Revolving Door

by Dani Matthews

  With a sigh, I rub a hand over my face. “There’s so much she could do with her life, but she has it in her head that she can’t. She wants to prove to herself that she can overcome her past, but now she’s gotten comfortable, and she’s scared to take more chances. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s still allowing her family to control her to some extent. They’re still holding her back, and instead of recognizing it, she’s focusing on the money part of things,” I say with frustration.

  “Those are things she’s going to have to figure out for herself, Channing,” Gabe says lightly.

  “What if it’s too late for us by the time she figures it out?” I ask.

  Gabe remains silent.

  Twenty-eight

  Ashton

  Sometimes, I wish I could give up my job so I could be with Channing. Other times, I tell myself that I did what’s best for me so that my life can be better in the long run.

  I’m not going to lie.

  It’s hard.

  I think of Channing constantly. I miss his arms around me, the way he looks at me, the way he makes me feel about myself. I try not to dwell on what I can’t have, but it’s impossible to put him completely out of my mind.

  Each night I work at the club, it becomes harder and harder to find enjoyment in it. I keep waiting for Channing’s aversion to my dancing to fade from my mind so that things can go back to normal, but it still lingers.

  Tonight, I seem to be working on auto-pilot. I’m doing my job, but I’m not as into it as I usually am. I just want the night to be over so I can climb into bed and put another day behind me. I’ve given plenty of lap dances this evening, and the scent of all the cologne on my skin has me feeling nauseous.

  Just one more hour, I tell myself.

  A hand shoots up with a twenty as someone whistles for my attention. With a fake smile, I walk towards the three men at the table, and I blink when I recognize the blond man holding the twenty. He’s Colt’s friend. I believe his name is Beck, but I don’t recognize the others.

  Beck’s eyes widen when he recognizes me, and then his gaze roams over my body with open interest. His eyes lift back up to mine, and he gives me a grin that most women probably find sexy. For me, it just looks like all the others. Lusty with expectations. “Dance for me?” he asks.

  I tell myself he’s just another customer, and I pluck the twenty out of his hand and give him a sultry smile. He settles back in his chair as I tuck the twenty in my bra, and then I climb onto his lap, ready to give him a show. I give him a full lap dance, and he seems to like it enough to pay for a second.

  When I’m finished, his eyes are heavy-lidded with desire. “Got plans later?” he asks before I can climb off his lap.

  Irritation floods me, but I take care to keep it off my face. I’m supposed to look attainable without really being attainable—it’s part of the job. But for some reason tonight, his expectation that I’d be willing to sleep with him annoys me.

  I climb off his lap. “I do, with my bed. Alone,” I say with forced playfulness.

  Beck’s eyes linger on my breasts before they lift to my eyes. “Lucky bed,” he says with obvious regret.

  His friends request lap dances each, and I’m aware of Beck sitting back, enjoying the show. When I’m finished, they allow me to move on, and I’m relieved to walk away from their table. Now that Beck knows, everyone’s bound to find out. I tell myself that I have nothing to feel ashamed of, but I’m not looking forwarded to my secret getting out.

  ***

  Someone’s shaking my shoulder the following morning, and I groan and try to swat away their hand so I can go back to sleep.

  “Oh no, you don’t. It’s past ten. Time to get up and answer my questions,” Quinn says, shaking my shoulder a second time.

  “Go ‘way,” I grumble, trying to bury my head further into my pillow.

  “Nope.”

  The pillow is yanked from beneath my head, and I release a low growl as I turn over onto my back to glare up at her. “Do you have any idea what time I climbed into bed last night?”

  She’s sitting beside me, her face bright and cheery. “I can guess,” she offers without a hint of remorse.

  “Don’t you have to work?” I ask when I realize she has no intention of leaving my room anytime soon.

  “I’m working Saturday, so I’m off today.”

  With a wide yawn, I sit up and shove my hair out of my face. “So go do something.” And let me go back to sleep, I mentally add.

