Cirice Forge doesn't know who she is. Other than a piece of paper with her name on it, she knows nothing about her time before she was dispersed into the foster system. Now, she bartends at a popular gentleman's club with plenty of ogling and still...
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Daddy Ben's was busy. Busier than most usual Friday nights, or so Cirice had noted. Just this most recent shift, she had been hit on twice and gotten four numbers. All of which promptly found their way to the trash.
Each time Cirice would encounter an admirer, she would relent a bit. She figured any schmoozing would get her a better tip, or Latham more money. Inadvertently she was supporting herself, she just didn't reap a portion of the benefits right away.
At least that is what she told herself as she served the fourth shot of tequila to Polly. Polly was a dancer, a job Latham had tried to convince Cirice to take, but she refused. She had decided long ago that no one would touch her if they didn't devote everything to her first.
"Another round for table six." Latham, a blonde, heavy-set man of 40 informed. He went to the register and began to cash in the order.
"That is their ninth round. You planning on cutting them off any time soon?" Cirice asked, placing all the beers on a round tray. Latham smirked.
"They're making us money, honey. I'll let them drink until the ambulance comes if it means I can sell them this post water beer for 7 bucks a bottle." he snorted, holding his hand up for a high five. Cirice sighed and pushed the tray over to him.
"Uh uh, they want you," he said, gesturing to the last table over in the corner. She could already see Polly eyeing it, and swallowed hard.
"I don't serve. I tend the bar, and I count the tills." Cirice noted, gesturing to the counter around her.
"Hear hear, and she does a good job." A drunk, middle-aged blonde woman added before puffing a cloud of smoke into Cirice's face.
"Look, just do it. We've been slow recently, but these college kids are gonna get us back to it." Latham said as Cirice rolled her eyes.
"College kids? Really? Christian Grey better be over there." she snapped as Latham dove his hand into his pocket.
"Twenty bucks, go buy a push-up bra," he said, smirking. Cirice squared her shoulders.
"Fifty, and I like this bra," she said, putting her hands on her hips.
"Goddamn it," Latham muttered, adding two more bills to the one in his hand. She snatched it from his chunky fingers and grabbed the tray. Cirice maneuvered the tables that held men from all walks of life. Some were businessmen, others straight out of the trailer park. She approached the table, inhaling deeply.
"A round of beers?" she asked, eyeing the five young men that all bore the crimson color of Harvard University.
"Yep, that's us babe." The boy with sandy blonde hair and muscles way too small for his shirt had spoken. Cirice rolled her eyes and placed the bottles on the table. A tanned hand seized her arm.
"You know tattoos make you ten times less attractive, right?" another one snapped, his friends all smirking.
"So does that metal in your face, what are ya, a bull?" the sandy blonde chimed, letting out an obnoxious laugh. Cirice ripped her arm from his grasp just as Polly's voice rang from behind her.
