Carson traced his hand across the small of my back as he slid into an empty seat.

The boys wanted three bottles of champagne – easy enough to remember. I just prayed I didn’t drop this order, especially not at two hundred quid a bottle.

I walked to the bar quickly and looked at Jason apologetically. “Sorry. Did someone clear it up, or do you want me to do it?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, it’s done. Lover boy even covered the cost, so don’t stress about Rory’s trip, okay?” He smiled kindly and I sighed in relief. Jason was a nice guy; he was the son of the owner and someone who I could talk to. We’d always got along well.

Charlotte trotted over, scowling at me as I went to pick up the tray containing the expensive fizz. “What are you doing? That’s my table!” she growled possessively, grabbing my wrist to stop me from picking up the tray.

I sighed and instantly released my grip. It was her table and, to be honest, I didn’t really want to see Carson too much tonight. The damn boy literally drove me crazy, and I knew I would be crying myself to sleep tonight because of him.

She huffed and threw her long, silky brown hair over her shoulder, tugging her top down more than necessary as she plumped up her cleavage. I tried not to roll my eyes. Weren’t girls supposed to have a slight air of mystery about them? She obviously didn’t understand that you didn’t need to show everything to get attention. Wordlessly, she grabbed the tray and slinked her way over to Carson’s table.

I tried not to watch. I tried really hard not to watch… but I just couldn’t help myself.

Carson frowned as she put the tray down on his table and threw him a seductive smile. His eyes flicked to me and one eyebrow rose, silently asking why I wasn’t working his table tonight. I shrugged, chewing on my lip. It really wasn’t my call, so he’d just have to do without me for one night.

I turned back to Jason thinking maybe I could ask to leave early tonight, pretend I was sick or something. I loved seeing Carson, I really did, but it was pure agony most of the time.

Suddenly, two muscular arms rested on either side of my body, trapping me against the bar as his smell surrounded me, making my scalp prickle. I didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stood there like a statue as he pressed against my back almost possessively.

“Jason, I want Emma to work my table. Tell the other girl to take a break or something,” Carson insisted, as if he just got to make demands like this. Well, in total honesty, he did. He was one of the most prestigious members of the club, and they did a lot to keep him happy. We had different rules for high-paying celebrities, and they got special treatment.

Jason shrugged, his eyes darting to me for a split-second. “That’s Charlotte’s section, Mr Matthews. I can’t take a table away from her, she’ll be losing out…” he trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.

One of Carson’s arms moved off the bar; there was a fumbling near my hip and then he threw a wad of cash. I gulped as I looked at it; it was more money than I earned in a couple weeks. Crisp fifty-pound notes, easily about three hundred pounds’ worth, dismissed, just like that, as if it were nothing. Well, in all honesty, it probably was nothing to him. It must be a great feeling to never have to worry about money. I silently wondered what it was like to never go hungry because you could only afford to buy enough food for two people instead of three or to not have to scrape pennies from the back of the sofa because you were thirty-seven pence short for the electricity bill. I just couldn’t imagine having enough money to throw it away like that. My eyes prickled with tears because it just reminded me how hard my life was. I looked away, willing the tears not to fall. I couldn’t cry here; instead, I’d cry when I was in bed tonight.

“Now she won’t be losing out,” Carson stated, taking my hand and pulling me toward his table. “I want Emma exclusively tonight. I don’t want to share her with other tables, so take her off the floor, too, okay?” he called to Jason over his shoulder.

TWO HOURS LATER, they were getting pretty rowdy. They didn’t watch the show at all; only a couple of them even glanced in the direction of the stage. They came here for the privacy, the selective clientele, the expensive champagne, and the ambiance of being in a high-class establishment. Angels Gentlemen’s Club was the best of its type in London.

After nine bottles of champagne between six of them, they were more than a little tipsy. The more they drank, the flirtier they became. I had always liked waiting on them, though, because none of them ever touched me – unlike some of the drunken clients I had to deal with.

I’d had two glasses of champagne, so I was a little merry myself. Carson had insisted I sit and have a drink with him. The whole time I had sat there blushing like crazy while he played with my hair, telling me time and time again he liked the cut, that it suited me, how good I looked, and how it felt like he hadn’t seen me in forever. It had felt like forever for me, too. Especially when he was plastered all over the papers, celebrating his victories with beautiful celebrities in LA, sunning himself on a beach with swimwear models, or the worst one, him on a billboard right outside my crappy little flat. Oh, and did I mention it was for Calvin Klein and he was only wearing a pair of white boxers in the photo? Every day, I opened my curtains and was greeted by a ten-foot picture of the guy I was in love with – not good for the soul, that one.

Carson came to the club once a week at the very least, more if he could. He came every Saturday night for almost three years, missing only when he was out of town. These last three weeks had been like torture.