by K. A Knight
“I’m Liam, Angel,” the flirty first guy adds and the blond guys smiles at me, looking all sweet and innocent.
Yeah buddy, like I believe that. “I’m Emmett,” he says.
I smile at them as baldie steps forward and takes my hand, kissing the back of it. “Leonardo.”
“Great, now you’ve met everyone, let’s show you the ropes,” Mark says and I look back to see him enjoying the spectacle, leaning against the wall and grinning. I pull my hand back reluctantly from Leonardo.
“Let’s do it, then I think we need to go through your schedule for shows, we don't have a lot of time to get ready and if some of what I’ve heard is true, we have some major damage to fix.”
“Ooo, she's bossy. I like it.” Liam winks and I roll my eyes. One thing is for sure, this isn't going to be boring. I guess I better start looking up strip shows and what it means to manage one. Just wait until I tell my mom, she’s going to flip. I grin at the thought and gesture for Mark to lead the way. The guys follow me—six strippers and a manager, it sounds like the beginning of a dirty joke.
I sit at the desk in the ‘office’ and groan. Calling it an office is giving it too much credit. The small, cramped space looks like it was once a store cupboard someone shoved a desk into. A desktop, which seems to be from the early 1800’s, is taking up most of the space, not to mention the mounds of paperwork that have been dumped haphazardly on top of the desk. I can barely fit through the room, even then I had to squeeze my not so small arse past the desk, and into the half broken office chair. Rifling through the paperwork, I see that is exactly what has been happening, no manager, no organisation...it’s a trainwreck. According to the records they haven't had a manager for a month, having run off the last three. No one seems to last longer than four months. Okay, Gabby, well, you always have liked a challenge.
I start the monotonous task of working through the paperwork, organising it into piles of invoices, schedules, contracts, and other. I need to make sure we don’t miss a show that has already been arranged, because the paperwork was out of order. That would not be a good way to start my job, not to mention it’s the last thing these guys need for their reputation.
I pull out my trusty laptop, there is no way I’m using the pile of crap they call a computer in the corner, except for a placemat. I was warned they had a reputation, and judging by my welcome I can see why, but I need more details. I’m sure Mark would be able to give me some information, but I should do my own research, not to mention I need to look into the ins and outs of managing such a show. I log in and pull up a search engine.
Scrolling through the first few pages of hits, I see what the issue is. I let out a sigh as I click on one of the articles. While the boys are talented, which pulls in a lot of sales, they are reckless, not to mention unorganised. They are in serious need of a decent manager to keep them on track and out of trouble. With wide eyes and an arched eyebrow, I look through the images they’ve been tagged in. Fights, women, alcohol, arrests… is there anything that hasn't gone wrong?
Okay, so I need to do damage control as well. They need to be seen as bad boys without actually being the bad boys. It’s not going to be an easy job, they’re obviously used to getting their own way, and they are going to rub against my control. But it’s the only way we’re going to keep this show going. Mr. Jones’ words ring through my head. I wonder if he told them, warned them, that if they did not improve then they are shutting the show down. Maybe they don't know, but is it better they don’t? Should I keep them in the dark or be brutally honest?
Rubbing my head, I startle when there is a knock at the door.
“Come in!” I yell and the door opens to reveal the blond guy, standing there with an innocent smile. Wasn't his name Emmett? Maybe I should get them to wear name tags.
“What’s up, Boss Lady?” he asks, slouching against the doorframe with his arms crossed and his head tilted. I cock my eyebrow at the pose, but I’m betting he’s doing it without realising it.
“Just looking through some news articles, you have some... interesting… ideas of what it means to be a good role model.”
He shrugs, not the least bit embarrassed. “Yeah, well we like to have fun.”
“I can see that,” I mutter before raising my voice. “What did you need?”
