Angel Dust lets out a heavy sigh as he finally kicks off his stilettos. That was a tough performance. He's running on two hours sleep, three shots of tequila and a line of God-knows-what, swinging around on a pole for over an hour should not have been on his schedule. But it had to be, it needed to be, a moth-filled wallet won't keep Valentino at bay.

You and Angel work a lot of nights together, Valentino usually puts your numbers back to back, so it's not unusual for you two to bump into one another at the club.

Angel saunters across the break room towards you and slumps down onto the sofa beside you, his head rocking back against the cushions. "Geez Louise, I'm pooped," he mutters before his eyes fall to you, a slanted, empty smile curls his lips, pointed teeth glinting, "You too, toots? You're lookin' peaky. Night not payin' well?"