Kelly Fenn came to the Honey Dripper seeking what she thinks is an easy way to make cash to pay off a loan. Martin Malachi is the one man she never expected to find, let alone fall in love with.
Martin’s not looking for a girlfriend, but Kelly needs a job. When he suggests an offer Kelly can’t refuse, she’s got a choice to make. Will she risk her heart for a chance at forever with a man fifteen years her senior, or walk away?
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Copyright ©2021 Megan Slayer
Martin sat at the desk counting the take from the night before. Lots of customers meant the club was busy and would hit the quota, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed counting the receipts. He should check the liquor levels in case they needed to order more. He needed to go through the pipeline and replenish the beer kegs, as well.
He hoped they’d have a decent night tonight, too. He liked seeing the club full. A busy club equaled brisk business and happy dancers.
A young woman walked into the foyer. He swept his gaze over her — fresh-faced, sweet, co-ed type — not the kind of girl who worked at the Honey Dripper. The exotic dancers tended to be on the jaded side.
Martin frowned. “Excuse me? Can I help you?” He shut the lid of his laptop.
“Hi.” The girl’s eyes widened. “I’d like to apply for a job.”
“A job? Here?” Her blue eyes captivated him, and were those freckles? Blood rushed to his dick. He had a thing for girl-next-door types. He wasn’t a fan of younger women, but something about this one spoke to him.
“Yes.” She rested her hands on the desk. “Please?”
She’d pulled her dark blonde hair into a ponytail and her T-shirt stretched across her ample bosom. Martin stifled a groan as she licked her lips. If the innocence she projected was an act, then she was damn good at it.
“Hello?” She waved her hand. “Sir?”
God, he’d love to hear her call his name or Sir in the bedroom. When she waved again, he blinked. “Huh?” Shit. He hadn’t been listening to her.
“I’d like to apply for a job.” She tapped the desk. “Here.”
“At the desk?” He needed to screw his head on straight. “Doing what?”
“Um…” She blushed, and her confidence seemed to vanish. “Dancing?”
“You know it’s nude dancing, right?” She didn’t strike him as the type to strip without a stiff drink and a double dare.
“I do.” Her blush deepened. “Sure. Yeah. I know.”
“You’re twenty-one, right?” He wasn’t above moving and selling illegal booze, but the Malachi family refused to hire anyone under the age of twenty-one.
“I am.” She withdrew her wallet from her bag. “Want to see?” She opened the case and produced her driver’s license. “There you go.”
He read the information, then shined the card under the special light. The holograms and embedded strip shimmered. If this was a fake, then it was the best fake he’d ever seen. The holograms were hard to counterfeit.
“What are you doing?” She frowned, knotting her pretty features together.
“Making sure it’s legit.” He handed the card back to her. “Kelly.” The name suited her.
“Yes.” She smiled. “Kelly Fenn.”
“You’re a college student?”
“Yes.” She put her license back in her wallet. “Do you want to see my student ID?”
“No.” He should talk to her in one of the offices, instead of the foyer. “Let me call Amanda over. She can cover the desk.”
“Okay.” She shrugged. “Whatever you’ve got to do.”
He tapped his phone, summoning the woman who normally manned the desk. He sent the text, then turned his attention to Kelly. “Tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?” she asked. “I’m twenty-one, in my third year at Green College. I’m studying film history, and I’d like to get a position working with a museum or in the film industry cataloguing movies. Ideally, I want to work here in Cambridge in the little museum, creating digital and film content for the museum as well as cataloguing the films and clips in the archives.”
“Ah.” He gestured to Amanda, who’d just arrived. “I need you at the desk while I speak to this applicant.”
Amanda crooked her drawn-on eyebrow. “Is that what you’re calling it now?”
“What?” Kelly sighed. “If you can’t take me seriously, then I give up.”
“You’ll never work here with that attitude.” Amanda took her place behind the desk. “Good luck.”
Martin groaned. He liked Amanda, but not in a romantic way. Her sense of humor didn’t gel with his, and she tended to look at the world in a pessimistic manner. “Thank you.” He picked up the laptop and gestured to Kelly. “Ready?”
“Sure.” Kelly inched around the desk.
Amanda grabbed Martin’s arm.
“Hang on,” Martin said. He directed Kelly to the conference room. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He left her alone and returned to the desk. “Yes?”
Amanda rested her hands on her hips. The dress clung to her curves and showed too much cleavage, but she did her job and brought in customers. “What’s the deal?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “What’s your beef?”
“She is.” He knew and couldn’t do much about it, but most of the girls who danced at the club were under twenty-five.
“She’s not dancer material.”
“Nope.” He could’ve told her that when Kelly first walked into the building.
“Yet you’re wasting your time on her.” She crooked her eyebrow again. “What’s gotten into you?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on various e-tailer sites.
When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.