At that he grins, a twinkle coming into his eyes, yet my lady garden stays dry as the desert. Interesting, maybe it’s only certain strippers that make her happy? “We figured you should see what you’re working with.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, getting a bad feeling when all he does is step back and wink. Is this what the communication between me and the guys is going to be like? All coy smiles and winks? Psh, they are in for a big shock if that’s what they think.
“Emmett, what does that mean?” I shout, standing from my chair. I hear him laugh as he walks away.
“Why don’t you come and find out, Boss Lady,” he yells back, whistling until I can’t hear him anymore.
Fuck, and they say women are dramatic.
Grumbling, I find myself playing hunt the strippers. Following the smell of baby oil and bad decisions, I find them all waiting for me on stage again. They look like they are about to stage a mutiny, arms crossed, muscles bulging. They have another thing coming if they think they’re going to run me out of here. I walk through the rows of seats and lean my hip against one of them, crossing my arms, and raising a single eyebrow at them.
“You wanted to show me something?” I say, a dare in my voice. It makes Blake stiffen before he throws me a dirty look. That guy has some serious attitude.
“Sit down before you fall down,” he spits at me before turning to the side and nodding his head.
The music blares through the speakers again and a mic appears in Liam’s hand.
“You are supposed to manage us, how can you do that without seeing the show?” he says seductively into the mic, his voice dropping low and soft.
I look back at Blake to see the challenge in his eyes. He thinks I will run once I see them, I’ll be too overwhelmed and turn into a drooling woman. Game on, baby. They think I can be manipulated like the women they perform for. What they fail to realise is that I’m a professional, not to mention a stubborn bitch. I wave my hand in a go ahead gesture and they start to move.
I do as I was told, I take a seat and watch. I’m entranced, the way they move to the beat… it’s fucking hot. There are no other words for it, but every now and again there are little hiccups that pull me from the story they are weaving and I make a note, a plan forming in my head.
They don’t show me the costumes, just the different acts, but it all seems... not enough. Like they are here, but aren’t really trying. Maybe they got bored, or figured it was enough to only put in half the effort, but I can tell. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still a water slide down below, but it could be so much wetter—I mean better.
When the music ends they all stop, their eyes triumphant and cocky, locked on me as they wait for me to turn into a blubbering mess of a woman.
I slowly clap, standing as I face where they line up on stage. I see the look in Blake’s eyes and decide to squash it. “It was good, but you could be better. You are out of sync sometimes and a bit fumbly at others. You’re relying on your looks too much and not practising the dancing. Women want to see you, that’s true, but if it’s awkward it will make them embarrassed. You need to submerge them in your world, persuade them to believe the image you’re creating, have them gasping for more, and that will only come with practice. You need to get the moves down so you can do it in your sleep, throw yourself into it and hold nothing back,” I finish and look at each of their faces. “You need to be more dedicated, that means no more after show parties, which usually turns into you being arrested. No more starting brawls at nightclubs. This has to be your main focus. Our first show is in a month, if I don’t see an improvement by then I will have to report it back.” Blowing out a breath I meet their eyes honestly. “I wa
s brought on board as a last resort, you are a sinking ship”
“What do you mean?” Damon asks, stepping forward.
“The board isn’t happy with you, they think you are costing them more money than you’re making, especially when they have to clean up your messes. You have been given an ultimatum, improve your reputation and your sales, or shut down.”
“Fuck,” Blake says, his arms dropping from their crossed position as he gapes at me like a fish out of water. “You telling the truth?”
I nod. “Yes, they didn’t want me to tell you, but I’ll always be honest with you and it’s not just your job on the line. If this show shuts down, I lose everything too. I won’t let that happen.” The guys need to know I have a lot at stake also. Their managers have been bailed on them too many times and they don’t trust anyone other than each other as a result. They need to know I’m not going to run out on them and I’m here, and determined, to make them better.
“If you work with me, we can make this show great. Do you want women screaming for you because you’re hot, or because you gave them such a show they don’t know which way is forward?” I ask.
