Free Beautiful Failure by Mariah Cole Page A

look away—letting my eyes settle on a pair of doors to my right. A half-naked woman and a suit are stumbling through them, and he’s definitely touching her— kissing her. I know she’s going to do more than dance for him behind those walls.
    I want to ask Michael a number of questions, the main one being “How the fuck is all of this legal?” but I don’t want him to think I want to back out.
    After we watch a woman descend from the pole in an effortless flip, he shows me to the bar that extends against the entire back wall. 
    Behind it, women are dressed in shiny gold bras and black cut off shorts that could reveal everything with one slight tug. Standing tall behind them is a massive wall of lit glass shelves that hold every brand and flavor of alcohol.
    My mouth waters just looking at them. It’s been a long time and I figure one shot won’t hurt anything. I can easily drive home after just one.
    “We pulled your record from your license plate too.” Michael hands me a bottle of water. “You’re banned from the bar. I’ve got legal issues of my own.”
    I sigh.
    “If any of the cameras,” he says while pointing at the black orbs that hang down from the ceiling, “or any of my security guards catch you even looking at a drink, I’ll turn you in to the state personally. Clear ?”
    “Clear.” I unscrew the bottle and slurp as much of it as I can.
    He looks at his watch and quickly shows me the DJ booth, the private dance-rooms, and the private “bachelor pads” that feature their own poles. He says a lot more about The Phoenix as he leads me back upstairs, but I only catch bits and pieces.
    I’ve been to strip clubs before—a couple ones with Leah and one with Parker in college, but The Phoenix is not a strip club. I don’t know what the fuck it is.
    My car is where I left it outside, and when a black Jaguar suddenly pulls behind it I feel embarrassed and out of place.
    “For future reference,” he says as he opens my car door, “the employee parking lot is straight ahead and through that black gate.”
    I nod and slip inside, twisting my key into the ignition. “How much time do I get to think about it?”
    “Friday. Five o’ clock.” He steps away.
    I drive off, completely dazed by everything I’ve just seen. I don’t think about the boring country fields or the stupid cows that block the road on my way home. All I can think about is The Phoenix and whether or not I should consider it. 

Chapter 6
    T hree days. Three days to think about The Phoenix and I’m sitting in a bookstore dreaming about things that will never come true.
    Every morning for the past six months, I’ve been coming here as soon as the doors open.
    I take my seat near the windows in the back, open my laptop, and let the words for my latest story flow freely. Every time I come here, I tell myself that this story is the story, the one that will have the New York publishers calling my phone and begging me to sign with them, even though I know it’ll never happen.
    “Still working on your book?” A coffee barista sets my drink on the table.
    “Yeah.”
    “Are you on a lunch break from work? I never see you here this late in the afternoon.”
    “I don’t have a job right now. I’m unemployed.”
    “Oh...” He runs a hand through his hair. “You know, we’re hiring. Management is pretty lenient and they’d probably let you work on your book during the slow days, especially if you worked in the book section.”
    I smile, thinking that maybe this is where I should be working—not in some sweat and smoke filled strip club.
    “There are good benefits too,” he says, taking a seat. “You get two free books a month, free coffee during your shift, and you get to read a lot of the books before they hit the shelves.
    “Is it full time?”
    He nods. “If that’s what you want.”
    “How much does it pay? If you don’t mind me asking that is.”
    “Of course not.” He smiles and crosses his arms. “It’s a