How I Became Lotus Raine...the Porn Star (3 page)

I rolled me eyes, sliding my stuff into my bag as I stood to leave. I almost reached the door before I heard from behind me. “Ahh, Lucy.” I hesitantly turned to face my boss, placing on my fake smile as I did.

“Yes, Mr. Callahan.” I propped my hand on my hip and watched as he eyed my body before making it to my face. He was such a typical pig.

“I just wanted to let you know that your hard work hasn’t gone unnoticed.” Which I’m sure translated to: But if you’d get on your knees under my desk, I’m sure we could work something out. “I know you really wanted this interview, but with Rachel’s music background, I just figured it was best to go with her.” I dropped my hand from my hip once I realized it was him making up excuses. Something I had become accustomed to hearing. Why everyone, mainly Rachel, were always more qualified than me.

“I didn’t realize that sucking and blowing constituted as being musically inclined.” I seethed out then quickly threw my hand over my mouth. I heard a noise and looked over, noticing the new guy covering his mouth as he tried to hide his smile. It made me smile then it fell when I turned back to my boss.

Mr. Callahan’s eyes scrunched in a mixture of shock and amusement as his mouth hung open unsure of what to even say. Looking over his shoulder, I saw Rachel glaring at me. A feature I was beginning to think was permanent. Maybe she made that face as a child and someone slapped her on the back. From what I could tell, only the three of them heard my comment. I had a choice to make, did I beg for my boss’s forgiveness by dropping down into the position he’s wanted me in for years, or did I leave it where it was and take the punishment that was surely to come?

I straightened my shoulders, standing taller before I gripped my bag tighter and turned on the heel of my boot, leaving the conference room without another word. I briskly walked back to my office, not making eye contact with anyone as I did. I already blew it with my boss; showed him how I felt about it all without actually going off on him for letting his siren seduce him yet again. I wasn’t about to show the rest of my colleagues just how pissed off and disappointed I was beginning to become with my job. I had put so much hope and determination into proving to him how perfect I was for it and it still hadn’t worked. I was beginning to lose hope. If he wouldn’t even assign me to something I could do well and had an extreme passion for, then the chances for any other opportunity would be slim to none.

I came to two conclusions as I sat in my office chair and spun around: My boss was an asshole and I was doomed. Dramatic, I know.

I was in such a foul mood; I didn’t even want to do my work for the day. I could give a fuck what the statewide salary for firefighters was or anyone for that matter. I knew my salary and it wasn’t worth getting jacked around…even in the good way. Because if that was included in the benefit package then the money and bullshit might have been worth it.

I needed a snack pronto. I put my earbuds in and headed to the vending machine. I wanted to zone everyone out for the rest of the day. No one was in there, and I was thankful. I hated feeling rushed when I was being indecisive. And the feeling of being rushed only intensified my indecisiveness.

I put my money in, pressing E6 and watched as the metal dial twisted, freeing my candy. Except my candy wasn’t released. It was being held against its and my will.

“No.” I placed my hands on each side of the machine in attempts to shake my mini Starbursts free. My efforts were futile. I pulled my earplugs out and sat them with my phone on the nearby table. Shit was about to get real between the candy guard and me. I tried to shake it once more before going all white girl crazy on it.

“Maybe that vending machine is trying to tell you something.” I heard from the doorway and didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

“And what’s that? That I need to get on my knees and it’ll give me everything I want.” I was damn proud of that comeback and didn’t even have it in me to smirk.

Rachel let out a rich laugh like she sincerely found humor in my remark. “Bitch, please. It’d take you way more than some rug burn on your knees
.”
Her hideous laugh and heel clanking followed her as she left me alone to go all Judge Dredd on that damn machine. Any other day I would have given up, not even cared that I was being deprived. But it was like a screw within me was slightly twisted to the left that day, and I refused to let another thing get one over on me.

“Here. Let me help you.” A slightly amused male voice filled the room. I blew a piece of loose hair from my face as I took a step back for him to work whatever magic he thought he had.

