A Dance for Him (28 page)

The creep’s in his usual seat, of course, so it’s not hard to find him.

Except who needs to see him, ha!

At least he’s alone - for a moment I almost feared that Sebastian would be there, sitting with him, absurd as that thought would be.

I quickly avert my gaze the moment we make eye contact and go on with my search for Sebastian.

And there he is, on the other side.

He’s alone at a table some distance from the stage, and it’s actually a sudden movement on his part that caught my eye.

Because he’s just stood up.

He’s looking very pale as we make eye contact. I can’t quite read his expression, but I can’t help but get the impression that underneath that mask is a roiling cauldron of emotion, if his intense, piercing gaze is anything to go by.

He picks up his coat, as if to leave, and as he does, I notice that his posture is that of a profoundly disappointed man, as though he were deliberately holding himself up so that he wouldn’t completely hunch over with pain. It’s quite unlike his usual jaunty, easy, aristocratic bearing …

Fuck.

Thank goodness for Ashley, she’s gone up to him and is talking to him.

He sits down again, this time with her.

I almost don’t dare to look, so I go into autopilot mode, twirl around the pole, writhe around the floor, all the usual.

At one point I unintentionally get a glimpse of the creep, who’s looking at Sebastian and Ashley, but turns to look at me with a self-satisfied smile on his face - perhaps he’s thinking that I’m upset about Sebastian talking to another stripper.

Little does he know …

I go on with the dance - I don’t think any single dance has ever felt so long in the entire time I’ve been working here.

But finally it’s done, and I end leaning against the pole.

As always, money’s thrown on the stage by various people, including the creep, who’s doing his spitball special as usual.

I look in Sebastian’s direction, wondering if he’ll come up to me.

Except he seems to have disappeared, and I don’t see her around either. Did it not work, was she not able to convince him? God I hope he didn’t just leave … and where is she?

There’s a murmur of surprise in the room and a few remarks that I can’t make out as I grab my discarded clothing and hurry off the stage, leaving all the money untouched.

As I get into the backstage area, I practically collide with Ashley.

“Oh my God, did he leave?”

“Yes … and no,” she says.

She’s smiling as she leans over to whisper in my ear, surely that’s a good sign? …

“Go outside, he’s going to meet you round the back. And take your stuff, you’re going to leave with him. Yes, I mean now.”

“But - but I can’t,” I whisper back. “The deal was that I had to dance for the creep personally as well -”

“Listen to me,” she hisses. “I told him to trust you, that you love him. And you know what he said? He said to tell you that he loves you, but you must also trust him. And if you do trust him, you’re to meet him at the stage entrance after your dance.
Everything will be taken care of
, he said. And then he said again that you had to trust him.”

I look at her indecisively for a moment, my emotions a mad jumble of exhilaration that he actually told her he loved me, and worry that he’s being impulsive, that he’s just reacting in this way because he loves me, but might think better of it later.

“What are you waiting for, girl? The man’s crazy about you, it’s obvious. He’s waiting for you out there. And believe me, you don’t want to screw a good thing like this up.”

And with that, she picks up my bag and coat and thrusts both into my hands.

“Good luck, college girl,” she whispers. “Now go!”

The other girls stare at us as I throw on my coat and run out in a daze.

When I’m almost out the door, I hear a voice call out behind me, the voice of the manager.

“What the fuck is going on, Tiffany? You’re not done with shift, and Mr. Miller is expecting you!”

I’ve got one hand on the door handle, which is already half depressed.

For a moment I can’t help but think:
What if I’m making a mistake, what if I’m screwing it all up, what if he isn’t actually on the other side of the door when I get there?

And then, as the manager gets closer, I remember what Ashley told me, that he’d asked me above all to
trust him
…

“I wasn’t working here anyway. Mr. Miller can deal with it,” I call out, and push open the door.

And he’s there, waiting in his car, which is idling.

Sebastian.

My
Sebastian.

His beautiful dark eyes are shining as he looks at me …

I bundle into his car as the manager opens the door in pursuit, just in time to see him take off at full speed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

We’re both holding our breath as he tears out of the parking lot, but once we get out onto the highway and things settle down a bit, he takes my hand and kisses it.

“Oh, baby girl,” he murmurs. “I’m so glad you came with me after all.”

“I’m so glad you trusted me, Sebastian - that you forgave me. I’m so sorry about what happened, perhaps I should have told you, but I just couldn’t …”

“He was blackmailing you in some way, wasn’t he?”

“How do you know? And how did you figure out I was going to be at the club?”

He smiles.

“I got an anonymous email after I dropped you off at your apartment the other day telling me that if I wanted to know why you wouldn’t be available to see me on Saturday night, I should show up at the club. I admit, I was pretty upset when I read it, and I thought about calling you, but then the email also was peculiarly certain that talking to you wouldn’t change a thing. The whole thing seemed pretty weird to me, I thought maybe you just didn’t trust me enough to ask me for money, even though I’d told you a million times that I hated the idea of you going back to the club, that I wanted to take care of you. That was painful.”

“I’m sorry, Sebastian.”

