“That's my girl!” Riley, a four-year veteran of the LPIN scene, motioned toward an attractive, slender brunette, and bounced on her toes while introducing Lindsay to her real-life girlfriend and in-house roommate, Sahara. "We do everything together.”

“Riley and I have been inseparable since grade school,” Sahara explained, “and I’ve always had to protect her because she’s so fucking generous, and people like to take advantage of her. We go out, do our thing … I don’t know.” A flinch issued from her shoulder. “We’re fucking young women from L.A. who enjoy partying and having a good time.”

Riley squeezed Sahara’s hand. “We don’t even have to say shit to each other to know what the other is thinking. Like, if a cute guy walks into the room, there are no words that need to be exchanged. We look at each other and, like, we already know we’re gonna fuck him.”

Sahara reached out and grazed her knuckles across Riley’s cheekbone. “She’s my thot. If anyone fucks with her, they gotta fuck with me too.”

“Oooooh! Fuck bitches, get money!”

These two are mad turnt, Lindsay told herself. This discussion was such a stark contrast from when she was with Colt and Pamela in his office earlier. How many drinks have they had?

Sahara wagged a finger Riley’s way. “She’s the wild one, not me. I’m perfectly sane and never come up with any bad ideas.”

Riley’s green eyes sparkled. “She’s my little rider.”

“This chick is my everything. She’s my partner in crime.” Sahara caressed Riley’s shoulder, down her arm, until their fingers tangled. “I love her to death.”

In the corridor, Pamela massaged Lindsay’s wrist. “Sahara and Riley have been working here for the past two years and are getting married this coming December.”

“To each other?” Cheeks flaming, Lindsay took a startled step back. No way. It was clear these two were an item, but marriage seemed like an extreme.

“What?” A smile ruffled Sahara’s lips as she eyed Lindsay up and down the same way Colt did during the interview. “You have a problem with same-sex marriages, buttercup?”

Buttercup? Lindsay fiddled with her tank top and struggled to clear her throat. “No, no, of course not. Not at all.”

Riley extended a finger and trailed it through Lindsay’s demure cleavage. “You’re so sweet. So young and fresh.” Lindsay’s pulse roared. “You should consider hanging out with us in our room this afternoon, honey, after you finish your orientation.” Lindsay glanced down at Riley’s probing fingertip and swallowed hard. “The three of us could have a lot of fun together.”

Sahara quirked an eyebrow. “Netflix and chill?”

Lindsay’s head drew back as her shoulders nudged forward.

“You ever been with a girl before?”

Troubled, embarrassed eyes darted upward. “No.”

“Well … even better.”

Riley pressed her body against Lindsay’s. “We’d teach you how to lick pussy and rock your world like it’s never been rocked before.”

Sahara tapped a finger on Lindsay’s lips. “You’re gonna have to learn sometime, aren’t you? It’s part of the job, baby.”

“As you’ve noticed,” Pamela said to Lindsay moments later as she continued showing her around the property, “everyone is carefree and open here. Sahara and Riley have been lovers for well over a decade and enjoy testing all the new girls out like they did to you.”

“I don't mind.” Though still shell-shocked from that discussion, Lindsay wanted to blend in no matter how crazy this place was. But that didn’t mean she was ready to take Sahara and Riley up on their offer yet, though. “So, let me get this straight: those girls are engaged and roommates here too? I was under the impression everyone has their own private room?”

“We made an exception for them.” Pamela raised a lone finger. “Only them.”

We?

“They're a real-life couple and each other's shadow. Whenever a customer books a party with either, they always try to convince him to make it a two-girl party. They'll say they're engaged and promise the most unbelievable threesome imaginable. And always deliver.”

“But not everyone can afford a threesome.” Lindsay braced her forearm on the nearby wall. “You said the typical client wants a single-girl party for an hour at five to seven hundred dollars a pop.”

“I did. Although if a monger chooses one of them, they'll go with whichever girl – Sahara or Riley – back to their room and party. The other can't enter until the time is up. And if they're with separate customers, the second will take her john downstairs to the recreation room.” Pamela wrinkled her nose and shivered. “I don't like mongers being down there. It's a sanctuary for us employees, but Colt wanted to accommodate Sahara and Riley by letting them share the same room.”

