The music pulsed through the club, neon lights flashing against the dark walls, the air thick with expensive cologne and liquor.

Headquarters was packed tonight — money flowing, men watching, the usual. As a stripper working there, you were used to it.

The lingering stares, the requests, the way they all looked at you like you were just another part of the show.

Drew sat back on the long couch, one arm draped over the back, fingers playing with his drink.

He looked relaxed, almost lazy. You tried your best to stay casual and do your job as you walked up to him.

“So, you’re her pick?” he finally said, voice smooth, edged with something unreadable.

You smirked slightly, running a hand down your side. “Boss said you asked for someone like me.” You said in that classic New Yorker accent.

“Seems I got taste.” He took a slow sip of his drink, watching you over the rim.

You’d done this a million times before, sat in booths with men who had money to burn and egos to stroke. But something about Drew felt … different.

Maybe it was the way he wasn’t touching you yet, just looking, like he actually wanted to talk before anything else.

“You got a name?” He asked, looking you up and down.

“Maybe.”

That made him grin, tongue running along the inside of his cheek.

You glanced at his friends — laughing, drinking, barely paying attention. “So .. what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Vacation,” he said simply. “Needed a break.”

“So you decided to waste it here?”

Drew chuckled, shaking his head. “You say that like this place doesn’t have its perks.” His gaze flickered down your body, slow and appreciative.

You rolled your eyes playfully, shifting closer, the scent of his cologne mixing with the whiskey on his breath. “You looking for a show, or a private dance?”

He leaned in, close enough that his lips almost brushed your ear. “I think I’ll start with a conversation.”