Married to a stripper [Black Book1]✔

chapter one.

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“Where the hell is Liza?” Loud stomps and a rageous voice echoed through the hallway into the dressing room where the strippers prepared for their show as they giggled and babbled.

“She isn't around yet, Dean.”  One of the strippers—Zoe answered as he reached the door revealing a crimson face with knitted thin brows above hooded eyes. It was actually the third time he came checking up on her.

“What?” he glanced at his watch, “Is she aware it's almost twelve?”

The room went dead.

Dean fisted his hair in devastating frustration. “Tell her to report to my office upon arrival.” his words seeping through clenched teeth was the last thing from it before he exited.

Dean, a tall muscular fair-skinned young man, was the owner of the spyce nightclub; one of the most popular private clubs in town worth a million per night. He was a single father of a ten-year-old for as long as five years after losing his wife to the cold hands of death. Perfection, time, and money was his motto.

“Oh-oh. Someone's going to be fired tonight.” Stacy said, adjusting her pink cat-eared hairband on the enormous vanity mirror.

The barbie stripper was what she was called by both the money stinking rich customers and other strippers due to her incessant touch of pink on everything she put on, her ruler figure, and perfect boobs.

“We all know he can never do that, she plays a big role in his source of income.” Zoe barked, arms crossed above her chest glaring at the bamboo who seemed to revel in annoying others.

Zoe, very much devoted to her source of daily bread, had shoulder length coal-black hair, a pair of emerald green eyes, a narrow nose, and plumped lips made up her exquisite facial features.

Liza finally arrived, though a good ten minutes late, when a furious Dean had already ordered Stacy and three other dancers to the stage out of no choice, just to keep his customers busy, but the crowd didn't seem to appreciate their efforts, she could tell from the almost quiet room. From her own imagery of the scene, the human stained room preferred ravishing their glasses of expensive whiskey and intoxicating tobacco than spare them a glance.

With a lilac knee-length leather overcoat, a pair of black flats, and her mini valise which contained her necessities, liza rushed into the dressing room which revealed to her a lifted brow above an emerald green eye. Her mouth twisted as turquoise eyes met hers.
Zoe needed not to tell her what to do, she'd been late for work twice that week, momentarily exclusive and what awaited her was a 'principal' in his office--a bloodshot 'principal'.

The last time she was late, her job was at risk but she of all people knew the self-centered sapien too well, he won't try that unless he wanted his fortune to fly away like dust before an electric fan.

“Hey, Zoe.” she greeted in between gritted teeth.

“What's happening to you lately?” she asked, concerned.

Zoe and Liza met at a friend's birthday party seven months after her dad's death, such a cool and carefree young lady. She taught her how to accept life as it came for there was a reason for everything happening in one's life. From that day, they miraculously became best of friends. She was the only one who really knew her well besides her mum and kid sisters— Lorna and Lola. Like another sister from different mothers, she cried when liza cried, rejoiced when Liza rejoiced. She even got her the job in which she was extremely good at. She didn't like it much as it wasn't a decent one but it was the only job in which she was pretty much well paid.