Hard Rod’s lives up to its name: a seedy, low-rate male strip club that ruthlessly exploits its dancers and operates an unsafe, unsupervised brothel in the basement.

  Strip clubs are illegal in this country, but that doesn't stop them from operating. With the right connections and bribes, these establishments enjoy police protection. Ironically, this illegality leaves the dancers with no legal recourse, ripe for exploitation. Hard Rod’s epitomizes this dark underbelly; a place so reprehensible that even I find it disgusting.

  "Trust me," the handsome man replies with a bitter laugh, "it's the last thing I want to do. But the tips for dancing—and extras—will pay better than any other job I can get on short notice, and I need the money. Badly. As of this morning, only two clubs in town were hiring, and Heavenly Earthborn apparently isn't anymore. So... I'm running out of options."

  Questions burn on the tip of my tongue, but they're ones I have no right to ask this total stranger. Like, what put him in such a desperate position that he'd even consider Rod's? Or why the hell hasn't he already made a fortune modeling or acting or doing something less nefarious?

  "You know, this place isn't all it seems," I tell him slowly, watching his reaction. When he mentioned the money Heavenly Earthborn dancers make, did he actually mean the dancers? Or was he referring to the "dancers" who use stripping as a front for more sordid services offered behind the VIP booths' closed curtains?

  He arches a half-smile at me. "I know." His hand turns over under mine so we're palm to palm, and his thumb traces a slow circle on my skin. I purse my lips, mulling that over. Maybe that is why the manager sent him away without an interview. He's got a total "good boy" vibe about him, despite looking like sex in jeans—an air of innocence that'll be utterly shattered in the shadows of Heavenly Earthborn.

  I hate to admit it, but I am glad he wasn't hired. On the other hand, I also dread the thought of him ending up in the filthy, cum-stained underground of Hard Rod's.

  "Well..." I am being selfish, utterly selfish. But the way my blood stirs at his touch tells me he is exactly what I need to get over my embarrassing blunder from earlier, just a hot, nameless fuck to clear him from my mind and reclaim my own steely confidence.

  I'm usually a force to be reckoned with, but that rejection has left me reeling. This guy... he can help me fix that.

  Maybe in return, I can find him a job. One that doesn't involve actual sex for money.

  "Well?" he prompts, and I realize I've trailed off, lost in my thoughts. I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to steer this night in my favor without sounding desperate. But honestly, all I can focus on is the thought of getting impaled on his cock, wich I am pretty sure won't disappoint.

  "How about you just enjoy yourself tonight," I suggest. "If you still want to try Rod’s tomorrow—well, deal with that then. But you look like you could use some time to unwind."

  He looks tempted but hesitant, like he's already accepted his fate and is just steeling himself for it. God knows why—I'm not known for my compassion—but I can't bear to see this gorgeous man throw his life away at Rod's. Even if it means breaking my own rules.

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  "Look, I know some people," I offer, remaining vague. "I can probably get you a job that pays twice as much as Rod's ever would—with considerably fewer sexual assaults and STDs."

  His brow furrows in suspicion. "What sort of job?"

  I snort a laugh. "Seriously, does it matter? You were about to quite literally sell your body." Then something occurs to me that put a damper on my mood. Maybe this gorgeous guy isn't even into chicks.

  But then, the way his fingers link with mine as he pull our hands from the bar top to rest in his lap tells me that isn't necessarily true.

  "Fair point," he concedes with a grimace. "So, I suppose I should ask what you want in return."

  My mood sours instantly, and I yank my hand from his grip. "Okay, this was a bad idea." I down my drink and set the glass on the bar with a bit more force than necessary. "Forget I offered."

  Because I don't fuck my employees. Ever. And if I give this guy a job—out of some weird, passing sense of pity and compassion—then fuck him in the bathroom? Yeah, that'd make me a total sleaze.

  Thank God I came to my senses before that happened.

  I slide off my stool and start walking away from a potentially terrible decision. No matter how hot I find that random guy, it's not worth the headache later.

  "Wait!" he calls out, hurrying after me and catching my wrist before I can reach the dance floor. It's the quickest exit, and I'm officially ready to call this shitty night done.

  I glance down at his hand on my wrist, but he isn't gripping me tight enough to hurt. It's just a gesture, not a demand. I give a small headshake to the hulking bouncer across the room who's scowling at my new friend like he wants to toss his ass out on the curb.

  "I'm sorry," the pretty guy apologizes when I don't pull away. I turn back to face him, tilting my head to meet his gaze. He's bigger than I first thought... and that only makes me more attracted to him. Damn it.

  "It's fine," I lie. "It was a terrible idea. Sorry. But good luck with your job search."

  I try to leave again, but his fingers tighten on my wrist, sending a spark of renewed interest through me. Maybe he's not as innocent as I was writing him off as.

  "No, it's not. That was totally rude and presumptuous of me," he insists, gently turning me back towards him. "I only meant, I'd be crazy grateful for any help in getting a job that doesn't require weekly STD checkups." He cringes at that, and I can't help but smile.

  Damn it. Why do I want to help this guy so much? I never usually care about anyone outside my inner circle. I lost faith in humanity long ago and generally treat everyone with a clear "fuck you" attitude. It keeps me alive, and it keeps me in my dad's favor.

  "How old are you?" I blurt out, curiosity getting the better of me. Based on his looks alone, I'd put him anywhere under twenty-eight. But there's just something about him that gives off a younger vibe.

  He frowns slightly. "Twenty-one."

  So maybe that's it. No visible tattoos, no hardened edge to his features. He probably has no idea what he's getting into.

  "Look, I didn't mean to insult you," he continues as if I haven't just changed the subject. "Can we pretend that never happened? You don't need to help me with a job; we can just hang out tonight."

  Suspicion prickles my senses. "Why?"

  He shrugs, a shy grin spreading across his face. "Because you're easily the coolest woman I've ever met, and I would never forgive myself if I fucked up this opportunity."

  "What opportunity?" I frown. Maybe I've totally misread this guy. There's a reason I never pick up random strangers in bars.

  He just shrugs again, looking nervous for about a split second before making his mind up about something. "This one," he murmurs, bringing a hand up to the back of my head. His fingers thread into my deep burgundy hair and tilt my face up to meet his kiss.

  The moment his lips touch mine, caution flies out the window.

  I need this. I need a gorgeous, nameless man to remind me of the badass bitch I know I am, to erase the memory of the snob I threw myself at earlier.

  My lips part, and I wrap my arms around the handsome guy’s neck, pulling him to me as I kiss him back. I know eyes are on us—on me—but I don't care. I need this... and if word gets back to Jianhua, all the better.

  It is about damn time I move on from my stupid crush.