Trapped With My Ex-Boss; An Enemy That Ruined Me

Diane's POV

"$40,000."

The price makes my throat run dry, and goosebumps run across my skin. The humming bass of the club fades into nothing in the background.

No way.

There's no way a client would offer such an enormous amount for my services. I know I'm good. I'm the best dancer this private club has to offer. But not once have I been tempted by this. There has to be a catch.

I shuffle on my feet, trying not to look desperate even though I am. I have debts to pay. Rent due. Food to buy... I need the money. "What do I need to do? Just dance for this man for a few hours?"

The other workers beside me cast jealous glances at me and the manager as they pretend to focus on the finishing touches of their make-up.

The chubby man shrugs, a conflicted expression crossing his face. "Not exactly."

Right. There it is. The catch.

"So... what exactly do I..." That's as far as I get before his voice cuts through.

"You would need to give him a night of his life." His expression is blank, like we're talking about the weather.

I freeze. Literally freeze. The world seems to spin, and I just stand there, my brain short-circuiting for a second. "Excuse me?"

Like, have me spend the night with the client? Why not just hire an escort or something? But then again, I know the elite of the city want quality, and this club is the only place they can get it.

Brittany, a snobbish blonde with her front side almost falling out of the gown with an incredibly low neckline, chips in, her eyes glinting with desperation. "I'll do it, Mr Rogers." She bats her lashes.

For a second, I can't even bring myself to protest. I just stand there, still reeling from the first words I heard. He will pick her. I know Mr Rogers doesn't like someone who hesitates, and right now, that's exactly what I'm doing.

But then... "I appreciate your comment, Brittany, but you have stage duty today. This is for Diane. The client has asked for the best, and you and I both know who that is."

His words sound far away as my brain tries to piece everything together.

My family, my life... and forty grand lying on the table in front of me.

I tilt my chin up. "I'll do it."

***

My gown rides high on my hips, and my heels click as I push open the door to the private room on the top floor of the building.

Stepping inside the dim room, softly lit by the glow of the red lights overhead, I'm immediately hit with the scent of pine and something woodsy.

"About time..." A deep, rough voice echoes from the corner of the room.

I freeze for a second before I gather myself and shut the door behind me. The angel mask covering my face feels way heavier than it used to.

Did I mention that clients almost always have a request if they want a private show? Yeah. This one wants anonymity. And honestly, I'm fine with that. The last thing I need is him seeing my face and vice versa. It's best to forget this night ever happened.

"I apologize..." My voice is low and sultry as I stalk forward, each step confident and alluring, before I stop in front of him.

He's leaning back in the armchair, his defined jawline sharp under the dim light, his piercing green eyes hidden behind a dark eagle mask that covers half his face.

There's something about him... something dangerous. Something familiar. Something that sets me off.

Snap out of it, Diane. I'm just being paranoid. Nothing more.

He leans back, his gaze sharp as he looks me over. "Midnight angel... that's what they call you here, is that not?" His voice is rough in his throat, and I can feel his gaze piercing so deep, like he wants to see into my soul.

A smile curls my lips, and I move closer, slow and deliberate, letting my dance do the talking. "Do you like watching me?"

He tenses, and his breathing becomes labored. "Yes. I come to every single one of your shows. I need you, please..." His words drift off into something more pleading.

Pathetic.

I know how to reduce men to a mumbling mess, but this man is almost too easy.

Pushing that thought aside, I lean in close, my voice a whisper by his ear. "You smell so good..." I drawl, rewarding myself with a low grunt from him as his fingers find my hips, gripping them tightly.

"Wow..." he mutters breathlessly, pulling me closer.

I'm not even going to lie. That feels good. Way too good. My breath hitches, and I find myself leaning in closer without meaning to.

Okay. Maybe this won't be that bad.

"Wait..." I blurt out, easing back from him, needing a second to breathe.

His gaze follows my movements, and his harsh breathing fills the space between us. "You're so pretty. Look at you." His words drip with lust and desire.

My fingers trail down the front of his shirt, my gaze fixed on him. "Yeah?"

He leans into my touch, eager for more. "C'mon, Princess. Come closer," he urges.

Just as I lean in, he leans forward, trying to get a good look at me, and that's when it happens. The mask around his face must have been tied loosely because it suddenly slips off.

"Oh... sorry, I..." I quickly pick it up with my other hand, stretching it back to him with an apologetic tone.

My gaze slides up to meet his grateful face, and I freeze, seeing his bare face for a second before he slips the mask back on.

I know that face. I could never forget that face.

My heart stutters, and my lips part in shock. Conrad Beaumont; son of a billionaire and heir to the family's business.

But most importantly, this is my ex-boss. The one who fired me unjustly years ago, making me resort to this.

The man I swore to hate.

And I'm about to spend the night with him.

Diane's POV

"What?" He looks confused, his eyes wide behind the mask. "Why did you stop?"

Because this isn't supposed to happen. But he doesn't know that.

My lips open, but no words make it out. Don't say anything, Diane. Just shut up and do your job. My hate for him doesn't surpass my need for money.

I force a smile. "No reason. I was just... mesmerised by your ethereal face." The lie rolls off my tongue smoothly.

His face falls into one of relief, and he looks nervous, his fingers digging into the couch as I resume stroking him slowly. "Thank you."

Son of a fucking bitch.

Don't do it, Diane. Don't do it.

The overwhelming urge to twist his dick until he's screaming and begging swells in my mind, and I'm tempted. Fuck, I want to tell him everything I never had the chance to. But instead, I wrap my lips around the head of his dick so lightly, watching him jerk forward, a hiss escap