Lindsay noticed her body reacted far more sensibly to Pamela's tender, outgoing nature than it did to Colt's firm, no-nonsense persona. There was something about her that Lindsay found wholesome and refreshing.

And Pamela was hot as fuck in the yellow minidress with the red trim, too, her legs toned and sleek, and never once losing her balance in those skyscraper heels. That’s to be admired by itself.

Lindsay gave Pamela’s hand a loving squeeze as the grand tour continued.

“They're rambunctious, but they're also super chill girls and two of the higher earners we have. Sahara and Riley have ongoing job offers from the bigger houses outside Reno and Vegas yet keep declining them. They've been around the LPIN neighborhood a long time and love the way they're treated here. We all do.”

To Lindsay, both ladies were ravishing as well – petite spinners with slim bodies similar to hers. She felt intrigued by the matching pair of tattoos with cute bow designs Riley had on the back of her upper thighs. Those booty shorts she had on were straight up fire.

Lindsay had long contemplated getting a few tattoos herself. Mom and Dad aren't in charge of my life anymore, and I can do whatever the fuck I want. I'm an adult now.

In fact, every single working girl Lindsay met today (Sahara, Riley, Nicolette, and Aaliyah) was beauty pageant worthy. They were amazing, but also unique in their own special way.

But none compared to Pamela, who’d been so gracious and amicable thus far, not to mention flirtatious. Once Lindsay got her sheriff’s card in the morning, Pamela insisted either Colt or Jim take her to Oakfall and help pick out some sexy things to wear around the house. The items Lindsay brought with her, such as simple bras and panties, and unimaginative pumps weren’t deemed good enough.

Colt was expecting an important telephone call earlier, so he instructed Pamela to continue Lindsay's orientation throughout the ranch. “Pamela is going to teach you how to walk, talk, negotiate, build a following, create a five-year plan, and cultivate your sexuality and lovemaking skills. I want Pamela to be your Big Sister – your guide – as you acclimate to life here this week. And, oh yeah, congratulations. You're hired.”

But first, legal paperwork had to be tended to, and mounds of reading material awaited in a separate, smaller office. Hungry, Lindsay scarfed down two slices of pepperoni pizza and a garden salad from a local Italian restaurant. She also had to be trained on how to conduct a “dick check.” Lindsay once read about them online but listened to Pamela like she was clueless on the subject.

“At the end of a negotiation, if you and your client can settle on a price, you'll want to ask him to take his penis out so you can perform a dick check. It's mandatory in this house, so they cannot refuse. I don't enjoy doing them at all because it’s impersonal and can be off-putting for a man, but Colt has his rules. He has the final say over everything, and no matter what, I can’t get him to change his mind.

“Be sure to wear latex, powder-free gloves and use a halogen flashlight for the dick check, or DC for short. We'll provide one for you. Scan for any open sores, scabs, skin tags, discharge, or inflammation. You'll have a box full of wipes soaked in rubbing alcohol and will want to wrap one around the client's dick. If there are any wounds, even minuscule ones, you'll know right away by how he reacts. Rubbing alcohol on an exposed wound, particularly on a penis, isn't a pleasant experience.

“If your customer fails the DC, politely ask him to leave the premises and alert management immediately. The customer is important, but our personal safety and health always take precedence.

“If they pass, though, point them toward the trucker's shower we have – a shower is also mandatory for any paying customer – and prepare your room for a party. Put a protective sheet over your bed and change into any new outfit the monger requested. Or go nude if they ask. Leave all the decisions up to them. We always aim to please.”

“Hi, Kenzie. You okay, honey? Oh, you poor thing.” Once they'd circled back to the entrance, Pamela rushed over to a savory Puerto Rican empanada at the bar who clearly wasn’t having a good day. Kenzie had her head in both hands and wore a bathrobe that was hanging open in front.

Lindsay again licked her lips, this time at her first-ever sight of an adult woman’s bare breasts. They look soft and warm, and I’d love to cup them with my hands.

Her jet-black hair in knots and tatters, Kenzie didn’t have any makeup on either. It appeared like a bolt of lightning had struck her.

Jim stood over the woman as if he was her guardian angel, his hand massaging her neck and back. “C’mon, Kenzie. Take this aspirin with some water and eat these grapes. It’ll help with your hangover.”