One freaking right hip bump from him was all it took. From that move alone, I nicknamed him Magic Mike. I’d never stared at a guy harder than I did him as he rescued my damsel in distress Starbursts. The crazy idea to fake pass out so maybe he’d perform CPR on me crossed my mind. You know, desperate times and all.

He bent over to pull my candy out and I choked as I salivated over him, or the gnat that flew in my mouth as it hung open. No worries. I played it off by pawning it on allergies.

“Ahhhh-chew.” Insert fake sneeze here.

“You alright over there?” he asked with concern. I nodded because that’s all I was capable of doing. He pulled his wallet out and put some money in the drink machine, pressing a button. Then he walked the drink and my candy over to the table I had sat down at. I was hoping he’d leave so I could cough alone in shame. That incident was just another testament as to why I stayed clear of extremely good-looking guys. Not only did I do it for my own personal reasons that had nothing to do with me avoiding making an idiot of myself, but I also did it to avoid making an idiot of myself. And there I was. Making a huge idiot of myself.

“Thanks,” I said after taking a long drink. “Pollen season.” I offered him my lie of an excuse.

“Hmm.” He had a thoughtful expression. I eyed him even further as he looked away. The guy wasn’t overly built, but he was built just enough—to pin me against the wall with no problem, that is. He was about six foot two to my five foot seven. His dark grey t-shirt hugged him in all the right places. His dark denim pants weren’t as fitting but enough so that his untied boots covered the bottom hem. But besides his wardrobe style catching my eyes, it was his hair. It wasn’t short and disheveled—which by the way I was confident would look just as sexy on him. It was longer like he’d been growing his dark brown locks out for months. The longest parts skimmed the tops of his ears, telling me he’d once had it cut shorter around and longer on top. While I was mentally breaking his features down and looking at him for way longer than I should’ve, he was quiet, biting on his thumb nail.

I was horrible at starting conversation. Sure, I had things pop into my mind as I sat there, but to actually voice them was impossible.

“Don’t let her get to you.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“For the most part, I don’t.” I stood, grabbing my stuff off the table. “Just wish I knew why she has it out for me.” I shrugged.

“Because she’s jealous.”

“And why the hell is that?” I scoffed in disbelief.

“You’ll figure that out soon enough.” He smirked, rubbing his chin.

I walked up to him, not being in the mood for riddles. His eyes slightly widened and I was able to catch a glimpse of the hazel-ness peering back at me. I wanted to stare, but the point I wanted to make took precedent. “Thanks for the drink and all, but if this is your lame attempt at flirting,” I pushed the bottle of Sprite into his chest, returning it to him. He clamped his hand around it, “Then I’m not interested.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He said with an amused expression as he unscrewed the lid of the Sprite I had just put in his hands. I intently watched as he wrapped his lips around the ridged, green plastic and I was momentarily jealous of that recyclable material. My lips had just been there, wrapped around it the same way—what a lucky plastic bottle it was. He kept his eyes focused on me as he tilted his head back, taking a drink. Then he screwed the lid back on, and pushed it against my chest much like I had him. “But if I was flirting, you’d know it.” He walked passed me and I was left frozen in shock. “Oh,” he said from the doorway, and I turned just enough to look back at him. “And you’d be interested.” He winked before walking away. He seriously fucking winked at me.

In a bit of a daze and feeling like a total girl, I’d made my way back to my office and plopped down in my seat. I attempted to get back to work, but I couldn’t keep from replaying what had just happened. So, I pulled out my headphones praying the sound would drown my mind out. My job was beginning to make me question myself, who I was, and who I wanted to be. I’d always played it safe, questioning everything. I’d never been much of a spontaneous person. In fact, the word didn’t exist in my vocabulary.

I didn’t go straight home after work that day. I knew my packed bag would be sitting next to the front door to further disappointment me. I wasn’t ready to face my reality right then. I made my way over to the studio instead, knowing there would be an open room for me to de-stress myself out in. The pole was slick, and shiny, calling out to me like a siren in the night as I pressed my hand against it, and gripped the smooth metal. I held on tightly, allowing my body to fall to the side as I swung around a few times, letting the movement clear my mind.

My instructor, Miss Mikal, had been begging me to start teaching classes with her. She always praised me at being such a natural. Little did she know it was in my DNA.