  “I’m going to. With you. We don’t see each other enough,” she says with an easy smile.

  “If you have the entire day available, why not wait until I get up?” I ask with confusion.

  Her brown eyes glint with determination. “I’m too curious to wait you out until noon. I’ve been wasting time for hours waiting for you to rise from your hermit-like state.”

  I make a face as I begin to wake fully. “I’m not a hermit.”

  “So, tell me what’s going on. And don’t brush me off like you did last time. Channing’s looking miserable, and you look about the same the few times I’ve actually seen you here at the house.”

  “You’ve seen Channing? What do you mean by miserable?”

  Quinn smirks. “I knew that would get your attention. He looks tired, grumpy, and he’s gone all the time. Just like you.”

  I sigh, tucking my unruly hair behind my ears. “We couldn’t make it work.”

  “I figured as much with the way you two have been acting.” She looks at me searchingly. “Ash, are you really happy there?” she asks, referring to the club.

  “It’s good money,” I say quietly.

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “I liked it in the beginning but now…”

  Her eyes shift with a knowing gleam. “Because of Channing,” she assumes.

  “His refusal to accept my job has me second guessing it,” I confess.

  Quinn reaches over and touches my arm. “Your confidence grew when you began dancing, anyone could see that. You really began to open up, so in that regard, the job helped you. But now it’s hindering you. You get that, right?”

  “Quinn, there’s more to it than you think.” I bite my lip and then confess, “I’m horrible with interviews. Actually, I’m horrible with anything that makes me nervous, and I’m terrible with learning new things. I’m dyslexic,” I reveal.

  She frowns at me. “Why would you keep that a secret?”

  “Past experiences have taught me to keep it to myself.”

  Her eyes narrow. “What past experiences? Did someone have a problem with you being dyslexic? If so, they’re not worth having in your life, Ash.”

  As much as I hate to dredge up old wounds, I explain to her how my family and Hayden had treated me.

  She stares at me with a dumbfounded expression on her face. “That’s…”

  “I know. But anyway, my point is that I’m terrible with interviews. I tank them, badly. It’s hard to talk myself up when I know there might be issues with my ability to learn.”

  Quinn’s head tilts slightly as she studies me. “Have you ever explained your dyslexia during an interview?”

  I shake my head. “I always figured that’d be the end of the interview, and my application would be tossed in the garbage as soon as I left.”

  “Ash! The entire world isn’t as biased as your family. Hon, instead of stressing yourself over hiding it and bombing an interview, why not be upfront?”

  “I didn’t want to take the chance.”

  “Hiding it is only hindering you,” she insists.

  “It doesn’t matter, Quinn. I already have a job.” I pull back the sheet and ease off the bed, stretching. “I need a shower.”

  Quinn stands as well. “I’ll go make breakfast for you.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I protest as she heads for the door.

  “Everyone’s gone, and I’m bored,” she tosses over her shoulder.

  After my shower,
I change into my favorite black, yoga capris and a loose tee before heading downstairs. When I enter the kitchen, Quinn is just setting a plate of pancakes on the island’s table top. She then rummages in the cupboard for the syrup, and then grabs the butter before placing them next to the plate.

  I sit down and reach for the butter. “Thank you, this looks great,” I tell her.

  Quinn smiles. “You’re welcome.”

  After I drizzle syrup on the pancakes, I look at her curiously. “Why do you look so pleased with yourself?”

  “Me? All I did was make you breakfast,” she says even as her eyes still gleam.

  “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing.” She folds her arms over her chest. “Now eat. We have a full day ahead of us.”

  I was reaching for my fork, and my hand pauses as I eye her. “What do you mean a full day?”

  “I told you I wanted to hang with you today, remember? It was the first thing I said when I woke you up.”

  “Oh, right.”

  I dig into the pancakes while Quinn begins cleaning the mess she’d made. Her phone rings a few minutes later, and she yanks it out of her pocket before hurrying out of the kitchen.

