The Billionaire's Kitten(3)

By: Cassandra Dee

“The girls don’t eat well and exercise?” I asked, dumbfounded. “They don’t take care of themselves the right way?” So many of the waitresses around here looked like supermodels, I was sure they all had personal trainers and nutritionists.

Loretta cackled again.

“What planet are you from?” she laughed hoarsely, brandishing that cigarette. “You think these girls work out? Working out takes work, honey, these ladies ain’t working out unless there’s money to be made. Please,” she whispered conspiratorially, winking. “Here at the Hotel Milano, it’s all about the cash.”

With that my mouth snapped shut. Because that’s what I was here for too, after all. I was here to make a pretty penny serving drinks to fat cats who’d come to Vegas to spend big dollars. I was here to profit off men who were drunk off their ass, with nothing to recommend them but a bulging wallet. So swallowing, I nodded silently. But curiosity overcame me.

“You sure?” I said in a hushed voice. “I mean, don’t pills make your stomach go loose inside? This job doesn’t really allow for that. We can’t really just go running off to the bathroom all the time.”

Loretta cackled.

“You don’t take the pills right before your shift, dummy. You take ‘em when you get up, at least five hours before coming to the club. That way as your intestines flush, it’s all in the comfort of your home. Queen of the Throne!” she cackled.

My cheeks flared again. Oh my god, this was so embarrassing yet eye-opening at once. So the chicks here were purging their stomachs to stay skinny? Laxatives were the key? Loretta laughed again, confirming my suspicions.

“If you want a box,” she leaned forwards conspiratorially. “I’ve got some of the strongest stuff there is. Better than the OTC shit,” she confided, “it’s from my personal chemist.”

At that, I shuddered. No way would I trust some dude in a mobile home in the desert, concocting green juices in a makeshift lab. That stuff was illegal and probably toxic, you didn’t know what went into homemade drugs. So I shook my head.

“Um, no thanks,” I murmured, smiling weakly. “I’m good.”

“You sure?” Loretta cawed, running her eyes up and down over my frame. “You got some extra poundage there for sure, you’ll make more money if you lose it. Trust me,” she said conspiratorially. “I’ve been working this joint for years now and men like skinny. They like miniature, and honey, you ain’t no miniature. You got junk in the trunk like an XXL hamburger.”

The words hit me like gunshots, making my cheeks flame, but I just put my head down, humiliated.

“I’ll think about it, thanks,” I stammered, stumbling to the door.

And as Loretta’s cackles faded behind me, I paused, taking a deep breath. What the hell had just happened? I’m Kitty Jones, college freshman, with a load of debt and a load of homework. I was here to pay off some of that debt, or at least make a dent in it, and yet the backstage atmosphere of Club Milano had already thrown me for a loop.

Because I’m the girl always in the library, a big nerd with a huge backpack, and my conversation in the dressing room made me feel weird. Drugs? Diet pills? Laxatives? More drugs? And what was with this dress? The purple fabric was ludicrous, outlining my assets obscenely. What the hell was going on?

But it was too late because Morty spied me over from the side and beckoned.

“Looks good,” he grunted, eyeing my form up and down. “Perfect.”

I stammered again, blushing bright red.

“You don’t think that this is … um, a little small?” I asked nervously, tugging at the hem.

“Naw, you’ll do fine,” Morty said carelessly, already looking off into the crowd. “And your party’s here. Booth Two, a bunch of dudes celebrating a bachelor party. Go get ‘em kid. Do your job,” he said, turning and fixing me with a pointed look.

Picking up the tray, I took a deep breath. God, these shoes were so tight, the stilettos making me sway and teeter. But right, money. I was here for the money.

“Hi!” I introduced myself brightly to the guys in the booth. “Hi, I’m Kitt –um, Amber,” I corrected hastily. Oh god, oh god, this was so bad already, I’d almost given away my real name. “What can I get for you? I’m Amber, your server tonight.”

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