I had gotten into pole dancing shortly after moving to Denver. A few girls from work were into it and invited me to join. I had no clue what their exercise classes involved when I had agreed, but the first time I walked through the door to Mikal’s Inc., a surge of thrill and terror swept through me. It was something I had always desired to try, but my reservations kept me from pursuing. It took me a while, and my best friend to get it through my head that taking classes that revolved around a pole, didn’t parallel me to a stripper. It also took me awhile to convince my own self that my motives were in retrospect, pure. I didn’t dance on the pole for attention or to use it as a form of seduction or income. I was drawn to the pole based off the pure sport and beauty it was able to create. How that was created, was solely determined based off the legs that wrapped around it, and the intentions looming between them.

A couple hours later, I made my way home, tripping over the bag I had left near the door. I cursed its existence as I kicked it across my living room. No, it didn’t make me feel better. But it still felt good and that counted for something. I ate, showered, went to bed and prepared to do the same thing the next day.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Story of my life.

I didn’t get overly dressed Friday morning, but I did put a good thirty minutes into my routine. My normal routine was basically throw on whatever was cute, yet comfortable. My hair would mainly get tossed up for work purposes. It’d always get in the way when I actually kept it down. Sometimes I’d wear make-up, but not much. And not often. That morning, I focused on my eyes, wanting them to pop. Even though my mother insisted my body was my best feature, I knew it was my green eyes that I got from my dad. With the whole saying
‘the eyes are the windows to your soul,’
I was more than relieved to be sharing the same window with my dad.

I opened my bathroom drawer filled to the brim with makeup. My best friend kept me supplied, in hopes I’d one day put it all to use. Or put stock into MAC, not sure which. She had given me some mascara that she swore on her dead cat Gigi would put fake lashes to shame. So, I figured I’d give it a whirl. Not that I was trying to impress any random new guy at work that day by doing so.

Twenty minutes, ten Q-Tips, and two instructional YouTube videos later, I had eyelashes that made my eyes look bigger than headlights. I didn’t think all the hard work it took was going to be worth it, but after careful inspection and inner conversations between my self-confidence and self-doubt, I came to the conclusion that I could get used to them.

I got more looks than normal as I walked to my office. The glances only made me walk faster than I already was. I didn’t understand it. To me, I didn’t look much different. All I had on was a pair of skinny jeans, a fitted Chicago Bulls tee and my Jordan’s. I was a tomboy. Always had been. When I got older, I figured out it was my way of keeping attention away from me. My own personal repellent mechanism. If I wasn’t anything to really look at, I didn’t have to worry about certain guys trying to mess with me. I had turned into more of a girlie tomboy as the end of high school came around. But you know the saying: You can take the girl out of the tomboy, but you can’t take the tomboy out of the girl. Or wait…is that country?

Either way, over the years I hadn’t given myself over to the girlie girl within that was calling me. I wasn’t going to turn my back on my tomboy-ism ways. They had always had my back; I couldn’t just give them deuces and peace out. Plus, I’d always been worried what would happen if I did. There was a reason I’d clung to my NBA basketball shoe fetish throughout the years. And it wasn’t because they were more comfortable than heels or that I had small feet and could buy them in the boys’ section.

Once I was in the confines of my office, I shut my door and leaned back against it. I was doubting the torture I’d put myself through that morning. I didn’t want attention drawn to me. I liked blending in. I didn’t want to stick out.

I made my way to my desk ready to immerse myself in work…and pluck all my eyelashes out. A bag of mini starbursts and a Sprite caught my eye. I couldn’t help but smile. There was no note with it, but I didn’t need one to know whom it was from.

Magic Mike.

Magic hip bump, magic candy saver, magic mystery new employee, magic eye candy, and the list could go on. Because for some reason I was sure he was magical at anything he put his mind to. Or other body parts.

I wanted to go find him and thank him. Maybe even have him give me a magic high five in my pants. But I didn’t want to make anything too obvious. Especially where Rachel was concerned. And I had a ton of work to do before the weekend, so instead of pulling some romantic movie gesture on my part, I sat down and told myself it could wait.