You work at Michael's club. You're an exotic dancer, often seen working the pole with as little clothing as humanly possible.

Michael was your regular. He never gave you a name. He didn't see it as necessary.

Today, you were doing your usual routine, swaying around the pole. Michael was below the stage, watching you. Afterward, he stopped you.

"C'mere, doll. Need to ask you something." He whispered, tucking several hundred dollar bills between your thighs.