..............
She didn't want to crumble or move; she wanted to sleep, wake up replenished, and in a safer landing. But the world owed Imani nothing, and therefore, she had to set aside what she considered unfair and go to work. Those bills had to be paid; caesar had to be given what belonged to him.
She had just left Jamie crying at the top of his voice. She had tried soothing him until Mrs. Fernandos shooed her away, telling her if she didn't go already, she would be late for work. Imani stood, then leaned down to kiss Jamie's forehead and left, her heart heavy and sad, running to catch the train. She was wearing blue jeans, a mustered knitted sweater, a checked blazer, and black canvas, but her change of clothes were inside the bag she carried. Black, laced underpants.
She wasn't sad or bothered about what she did; she never has. Life had taught Imani that shame was a luxury she couldn't afford.
When she got to the club, Ben was waiting for her at the door, pacing. He seemed agitated; for some reason, his forehead furrowed. "Where he have you been?" he shouted, staring down at Imani.
"Home, " She responded calmly, looking around to see whether anyone was around. She didn't want to be dressed down in front of an audience.
"What's the matter, Ben?" she asked in a low voice, taking a step towards him.
"He is already here." he threw her a strange look that I did she not understand, then told her to go change as soon as possible.
"Im not late, Ben."
It was her only defense, and it was valid.
"It doesn't matter; if he gets here before you, you're late. He is not early. "
Well, she thought, running to the locker room to change. The world sure had different rules for the rich.
After changing, Imani walked to Matthew's room on shaky legs, her heart beating faster than usual with anticipation of what was to come. She was a nervous wreck. Terrified that she might do something wrong and not only lose this gig but her job for offending one of their biggest clients.
Entering the room, he had already turned on neon lights; the stereo softly played slow Italian music; I knew because there was a time I practiced Italian music only.
"Welcome, Capri." his voice, exactly as she remembered it, timbre, strong with a hint of command, but it had an additional something this time, awareness or rather, recognition.
He was seated on his usual black leather couch, his coat neatly folded beside him, leg across the kneel, and his hands stretched out across the back of the sofa. It was the second time Imani had seen Matthew, yet it seemed like the first time. He looked different yet the same.
"I'm well, Mr. Ocean," she said, walking to the center of the stage. The pole beckoning her. She had done her hair the previous day; it was shiny and curled at the edges.
"Music, " he muttered. It didn't sound like a statement or a question, and she didn't know how to make of it. Suddenly spinning, her eyes a little wide in confusion, Matthew smiled. A slight smile transformed his face. Imani stared at him in wonder, not because he looked gorgeous with a smile but because she didn't think he smiled often.
"Chose a song, " he said in a low voice, almost in a whisper. If it were anyone else, she would have thought he was flirting with her.
But a billionaire with the choice of any woman in the universe wouldn't go for a stripper.
This time, the choice of music was different. She chose R&B, rock, and rap. She danced to love songs with longing and heartbreak, portraying the emotions in every twist and turn. Though she looked sexy as hell while she danced, Matthew could feel her emotions in her dance. He felt her sadness, her joy, the slight resemblance of a smile, and the seductive way she threw her hair when she crawled, the way she stretched her booty before swinging on the pole. In a way, she was communicating, speaking to him using her very elaborate dance. Matthew remained in his seat, mesmerize, baffled, and ensnared.
"You're a surprise," Matthew told her after the dance. He was still on the couch, and Imani was heaving hard, leaning on the pole.
"Thank you, " she said, palming her stomach. "Are you hungry, " surprised, Imani shifted her eyes towards him; their eyes met, and she timidly shook her head. Removing her hand from her tummy, she wobbled down the stage, feeling sticky all over her body.
"Would you like to sit with me until you're strong enough to walk?" he asked when she bent to pick her shoes. Imani stood up straight; this time, she didn't feel timid when she looked into his eyes, trying to read his intention. But She couldn't. There was no curiosity in his eyes, nor was there interest. He looked as if he would have offered anyone the same.
"Im okay, thank you," she said, turning to walk away even though she wished he would give her a tip like last time.
"Are you afraid of me?" He shot at her, leaning forward, his elbows on his kneel.
