More Than a Job Offer

I squeezed my palm shut and yanked away from him with all the strength I could muster.

My chest was heaving, and yet I hesitated—curiosity anchoring me in place. Slowly, I turned.

He stood there, a towering silhouette against the dim, smoky light of the club.

His body was built like a sculptor’s masterpiece—broad shoulders, toned arms, and that effortless dominance only danger could wear.

My eyes betrayed me, dragging themselves along every line of him before I could command them to behave.

Then came the worst thought.

A dark mop of black hair crowned his head, messy yet maddeningly perfect, falling across his forehead in reckless waves.

His face—at least what I could see of it—was partially hidden behind a black mask. But it was his eyes that held me down.

They were the strangest, most beautiful shade of brown mixed with blue, as if the heavens couldn’t decide which one suited him more.

The light caught them just right, and for a second, I swore they changed color entirely.

“Who are you?” He asked, his voice a low, deep rumble that somehow cut through the blaring music and the crude cheers of men hyping up half-naked dancers on stage.

His voice snapped me out of the daze. I cleared my throat, panic bubbling beneath my skin.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I murmured, my head bowed. “I think I’m in the wrong place.”

I turned to leave, but his hand shot out, gripping my arm—not enough to hurt, but firm enough to freeze me in place.

“You didn’t answer my question, bellissima. Who are you?”

He spat each word like a challenge, like he already knew the answer and was waiting to watch me lie.

His eyes darkened, turning molten and fierce. Something primal lurked behind them.

I swallowed hard, my breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my fear.

His low, rumbling voice sent chills racing down my spine, pooling at my toes.

“I… I was invited by a friend,” I stammered. “I came to look for a job, but I think…”

I dared to look up, locking eyes with him again.

“Look, sir. I don’t want trouble. Just… let me go.”

He chuckled. It wasn’t warm—it was low and dangerous, the kind of laugh that makes your skin prickle.

“How hard were your English lessons in school, sweetheart?” He asked, one brow raised in mockery.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Excuse me?”

He stepped forward.

I instinctively stepped back.

“Answer the question,” he said, reaching for my face—just a strand of hair, but it felt like he was tugging on my heartbeat.

My heart pounded so loud, I was afraid he’d hear it.

Why did he care who I was?

I wanted to scream, to shove him away, to bolt—but something about him made it feel like running would only make things worse.

“Alice,” I whispered. The name fell from my lips like a secret.

At that, he stilled. Then, without a word, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving me cold and hollow.

My eyes searched the hallway, desperate to find some trace of him, but he was gone—like a ghost.

I stood there, frozen. My thoughts spun in place, tangled and loud, but my body couldn’t move.

I don’t know how long I stood there before someone approached me.

“Miss Alice?” a voice called, snapping me back to life.

I flinched and spun around. A woman was smiling at me.

She was ethereal—platinum blonde hair styled like royalty, lips slicked with red that glistened under the chandeliers, her skin glowing like it fed on moonlight.

She looked like she’d stepped out of an 1800s aristocratic magazine.

I forced a small smile.

“You’re here for a job?” she asked, her voice light but sure.

I nodded slowly.

“Follow me.”

She turned, her heels clicking authoritatively against the marble floor. Her height, her confidence—it made her seem untouchable. I hesitated, then followed, my body moving on autopilot while my mind screamed questions I didn’t dare answer.

We walked through a hallway lined with red and black walls—colors that seemed to pulse under the glow of golden lamps burning steadily on each side.

The way the shadows danced on the walls, flickering and alive, made me wonder if I had just walked into hell. Or worse… the devil’s lair.

At the end of the hallway, she stopped in front of a set of large double doors—rich brown with brass handles.

Without hesitation, she pushed them open.

The scent hit me first—sweet strawberries and chilled air from the air conditioner wrapped around me like a surprise embrace.

I inhaled deeply, the freshness almost jolting after the warmth and tension outside.

As I stepped inside, hope bloomed faintly in my chest. Maybe this was just a normal club after all. Was it strange one? Yes, but normal enough.

The room, which I assumed was her office, was nothing like the hallway. It was soft, feminine, and oddly calming.

Pale pink walls, elegant decor, and a fluffy white carpet sprawled in the center. At the far end sat her desk—sleek, glass-topped, and organized to perfection.

“Please, have a seat, Alice,” she said, gesturing with a warm smile.

I nodded and sat down slowly, the plush chair swallowing me slightly.

“What would you like to drink? Coffee, tea, wine, or juice?” She asked as she moved toward a polished corner bar, complete with a mini fridge and bottles lined up like soldiers.

“Anything is fine,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

Everything since I arrived in Milan had felt… off.

From the moment I started looking for a job, to randomly meeting Carly in the park—how easily she offered help.

The streets felt too quiet for a city this alive. Not even 8 p.m., and yet the emptiness wrapped around the buildings like a warning.

Then there is this club—gorgeous but unnerving. And the people inside it… especially him.

To make things worse, I hadn’t seen Carly since I walked in.

Elaine returned with a glass of mango juice and slid it toward me before settling into the chair across from mine. She let out a soft, tired sigh.

“It’s been a long day,” she murmured, not really speaking to me—but I heard her.

Then her gaze lifted, locking with mine. Her smile could’ve lit the entire room.

“So, Alice…” she began, her tone warm but practiced. “I’m Elaine Pierce, the HR manager of Blood and Bourbon | DeVescori Lounge.”

I blinked.

Blood and Bourbon. The name was ghostly, unnerving. It was Wrong in a way I couldn’t explain.

“I’m sure one of our marketers or recruiters met you today, hence why you’re here,” she added, as if checking off a mental list.

So Carly wasn’t just a friendly bartender like she claimed.

Well… I have to hand it to her, she played her part flawlessly. I walked right into this place without even asking questions.

I didn’t reply. I just waited. Something told me she had more to say.

“We offer a wide range of job opportunities,” she continued. “Bartending, waitstaff, kitchen crew, room attendants for our private suites, or—as I’m sure you noticed—strip performance.”

My heart dropped, a heavy thud in my belly. I swallowed hard.

Elaine’s eyes twinkled knowingly, and she let out a light laugh. Not mocking—just aware.

“You don’t have to worry,” she assured me. “No one will force you into anything. I was simply listing the available roles.”

I gave a small nod, the tension in my shoulders softening—just a little.

“On the other hand, we’re always open to showcasing talent. We have themed nights… focused mostly on singing, musical instruments, performance art, even pottery, and……”

She paused and looked directly at me. The silence that followed was thick, pressing down on my nerves.

My fingers tightened slightly around the cool glass in my hand.

Then came that smile again—like she knew something I didn’t.

“Anyway, Alice,” she said lightly, “I’ve laid out everything. So… which of these speaks to you the most?”

I didn’t answer right away.

The truth was already sitting in my chest like a glowing ember.

Singing. Performing. Music. Instruments.

It was who I was. But the question wasn’t what I wanted to do—it was whether I had the strength to do it again. To be vulnerable again, to open that door and risk being seen.

I sipped the mango juice slowly, letting the silence stretch, my answer burning quietly behind my lips.