He shrugs and squeezes my hand reassuringly. “I can’t deny, though, that even that would have been better than what I feared - that somehow there was another man involved. Exactly
how
that could happen I had no idea - it didn’t make sense that you’d try and meet him at the club, as opposed to going for dinner somewhere, but I confess, I didn’t feel good about the whole thing. And why would anyone try and tip me off anyway? … And so I showed up.”

“I’m really sorry you were upset. I know you were about to leave before Ashley got to you.”

“Well, it was a good thing she did. I don’t know, I mean I suppose I was relieved there didn’t seem to be anyone there, even if you seemed to be looking out for someone.”

“Oh, Sebastian. I was looking for you. She remembered you from the other time and tipped me off.”

He smiles.

“She’s a good friend, clearly. Anyhow, when you started dancing, I just couldn’t bear the idea that there were all these men looking at you with only one thing in mind,
and
that you didn’t seem to mind that at all. Yes, I’ll say it right now, I was jealous, madly jealous. And then your friend came by and said you’d sent her. That you loved me, and needed me to trust you. As I was talking to her I suddenly noticed out of the corner of my eye that there was someone looking at us - which seemed weird, who looks at the clientele rather than the dancers when they’re at a strip club? And then I realised it was Caleb, at which point I was pretty sure he was somehow involved in this mess.”

“He was … He showed up at school on Wednesday and accosted me after class - that was why I was so freaked out that day. I can show you the email I got from him. Although he was using an anonymous address.”

Sebastian smiles wryly as he hands over his cellphone to me.

“Want to confirm if it’s the same anonymous address that emailed me right after I walked out of the club?”

I can’t quite believe he’s so casual about asking me to look at email on his phone, but I obey and hit the icon for the email app.

And there it is, right there, from eight minutes ago, an email from that all-too-recognisable address that makes me grimace.

Subject line: RE:
Saturday
.

You see, they can all be bought.

“Can you write a reply for me?” he says. “Just two words:
Apparently not
. Yes, go ahead, send it off.”

I hit the send icon and the email zooms off with its customary “whoosh” sound.

Sebastian smiles.

“He’s not very subtle, is he,” he comments drily. “I’d already decided to take a chance on both your friend’s statements and my new suspicions that you weren’t there of your own free will. But that note confirmed for me that he was the one who sent the first email - he’d made a very similar statement the night of the bachelor party. And I was sure you couldn’t possibly be colluding with him, so …”

“I can’t believe he actually wrote to you.”

“Oh, I can. It would have been the perfect revenge on both of us - if it’d worked, I’d have been humiliated, and perhaps I’d have broken up with you. Then you might have had to go back and work at the club, where he could continue to harass you. And if not for his inability to resist showing his hand and revealing his identity, as well as your friend’s help, who knows, he might have succeeded. A terrible thought.”

In the midst of my relief that this didn’t happen, however, a
different
terrible thought occurs to me.

“But what about the Dean? He said he was going to tell Dean Miller about us if I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain. And I didn’t, because I was supposed to give him a private dance as well …”

“Fuck, was that what he wanted, the little bastard?” Sebastian exclaims, the familiar flush of anger suffusing his cheeks. “Of course. He wanted me to see that happening. Payback for my taking you away.”

“But your job, Sebastian,” I remind him, a bit perplexed by his not seeming to care very much if Dean Miller found out about our relationship. “The regulations forbid any sexual contact between faculty and students, so …”

He laughs.

“I know that, Paige. But, you know what, it really doesn’t matter even if he does go ahead and tell Dean Miller.”

“Wait, why is that?”

“I thought about this when I was walking out of the club. I’ll write to Roger, ask to see him on Monday, and then I’ll tell him everything, hand in my resignation. He’s not a bad guy, he’ll understand, and besides I’m sure he wouldn’t want a scandal any more than I do. I’m going to propose that I
officially
resign for health reasons, so that someone else can grade your final, or re-grade your midterm and assignments if he feels that’s necessary. To be honest, I’d feel more comfortable that way as well. And it’s not as though I need this job. What do you think?”

“But you can’t just quit like that … I mean, you love teaching! I can’t ask you to just give it up because of me.”

He shoots me a quizzical glance.

“
I
love teaching? Wherever did you get
that
idea?”

Um, what?

“When I teased you about possibly having slept with other students before me you got kind of mad and said that you didn’t get into teaching just so you could fuck a bunch of co-eds …”

“Oh, that!” he says, grinning. “Well, yes, that is true. I did say that. But aren’t you making the assumption that there are only two reasons people could have for working in academia: if not love of teaching, then clearly sex with co-eds?”

“Wait, so what
were
you doing in academia?”

He takes a deep breath.

“I drifted into it, really. I mean, with my parents both in academia, it was the only thing I’d ever known. And, to be honest, I was probably just trying to please dad on some level. I’ve been deathly bored for years, I haven’t written anything serious since I started teaching, although I’ve started another novel in the last month, you know, since we started seeing each other … Of course, to be fair, it hasn’t been
all
bad in academia - my grad student years gave me some spare time to write my novel, but more importantly I’d never have met you otherwise.”