Brazen

“Please, Vicky? Last one, I swear.” Rob held a hand up with a pleading look. I rolled my eyes, already softening up. “It’s just a serving job. All you have to do is hold a tray and walk around.”

“So I’m not running drugs like last time. None of that shady shit?” I lifted a brow at him. With Rob, it’s always shady as fuck, but the guy kept me fed, and I couldn’t say no to him.

“Ugh.” I groaned. “Fine. Just text me the details.”

I threw back a shot, my face scrunching up to the burn in my throat.

“Amateur.” He snickered as he made the exact same face.

“This is the last job, okay? I start working at the publishing house next Monday.” I waved at the bartender to pour another shot.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. You’re Lil’ Miss Career now.” His mocking tone matched his annoying face. I punched his arm, and it only made him laugh.

“Yup, I’m career-bound now. So I’ll be heading home to set up an earlier sleeping schedule.” I threw back another shot and waved at the bartender. “He’s paying.” I pointed at Rob.

“Oh, am I?” Rob muttered sarcastically. His arm reached out, but I grabbed it, stopping it from touching my ass.

“If you slap my ass, I’m tapping your balls. You want children, right?” I held a smart smile as he pulled his arm back with a frown on his face. I gave his cheek a kiss before turning away and walking out.

I’ve taken many jobs from Rob over the years, barely keeping up with the bills. Lately, it’s been much easier, especially because tuition is no longer an issue.

I’ve actually been living like a damn queen recently: online shopping all day and going out on nights I don’t have a job.

Finishing my bachelor’s degree has been wonderful for my mental health, and I think a major part of it is that I am no longer as desperate for jobs as before.

This meant no more drug runs, no risk of breaking the law, and most importantly, no chance of guys mistaking me for a hooker.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Hell, if I had the energy, I’d be down to fuck for money. I know my curves, and I know what men like, but school has always been a top priority.

Graduating with high grades and high hopes, I signed up for a job at every publishing house nearby. I had an interview within a week, and yesterday, they called to give me the good news.

Sure, I’ll be a secretary with lower pay than what I made from Rob’s jobs, but at least I won’t get slapped on my ass from some random creep trying to buy Molly.

I took a deep breath as I slipped on my black slacks. They said to come dressed in black, but they never said anything about underwear.

I stood in front of the mirror and admired the black lace that seemed to pop even more over the bright red bra I was wearing.

I’ve gotten used to matching my bra and panties, especially since I’ve noticed how much better my days seem when I do that.

The address Rob gave me led to a massive mansion, and I silently cursed at myself for accepting this job. Everyone knows that the richer the guests are, the more difficult things are for the wait staff.

The fancy drink and food requests, not to mention the death threats when anyone walks in on them cheating on their spouses.

You’d think they’d offer money for silence, but I guess rich people have gotten too smart to be blackmailed.

I heard my Uber driver sigh as we silently drove through their driveway, which took a solid five minutes.

We were headed toward the back entrance, but on the way there, I spotted large fountains in the center of glorious gardens.

The mansion was modern, with white walls and Greek-inspired architecture filled with golden accents. Only when I got out of the car did I see how truly large the place was compared to a small nobody like me.

As soon as I stepped through the door, I heard a man screaming orders at people dressed in…lingerie? Or maybe just underwear.

The girls were in black bras and panties, and if I hadn’t taken a second look, I wouldn’t have noticed that they were different from each other.

It wasn’t a specific uniform. The girls were wearing their own undies.

“You’re late,” the screaming man approached me. “Strip.”

“What?” I stood there awkwardly, raising a brow.

“Strip so you can start working or leave and don’t waste my time.”

Still appalled, I started to take off my shirt as I scanned him. The man was tall and had a serious look to him.

His face looked like he pumped it with Botox for fun, and his outfit was all black, from suit jacket to shoes.

“Didn’t Roberto tell you to come dressed in all black?”

“Yes, bu—”

“What the fuck is this?” He gestured at my red-and-black lace set with great irritation.

“I didn’t kn—”

“Ugh, you’re lucky that we’re short on staff.” He pulled out a little pin from his pocket and pinned it on my bra strap.

“Don’t lose this, and”—he picked up a tray of wineglasses and handed it to me—“get to work.”

I was about to walk toward the swinging door when he stopped me again.

“Take off your shoes and grab a pair of those slippers. This is a shoes-off home. And put this on.” He picked up a black lace mask that was broken in half, with one side dangling by a thread.

“Guess you’ll just have to wear half.”

He pulled the pieces apart and tied the string of the other end onto the half that he handed me. I wore it like a pirate’s eyepatch.

“Just go serve the guests. Don’t show surprise at anything. They hate that.” Without a hitch, he was off to yell at the next person.

I took slow steps through the door, careful not to spill any wine.

That was when I heard the loud crack of a whip, and I turned to see a full orgy in progress in front of the fireplace. And that was just the beginning.