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By: Cassandra Dee

~Book 4 of the Billionaires Club~


For all the little girls with big dreams.



“Come on Abby,” said my friend Jennelle. “Loosen up.”

I stood outside the club, shivering on the sidewalk in my thin jacket. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to party, but there was a niggling sense of doubt. The place itself was just a black box with no windows, totally normal for this type of venue. But something nagged inside.

“I’m not sure,” I hedged, biting my lip. “I mean, maybe we should come back another time. It’s okay, no rush.”

Jennelle huffed impatiently, tossing blonde hair over one shoulder.

“Come on!” she wheedled. “Come on! I don’t want to do this alone, and besides, it’s not like we have that much more time. Finals start soon, and then there’s break and I won’t see you for a month. Come on Abby, it’ll be fun!” she said, grabbing my wrist.

And before I knew it, Jennelle was knocking on the door, striking a sassy pose. A slot in the metal opened, scraping rustily, and a suspicious eye peered out at us. Heck, this was so old school, I thought these places had hidden cameras now to scope out any guests. But no, this was Russian mafia-style and a big brown eye literally peered at us suspiciously before a metal grating rang out once more.

And whaddya know, but the big door swung open and a dude stood there, imposing, dressed all in black. He was about the size of a bear, with the same fierce expression, and all sorts of weird bumps and lumps under his jacket. Was he armed? I swear there was the butt of a gun peeking out from under that bomber.

But Jennelle wasn’t intimidated, or if she was, my friend hid it well.

“Hi!” she said cheerily. “We’re here for the Club.”

The guy looked back at her unimpressed despite her flirtatious glances and simpering giggles. That was a shock. Most guys are drawn to Jennelle like moths to a flame, they circle around her long blonde hair and thin body mindlessly, drawn to those feminine assets.

But this guy was different. Instead, he looked down at her through squinty eyes.

“Which club?” he said carelessly, chewing a huge wad of something.

“Which club?” Jennelle parroted vaguely, trying to peer around him, craning her neck. “You know. The Club,” she said winking again. I stood as still as possible, mortified. Maybe if I made no sounds and no movement, no one would notice me, and even better, I could pretend I wasn’t here.

But the bouncer wasn’t impressed.

“Naw, no one gets in without knowing the club,” he said vaguely, face shuttered. “Scram babycakes,” he grunted, one hand already swinging that massive steel door shut in our face.

But Jennelle didn’t get to be sassy, tenacious Jennelle by giving up. Before we were pushed out of the way, she stuck out a stiletto, the heel shockingly strong despite its narrowness, and managed to block the door, hands out, supplicating.

“Wait,” she said breathlessly. “We’re willing to pay to get in,” she said like that was a massive concession.

The guard didn’t even reply, his mind already elsewhere and the door continued to swing shut.

“Wait, wait!” squealed Jennelle again. “We’ll work for it, like I said, we’ll work for it!”

This was the part that I dreaded. Because Jennelle had briefed me on our potential “work” earlier during the night, and I wanted no part of it. But how could I resist my best friend? Especially when she was being her most persuasive self.

“Oh you,” Jennelle had pooh-poohed, leaning forward to put on mascara, opening her eyes wide and staring into the mirror, nose almost touching her reflection. “Seriously Abby, you’re so uptight. It’s no big deal,” she said carelessly.

I sat on the bed, trying to pull my skirt down lower, unsure and fidgety.

“No seriously, what kind of place is this? We’re gonna get matched with guys? I don’t get it,” I bit my lip nervously.

And my blonde friend turned to me exasperated, hands on her hips.

“Abs,” she said firmly. “This place is the rockingest venue, there’s no name for it even,” she stated. “And we can’t afford the cover, it’s something like three hundred bucks.”

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