Chapter 6; The wrong turn.

Maya’s POV

I walked toward the club with my bag heavy on my shoulder. The neon sign glowing ahead, streams of people who wanted music, laughter, escape or whatever they came here for — already rushing in.

But my steps slowed down when I spotted a car the car valet was trying to park well at the parking lot.

It was a sleek, black Bentley, looking fucking luxurious. It looked exactly like the one I’d noticed outside the house when Xavier chased me out of their house the day I had the interview. It wasn’t there when I arrived there that day but it was there when I was leaving in shame.

My chest squeezed for a moment.

No. It can’t be.

I shook the thought off quickly. Rich people loved their toys, probably half of Beverly Hills owned something like this.

I walked in straight to the staff room, some staffs had left their lockers opened, mirrors were dotted with lipstick stains and fingerprints, and few whose shift is about to start bustled around in tiny outfits, adjusting straps and checking their makeup.

I sank onto the bench by my locker, letting out a long breath.

Four days. It had only been four days since Elena collapsed in front of me, but it felt like I’d lived a month in those hours.

I still remembered the panic, the confusion — the paramedics had rushed in with Elena’s personal doctor as he stabilized her before she was taken to the hospital.

I’d been so grateful. Grateful she was breathing well again. Grateful she was in safe hands.

And most of all — grateful Xavier hadn’t walked in with them.

I wasn’t ready to see him again. Not like that. Not while my chest still burned with the sound of his voice roaring at me over the phone.

The next morning, I had gone back to the house, with my heart in my stomach, hoping to check on her. But the same house worker who got the door for me before told me she was not back yet.

And the following day, I was very happy to get a text from Elena.

“Hello my dear. This is Elena. I’m fine now, you don’t have to worry.”

Nora must have given her my number.

My relief had been so deep, it brought tears to my eyes.

Still, worry hadn’t left me. Neither had the thought that Xavier might have already fired me in his mind.

So here I was, dragging myself into my shift at the club, because what else could I do? Bills waited for no one.

I was halfway into changing to my uniform when my manager walked in.

“Maya,” he said briskly, scanning the room until his eyes landed on me.

“Yes?” I asked, startled.

“You’re not serving the usual tables tonight.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because you’ll be covering for Rose.”

My stomach dipped. “What?”

“Rose called in sick,” he explained, already sounding impatient. “Her tables can’t be left unattended.”

It took me a moment to process. Rose. The girl who’d been working here longer than me. She’s the one who always handled the special customers — a group of Beverley high class men who came almost every weekend.

She used to boast about the tips she got. Sometimes she’d complain, rolling her eyes about their rude jokes, about the way they stared at her body like it was for sale.

But she always went back. Because the money was good.

And I… I had always envied her a little.

Still, envy was different from actually wanting to stand in her place.

My manager’s voice cut into my thoughts. “Go change into her outfit. You’ll be taking her shift tonight.”

I opened my mouth. “But—”

“No buts, Maya. They pay for service. You’re their server now.”

His tone left no room for argument.

My cheeks heated up as a couple of other girls turned their heads to look. I wanted to argue, to explain that this wasn’t what I signed up for. But the truth was, I couldn’t afford to argue.

So I swallowed my words and nodded stiffly.

“Good girl,” he said, already turning away. “And hurry. They’re waiting.”

Rose’s locker was next to mine, and I pulled out the small bag with her name on it. Inside was the particular outfits she usually wore for them — shorter, tighter, flashier than what I had on.

I sighed, holding it up against myself. This wasn’t me. But I slipped into it anyway, fixing the straps, smoothing it down, and praying it looked decent.

At the small vanity, I dabbed on some lipstick and eyeliner, enough to match what Rose would’ve done.

When I stared at my reflection, I barely recognized myself.

Please let them be nice. Please let them just want drinks and food, not trouble.

My hands trembled as I walked myself out of the staff room.

                       *       *       *       *

The VIP section glowed with softer lights than the main floor. Plush leather couches circled low tables, and the smell of whiskey and cigars lingered in the air.

The men were already loud, laughter booming, the clink of glasses filling the space.

“New girl!” one of them cheered the second he saw me. “They sent us an upgrade!”

The others whistled and clapped.

I kept my head down, moving quickly to set drinks on the table. My tray wobbled slightly under their eyes.

“She’s hotter than Rosyy!” another voice rang out.

I clenched my jaw, pretending not to hear. My heart was beating very fast.

I saw a hand reaching out suddenly, brushing too close behind me, it was obviously going towards my ass.

I spun around quickly to avoid the touch, and in the motion, my heels bent sideways and the tray tilted making the drinks spill forward, cold liquid splashing across someone’s chest.

I almost landed on the side table when the person’s hands grabbed my waist and my fingers automatically gripping their wet shirt.

I looked up and my eyes flew wide in shock.

And I froze.

Xavier stood beside me, a wine glass still in the other hand, his shirt damp from the spill.

His blue eyes lifted slowly from his shirt to my face, piercing gaze, fiery and unflinching. His eyebrows drew together in a tight line. 

The noise around us dulled, fading into silence.

Every nerve in my body screaming one thought—