"No, I'm not," she answered nervously. She did not want to bruise his ego, and she prayed he wasn't the kind to take offense and start getting physical because he felt rejected.
Men were sometimes a different breed. Wealthy men could be worse because they could easily buy themselves out of any situation.
"Then sit with me."
She started to panic. Her heart throbbed faster with every nightmare scenario that went through her mind.
"I promise not to harm you."
It was the way he said it. Softly, in a soothing voice. She knew she could trust him, that he could keep his word.
"Thank you, but I can't," she regretfully said, motioning to what I wore.
"You could change and come back." it wasn't a question. It was a statement.
" I thought you wanted me to sit with you so I could catch my breath?"
They stared at each other as if it was a competition; Imani couldn't believe that she was getting this gutsy with Matthew Ocean.
Time stopped. At least that's what Imani thought. She watched him walking towards her with his hands in his pockets, which she thought must have been a habit until he stood in front of her.
Matthew bit the left corner of his lips while staring at her. She didn't know what he was thinking about, but she was glad he would never know the thoughts running through her mind.
Like how it would feel to kiss him? Run her tongue across the precise part of his lips that he was biting, Or the need to lean against his big chest, muzzle her face against his neck, breath into him because he smelled amazing.
With annoyance, she shook her head to snap out those very indecent thoughts from her mind.
"Yeah, " she said absently, taking a step and then another and then stopped.
"I can't, " she mumbled.
"Can't what?"
"I can't go and then come back, " she responded, turning to look back at him. His brows furrowed
"Why not?" he sounded impatient.
"They'll talk about me," she whispered as if she thought someone was listening. " she started getting conscious of the fact that she was having a conversation with a client when she was half-dressed.
"So?" he shrugged, walking back to adjust the lights to reveal both of them in clear, bright light. Imani whimpered, shutting her eyes tight before opening them.
"Are you a sinner?" Matthew asked, humour lurking deep into his eyes. He didn't smile, but Imani saw a gleam of playfulness in them.
"What?" she asked, looking at him first before averting her eyes to eye the door. Part of her wanted to run off; the other wanted to stay and find out what he wanted with her. She had never allowed herself to be alone in such proximity with a man before, never wanted to flirt with one as she wanted to do with this one.
Maybe it was the power he exuded or the fact that he was as elusive as he was wealthy.
They were standing opposite each other with Imani's leg across the ankle, hands across her thigh, trying to cover up the lower part of her body.
"Are you calling me a sinner because of what I do?" There was outrage in her voice, a tad of disbelief as she stared at him. He smiled, really smiled, like he was enjoying it.
"Whats is funny? If I'm a sinner, what does that make you? You're the buyer." she started walking towards the door, her shoulders stooped in anger.
"Wait!" Matthew pulled her back in before she could get out of the door, " Imani spun, anger flushing in her as she looked straight into his face.
"Mr. Ocean, please unhand me." Matthew did, making sure to close the door slowly to prevent her from leaving.
"That's not what I meant, " he defended, leaning on the wall beside her, looking at her beneath his eyes.
"What did you mean then?"
"Someone once said those that are afraid of light are probably sinners."
She looked confused, peering at him like he was crazy. "Sit with me for a few minutes, Capri," she wanted to say no, but he used the same voice that he'd used before, gentle, smooth as if he needed me to stay with him for some reason. For such a big man, he sure could be gentle.
"So, tell me about yourself."
Imani gaped at him as if he had lost his damn mind.
"Let's get something straight, Mr. Ocean; you pay me to strip my body, not my soul."He threw his head back and laughed. He told himself later, much later when he was standing in his foyer drinking a glass of scotch, that he wasn't attracted to her, just merely curious about her.
Why would such a drop-dead gorgeous girl be strip dancing when she didn't have greed gleaming in her eyes? If she had, she would have hit on him the first day they met. But mostly, he wanted to know how it would feel to drag her into his body with his arms around her tiny waist, run his hands through her hair or simply hold her hand. Matthew knew he was behaving like a teenage boy at the mercies of newly discovered hormones. He especially liked listening to her, the small bouts of laugher that seemed controlled as if she was afraid a guffaw would be susceptible to sorrow.
Maybe it was indeed attraction, but it wasn't life he wanted her in his like, just a passing appeal to a younger woman.
Aksara