  My eyes linger on the doorway, and my eyebrows draw together. That was odd. For some reason, she didn’t want me to overhear her side of the conversation. Maybe she has a guy in her life? I shake off my curiosity and continue eating.

  After breakfast, Quinn insists on taking me somewhere. I don’t like surprises, but Quinn’s like a bulldozer, so I collect my purse and climb into the passenger seat of her car. She backs out of the driveway, and then we’re leaving the house behind.

  I glance at her. “I still don’t understand why you can’t tell me where we’re going.”

  She grins. “It’s a surprise.”

  “I don’t like surprises,” I say in a dry tone. Usually, when something catches me off guard, it’s typically a bad thing. At least in my old life, it had.

  “Just trust me.”

  “I do, or I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

  Soon, we arrive at the salon Quinn works at. As we lock her car and head inside, I look at her with amusement. “Is this your way of telling me my hair needs a makeover?”

  She smirks. “Your hair is gorgeous. All you need is a trim here and there, so no.” She turns to the receptionist that we’ve approached. “Morning, Shel. Will you tell Nita that Ashton Delegrave has arrived?”

  “Sure.” The pretty blond picks up the phone on her desk.

  I turn to Quinn. “What’s going on?”

  She looks at me determinedly. “Shel’s just part-time, and our new girl quit three weeks after she was hired. We still need a full-time receptionist, and it’s just what you need.”

  My mouth falls open as I gape at her. She can’t be serious.

  “Nita’s aware of your dyslexia. Just be yourself,” she advises.

  “But…” I sputter.

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “The club—”

  “Will still be there if you can’t give it up just yet,” she cuts in.

  I’m left speechless. Interviews are the reason I break out into cold sweat. Hell, I even have nightmares about them. Now, here I am, about to go through an interview that Quinn has sprung on me.

  Quinn’s eyes soften as she sees my alarm. “Ash, your family and ex were snobby assholes. You’re perfect just the way you are, and you’re going to find that out for yourself.”

  “Ashton Delegrave?”

  A woman’s voice cuts into our conversation, and I look up to see an older, sleek blonde standing by the receptionist desk. Her blue eyes are focused on me expectantly.

  She’s everything that’s always made me uncomfortable. Beautiful, confident, and clearly successful. Old emotions come to life, and I feel myself wanting to wilt beneath her steady, expectant gaze. Instead of focusing on all my flaws, I shove them aside and know that I need to make the best of this situation. Especially since she’s Quinn’s employer.

  I pull together a smile. “That would be me.”

  She steps forward and holds out a hand. “I’m Nita Carrington.”

  We shake hands, and I hope mine isn’t sweaty. “Nice to meet you,” I murmur politely.

  “Follow me.”

  As I make a move to follow Nita, I turn my head and shoot Quinn a look for dropping me into this situation without any forewarning. I’m not even dressed for it!

  She meets my gaze and grins.

  Once we reach Nita’s office that’s located in the very back of the salon, I find a pleasant surprise. I’d expected her office to be elegant and tidy, but instead, it’s a cluttered mess. That minor flaw causes me to relax a little.

  During the interview, Nita brings up my dyslexia and asks a few curious questions that I manage to answer with only a few stammers. The rest of the interview seems to go well, and the more time that passes, the more relaxed I feel.

  When I return to the small lobby thirty minutes later, I have a job offer to think over. I’m still kind of numb from this new turn of events, but I’m also certain she only offered me the job because of Quinn. It leaves a disappointed pit in the bottom of my stomach.

  Quinn rises to her feet as soon as she sees me, and we leave the salon and enter the bright sunlight. “How was it?” she demands as she digs her keys out of her purse.

  I pause by the passenger door of her car and look at her over the roof. “I know she only hired me as a favor to you.”

