Dance for the Billionaire

By: Jewel Moore

Her legs felt barely able to support her as she stumbled to her dressing room.

What the hell had just happened?


“Come here,” Russell beckoned one of the waitress as the song came to an end. “Tell that dancer I’ll give her £1000 to give me and my friend here a private lap dance.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the woman apologized. “She doesn’t give private dances.”

“Tell her I’ll pay £5,000, then.”

The waitress’s eyes widened at the sum.

“Okay, I will tell her,” she agreed, “but she might still refuse.”

“She won’t refuse,” Russell said arrogantly. “That’s more money than she’s ever seen in her life.”

The waitress hurried to do Russell’s bidding.

“I bet she refuses,” Dominic warned the other man.

“You wanna bet?”

“Actually, let’s make it an official. If she accepts, I will pay for the lap dance. If she refuses, you sell me the property at the price I offered today.”

“Deal!” The man confidently pumped Dominic’s hand and then slouched back against his chair with a smile.

Dominic felt confident too, although he had pretty much sealed his fate with the all-or-nothing offer. The woman had a look that was out of place even in the classier-than-average strip joint. He sensed that she wouldn’t be tempted unless the sum was large enough for her to quit.

The waitress came hurrying back to them and Dominic barely resisted the urge to punch the air in triumph—from the look on her face he knew she wasn’t returning with a positive answer.

“I’m sorry, sir. She said that she’s not interested.”

“Bloody stupid bitch!” Russell snarled in disbelief.

“I’ll be at your office at noon tomorrow.” Dominic didn’t lose any time in reminding the older man that they’d had a deal and he’d lost.

“Fine!” The man stood up and stormed out, seeming to have forgotten that Dominic had accompanied him to the club in his Hummer.

Jubilant, Dominic sat back and savored several sips of his cognac—his chauffeur was only a phone call away.

The waitress who had delivered the message was passing again, this time with an empty tray and heading towards the bar. Dominic raised his hand and called her over.

“Tell her I said to name her price.”

“Sir, I don’t—”

“Just ask her, please.” He gave her the smile his mother called his lethal weapon and the woman smiled in return.

“Okay,” she agreed, but didn’t look hopeful.

Less than five minutes later she hurried back to him, looking pretty much the way she’d done when she’d given Russell the bad news.

Prepared for another refusal, Dominic was stunned when she informed him, “She said £50,000 in cash.

“No problem,” he assured the woman, with another warm smile. He had read the dancer correctly—she was looking for nothing less than quitting money. If she’d asked for twice the sum, he would have still agreed to pay it.

The waitress blinked in surprise at his response. “She also wants to check the notes before she gives you the dance.”

“By all means,” he agreed. He was liking the dance’s style more and more. “What time does she leave the club?”

“She leaves at one.”

“Tell her that I’ll have the money ready by time she’s finished.”

Dominic pressed some notes into the woman’s hand, then stood up and walked out of the club, pulling out his mobile phone and speed dialing his chauffeur’s number as he approached the door.

“Alvin,” he said, when the man answered after the second ring. “Tell Rogers I need four of the brown envelopes from my desk drawer. Bring them here to me at Armstrong’s in an hour’s time.”

“Yes, boss.”

Dominic smiled and shook his head. He had given up asking Alvin to not call him “boss”. “Mr. O’Brien” would sound less formal, but it was better than being called “sir”, he’d decided and accepted that the man would never call him by his first name although they were almost the same age.

If Alvin Thomas wondered what his employer was doing at the elite strip club, he knew better than to ask. He quickly confirmed the instructions and hung up aware of the short time window.


“He agreed!” Tiffany burst into the tiny dressing room, grinning as if she’d won the lottery. She opened her hand and revealed several crumbled fifty pound notes, her grin widening until it almost split her face. “And my God! Look, he gave me all of these!”

“He’s insane!” Chantelle gasped. Her ridiculous demand of £50,000 had been a joke she’d expected him to laugh off. “Are you sure he’s right in the head?”

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