One of the guys steps forward with a raised eyebrow, running his hand down his glistening chest. I really need to get them to wear those nametags. “So you think we’re hot?”
“Ugh, I so needed this.” I groan around the slice of cheesy pizza. When I look up, I spot the smirking faces of the guys and narrow my eyes at them. “Pizza is life, don’t even try and fight it.”
I’m sure my face is a picture, but I don’t even care right now.
Liam laughs before grabbing a slice and shoving it in his mouth. I watch in open-mouthed curiosity as he manages to eat the whole slice in one bite. “Nice.” I nod appreciatively and he reaches out with a fist towards me, making me raise my eyebrow. “I ain’t fist bumping you, dude.”
He pushes out his bottom lip making me laugh and the others join in, all apart from Blake, who drops his slice and leans back with his arms crossed. “So, what’s this big plan?” His voice is full of condemnation and I want to punch him. It’s going to be hard trying to be nice to this asshole.
I make sure to take my time finishing my slice then, just to piss him off further, I reach forward and take a slow sip of my drink, my eyes on him. Putting the glass down I lean back and mimic his stance. “The big plan won’t work unless we trust each other,” I start and he snorts. When I see the others looking at me in interest, I carry on anyway, “Look, I’ll be frank. You’re good, like I said, but you aren’t going to convince the board you’re good enough to stay unless you get yourself a new image. You need to be a woman's wet dream, and not spoil that with a shitty reputation on social media. It reflects badly on you and the company. So, we are going to make you their golden boys. That means no going out,” I hear grumbles and objections but I talk louder, “until the board has seen the improvements we make. You will rehearse every day from 9-6 with a new choreographer and you will also run every social media post through me first.” When I’m done, I look around at the array of expressions. Blake looks pissed, like really pissed. Liam looks amused, but I’m starting to learn this is his standard expression. The others are just holding their breath, waiting to see what Blake will say. I’ve learnt quickly that he’s the leader of this little troupe, and although it pains me, he’s the one I’m going to have to win over.
“You think it will work?” he asks eventually, obviously holding out an olive branch.
“No, I know it will,” I say confidently and watch as he blows out a breath. Frankly, I’m surprised he even heard me out. He may not like me, but he’s taking the threat of their act being shut down seriously.
He glances around at the others before looking at me. “Fine, we’ll follow this plan.” He holds his hand up to silence the others as they start to talk. “We follow the plan. You have the two weeks to prove the plan is working, otherwise you are out.”
“Sounds fair.” He nods like he expected no less and I carry on, “But during those two weeks, you will do exactly as I say. You break any of the rules and you are out, you're not irreplaceable I’m afraid to say, and it’s better we find out now who’s a team player. If that means me becoming a bitch then so be it. Agreed?”
Liam nods, his eyes already back on the pizza, a guy after my own heart. Leo inclines his head. Damon grunts out a “yes” and Emmet winks. Blake looks around before turning back to me. “Looks like you got yourself a stripper show.”
I grin and reach for another slice as the server, who was coming up to our table, trips at his words, her eyes going wide and her cheeks heating. Her gaze darts around the table like she doesn’t know who to look at first, I mean I can’t blame her. The guys don’t even notice her, too busy on demolishing the remaining food on the table.
“Er… um,” she stutters out adorably, reaching up and twisting her long blonde ponytail. I wink at her and take a bite of my pizza. Her eyes zero in on me and her cheeks heat even more, interesting. The boys look up at her words and I see them turning on the charm. Liam leans back and grins at her. “What’s wrong darlin’? There’s plenty of room for you too.” He winks at her as he runs her eyes down her form.
It’s like a train wreck I can’t look away from. Her eyes dart back to me and a small smile flirts at her shiny pink lips. “Sorry hun, I prefer women. So if you were offering…” I choke on my pizza as she looks over at me, and Emmett reaches over helpfully to bang on my back. Snatching my drink I down some before looking at her.
