, much worse.

His low voice breaks the silence. “So, how many nights could you work?”

I stop fumbling with my cup and look up to find that unnerving gaze still on me, “Do you mean . . . do I have a job?”

Cain’s head bows once, as if in assent. I catch a hint of something like conflict flash through his eyes, but when he’s facing me dead-on again, the look is gone, replaced with a completely unreadable expression. “You can dance on the stage and bartend with Ginger. Working the floor will have to wait.”

A burst of relief floods my chest as my escape moves one step toward reality. Shocking myself with a rare, uncontrolled reaction, I leap forward and throw my arms around him. “Thank you, so much! I mean, I didn’t think you would hire me! I thought I wasn’t good enough. I . . .” The overwhelming relief has taken over all instincts and suddenly I’m babbling like an idiot, all the while my arms are wrapped around my new boss’s neck and his body has gone rigid under my touch.

Oh God. Did I just break the record for quickest firing after hiring?

I rush to pull away, smoothing my shirt down. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. I’m . . .”

To my surprise, Cain begins to chuckle. It’s such a lovely sound. “It’s fine.” I’m still probably standing too close to him but he’s not moving away. I notice for the first time the golden flecks within his dark brown eyes and a scar above his left eyebrow.

I also notice that the tattoo on his neck, behind his ear reads “Penny.” My heart throbs. She was obviously someone very important to him. He must have loved her. Where is she now?

Clearing his throat, he adds with an easy smile, “I’m used to a lot worse than a hug, Charlie. A hug is fine.”

Okay. Maybe Cain isn’t so intimidating all the time. I reach for my iced latte, which I can now enjoy with ease. Except . . .

“So, I guess my boss at The Playhouse had good things to say about me?” I try to sound as casual as possible.

“Still validating your references, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and let you start tonight,” Cain confirms quietly.

“Awesome.” So, I could still get fired. Or maybe I can impress him enough before then that he’ll let it slide. “How many nights can I work?”

“As many as you want.”

“Really? And everything I did was fine? I mean, the outfit and—”

“It was fine.”

“Are you sure?” I swallow, not wanting to offer what I’m about to offer. “I could probably lose the shorts if you want me—”

“I don’t,” he cuts me off, his tone suddenly cutting.

“Okay,” I force out between pursed lips. And we’re back to stern Cain. If the dress incident and this reaction tell me anything, he has issues with the dancers doing things for him. Or maybe just me doing things for him. That’s fine. The shorts are staying on!