I Slapped the Plot Twist

Back when I was young and dumb, I slapped some college guy working a side gig at a nightclub.

My boyfriend had just ditched me for my best friend, Vanessa Shannon. Then, not even five minutes later, I caught her in the corner, sliding her hand under another guy's shirt.

He bit his lip and just took it.

Something in my brain short-circuited. I stood up and walked over.

If Vanessa wanted him, why couldn't I?

But the second I reached for him, he smacked my hand away.

Vanessa cracked up. The whole private room turned to watch.

Mortified, I slapped him. "You work at a place like this. Don't play innocent."

Later, my family went broke, and I ended up working at a nightclub just to get by.

The private room was loud as hell.

I lost a game, and everyone at the table started chanting for me to take my bra off.

My face went hot. I stood there, completely frozen.

Then a low voice cut through the noise with a cold laugh.

"You work at a place like this. Don't play innocent."

I looked up.

Our eyes locked.

His stare was icy, full of pure mockery.

It was the college guy I'd slapped years ago.

The private room reeked of smoke. Music thudded through the cracked door, heavy in my chest.

I stood outside while Tony, the manager, gave me the same warning for the third time.

"Big clients in there. Especially Mr. Martinez, the guy in the middle. Self-made. Built a public company in five years. In Averyton, he's huge. This birthday party's for his fiancée, so stay sharp. Read the room. Keep everyone happy."

I smiled and nodded. "Got it. I've done this long enough. I know the rules."

I took the tray, breathed in, and pushed the door open.

Smoke and laughter hit me all at once.

The room was packed, but everyone's attention was locked on the couple in the center.

The guy lounged on the couch, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. Sharp features. Cold eyes. The kind of guy who kept people at a distance without even trying.

A gorgeous woman sat beside him, leaning in to whisper something.

He tilted his head to listen. The cold edge in his expression eased. Every now and then, he'd reach up and casually pat her head.

I dropped my gaze and headed for the table, setting drinks from my tray.

"Oh? Tony sent us another hostess to entertain us?"

Someone whistled, openly checking me out.

"This one's way hotter than the last one."

The room burst into laughter.

The woman on the couch frowned and glanced over.

The word hostess had clearly rubbed her the wrong way. No girlfriend wanted to hear that with her boyfriend sitting right there.

But the second she saw my face, she froze.

"E-Elle Emerton?!"

Her shrill voice sliced through the room.

She shot to her feet, rushed over, and grabbed my hand.

"Oh my God. It really