“Sorry, I don’t do chicks.” I offer her a smile anyway and I watch as her smile drops in disappointment.
“Too bad, I could have shown you some interesting moves.” With that, she winks at me and drops the bill on the table as she saunters away, obviously adding an extra sway to her steps.
Rolling my eyes I reach out and look over the damage, when I spot her number and the name Stacey drawn in a heart, I groan.
“Looks like we have some competition,” Damon says, offering me the most words he has said since we’ve met.
We finished up quickly after that, and I told them to meet me bright and early tomorrow morning at seven AM at the rehearsal space. I ended up grabbing a cab home, and on the twenty-minute drive I relax into my seat, and think through what I’m going to tell my family. My parents are traditional people, hell my dad didn’t speak to me for a week when he realised I had my first boyfriend. My brother was more like me. The thought sends a pang through my chest and I quickly push the memories of him away, not willing to wallow in the grief and pain tonight.
So, what to tell the parentals? They wouldn't approve of this job, that’s for damn sure, but I guess I could just say the interview went well and I was offered the job? Be vague on what it actually is? To be fair, I hadn’t expected to get a job as a tour manager for a strip show. Lost in my thoughts, I don’t notice we’ve pulled up at my house until the cabbie looks over his shoulder with a friendly smile.
“£15 even.”
Nodding, I quickly pull out my purse and count out the notes. Handing them over I smile back. “Keep the change.”
Grabbing my bag, I jump out and face my family home. Most of my friends have moved out by now, started their own homes and families, whereas I’ve decided to concentrate on my career, but as a result, I’m still living with my parents. I never know where I’m going to be month to month, so buying my own place never made sense, but with the encroaching headache coming, I wish I had.
I head towards the door, fishing for my keys as I go. The house itself is nothing special, a standard two story house with three bedrooms. Inside is a different matter. It’s comfy and homey, but it’s like my parents are stuck in the past. Pictures of my brother and I growing up are plastered across the wall, medals and trophies line the mantelpiece in the living room.
Unlocking the door, I kick off my heels and groan when I stretch out my aching feet, I love heels, don't get me wrong. In fact, my brother used to say I had a shoe obsess
ion, they’re just so pretty, but my feet are feeling pretty abused right now.
“Gabs, that you sweetie?” my mum calls from the living room.
“Yeah, one sec.” Dropping my bag, I square my shoulders and poke my head around the living room door.
My dad is in his usual recliner in the corner, facing the TV with a beer in his hand. He’s an attractive guy for his age. All my friends used to say I had a dilf, yuck! His brown hair is starting to grey at the edges and his bright blue eyes pierce right into you where you stand. He still has his muscle from the days he spent working at the gym he owns, and he’s a little bit taller than me.
My eyes swing to my mum’s to see her smiling softly at me, the way only your mum can, like she can fix everything in the world. I look a lot more like my mum than my dad. Her skin is a bit darker than mine, but we have the same coloured hair and eyes. She’s a beautiful woman; not like the kind you see on magazines, but the kind you see when you’re out and it makes you do a double take. There is just something about her, she looks so kind and sweet that you can’t help but smile when you see her. Even now, my lips tug up into a grin as my heart pounds when my dad turns off the TV, and looks at me with an expectant expression.
“Well, how did it go?” my mum asks, scooting to the edge of the sofa and smiling.
“I got the job,” I say and my dad nods.
“Never doubted you for a minute.” We share a smile as he turns back to the TV. I will always be Daddy's little girl, but ever since my brother died, there’s a distance between us. Like he can’t bear to let me close again. I never saw my father cry until that day, and I’ve never seen him cry since. My mum said he locked down, unwilling to face the pain of losing a child. I was young, I needed my dad, I needed someone to hold me and live through the pain with me, like only he could because loved the same person. Instead, he turned away and buried his head in his work. I still love him, but there is a ball resentment at the bottom of my stomach that won’t ever go away.