  Her mouth falls open, and I hear her keys drop to the pavement. “Are you shittin’ me? Nita’s crazy picky about who she hires, that’s why the new girl quit. She couldn’t handle it. Nita doesn’t just hire anyone.”

  “Quinn, it’s okay. I know you’re trying to help, and I appreciate it,” I say kindly, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

  Her eyes narrow on me before she bends out of sight to retrieve the keys she’d dropped. The car immediately beeps as she straightens, and I climb into the passenger seat and close the door.

  Quinn slides into the driver’s seat and turns to face me. “I think you could get any job you wanted—as long as you’re being yourself and upfront about your dyslexia. Ash, it isn’t as big a deal as your family made it out to be. You think you’re the only one dealing with it? I bet there’s plenty of people in the area affected by it, too.”

  I’m quiet, because I really don’t want to have this argument.

  “Fine, let’s try a little experiment,” she says determinedly.

  “No.”

  “Yes.” She holds up her keys. “I’m the one driving, remember?” She sighs and looks at me coaxingly. “C’mon, please. For me?”

  “What is it that you want?” I ask reluctantly.

  “I want to find a place that’s hiring and see if we can’t get you in for an impromptu interview. Be upfront with everything and see what happens,” she suggests.

  I motion to my outfit. “You can’t be serious. I’m not even dressed for interviews,” I argue.

  “There’s nothing wrong with what you’re wearing.” She gives me a look. “You need proof, so suck it up, Ash. You’re mine for the day, remember?”

  ***

  Late that night, I slide into the driver’s seat of my car and close the door. Tonight, my shift at the club seemed to drag on forever. As I jam the key into the ignition, I can’t resist pulling my phone out of my purse. Even though Channing and I are no longer dating, I still find myself checking it nightly. In the very back of my mind, I still hope we can somehow find our way back to one another. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but someday.

  I blink with surprise when I find a voicemail waiting for me. Channing instantly comes to mind, and I quickly swipe the screen and listen to the message. I’m disappointed that it’s not him. However, it is the manager from the shoe store that I’d applied at earlier today.

  The job is mine.

  After ending the call, I put the phone back in my purse and stare sightlessly out the windsh
ield. Even with my dyslexia, the manager wants to hire me. All this time I’d thought that it would be used against me.

  It’s beginning to sink in that the only person holding me back…is me.

  Twenty-nine

  Ashton

  The next evening, I’m at the bar and grill with Quinn and Harper. They’d invited me to join them, and I hadn’t hesitated. A few months back, I would’ve been nervous at the thought and likely would have avoided the outing. But not anymore. I enjoy their company, and life seems to be looking up these days—even if Channing isn’t a part of it.

  I wince and look at Quinn. “Everyone knows?”

  She picks up her quesadilla. “Yep. Beck mentioned it to Colt and Sebastian the other night.”

  I reach for a quesadilla from the large platter in the middle of the table. “Figures,” I grumble. “I’m two weeks shy of being done with the club, and now word is spreading that I work there.”

  Harper brightens. “You’ve decided to quit?” She quickly holds up a hand. “Not that the job was anything to be ashamed of, but now that gives you an opportunity to see where things could lead with Channing.”

  I’d told Quinn this morning that I plan to accept the receptionist position at the salon, so she already knew. This is the first I’ve seen Harper today, though. I’m extremely nervous about quitting the club, but I think I’ll be okay. I’ll be taking a decrease in pay, but working at the salon will give me a steadier income. One that I won’t worry I’ll lose if, God forbid, I twist an ankle or something. As for the club, it’s time to close the door on that chapter of my life. Am I going to miss the money? Very much so. But like Quinn pointed out this morning, if I need extra cash, I could bartend part-time.

  At the mention of Channing, my mood dims. He’s been avoiding me, and we haven’t bumped into each other in days. It’d be too weird to search him out and say, ‘Hey, I quit stripping. Can we try again?’

  “I think I lost my chance with him,” I tell Harper before taking a bite of the quesadilla.