The flutter in Lindsay’s belly coincided with the twinkle across her face. That’s so sweet. She longed for a man to take care of and provide for her in such a manner. Imagine Zack being that good to me. Lindsay stifled a laugh at the ridiculous thought.

“Thank you for bringing me takeout, Jim.” Holding both arms out wide as if she wanted to hug the entire world, Lindsay beamed at him. Lunch had been delicious. “You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

Jim slowly pulled away from Lindsay’s embrace, reluctant for it to end. “Not a problem.” The fifty-six-year-old theorized beneath her façade of innocence that Lindsay was a spunky little thing with attitude, and he envisioned big things for her working here. Indeed, the sky was the limit. “It was my pleasure.” Truth be told, Jim could’ve stayed in that hug all day long but knew from past experiences, killer body or not, it wasn’t wise to become attached to a turnout too soon.

Pamela ran a soothing thumb along Kenzie’s neck. “Listen to Jim, honey. Taking some medicine and eating some food will make you feel better.”

“What happened to her?”

“She partied way too hard last evening with a regular of hers from Arizona,” Pamela said to Lindsay. “It was a five-hour party, and both she and the customer got blitzed. Kenzie woke up right before you came here and is paying the price for it now. Colt drove the guy back to the Twin Tops Motel and escorted him to his room, so we’d be sure he made it there in one piece.”

Pamela focused on Jim, who held a bottled water close to Kenzie’s unwilling lips with his opposite hand. “You want me to talk to Colt about giving Kenzie a couple hours off? She’s in no shape to see anyone right now.”

“Colt told me she can have the afternoon off. I asked already,” Jim responded, before shifting his focus back to Kenzie. She groaned and thumped her forehead on the countertop. “Sweetie, c’mon. At least take the aspirin and a drink of water. Do it for me.”

Kenzie lifted her head, slowly and not without struggle, to address Lindsay instead. “Are you … the new girrrrrl?”

“I am. Name’s Lindsay.” I’ve never seen anyone in such a drunken haze before. First Sahara and Riley, and now Kenzie? Were all the girls heavy drinkers here? I won’t fit in if they are. Her mouth dry and doubt swirling, Lindsay rubbed both hands on the two front pockets of her denim shorts and double-checked her phone was safe and sound for the hundredth time. “It’s so wonderful to meet you.”

“Wonderful to … meet you … tooooo. …” Kenzie’s forehead fell back to the counter with an audible thud.

“Sweetie, listen to me. I want you to take this aspirin and get some sustenance in you.” Pamela closed her fingers around Kenzie’s forearm and squeezed. “It’s important, okay?” She trailed a fingertip in circles along her wrist. “Jim, I still have dark chocolate left in my room. It’s on the hutch next to my dollhouse. Dark chocolate has always worked wonders for my hangovers, and Kenzie craves the stuff like you wouldn’t believe. Grab as much as you want for her. I can always order more.”

Pamela leaned closer. “Take your medicine, baby, and Jim is going to fetch you the sweets you like. Sound good?” Pamela kissed her on the temple. “You want Jim to draw you a hot bubble bath too?”

She moaned in a fuzzy haze and nodded.

“Do it, Jim. I’ll text Colt and ask him to keep an ear out for the doorbell for the next hour. His phone call should be over by now. He had a few things to discuss with our lawyer.”

“Thanks, Pamela. You’re such a sweetheart. Have been since day one.” Jim angled his attention toward Lindsay. “Are you an official employee now? Did Colt hire you?” He already knew the answer, but asked as a formality, a way to engage in simple conversation.

“Yes, he did.”

“Terrific. Welcome aboard.” Jim gave her an elbow-to-elbow bump. “The doctor will be here in about two, two-and-a-half hours. I’m sure Colt and Pamela explained all that to you. Everyone gets tested today.”

Jim glanced down at Kenzie and slumped his shoulders. “Everyone. Well, everyone except Pamela since she got her tests yesterday in Vegas.” He ran his hand over Kenzie’s forehead. “With any luck, I can have little Miss Budweiser here at least close to normal by the time Dr. Muenich arrives. Gonna be a tall task, but I’ve worked my share of miracles before.”

Pamela laughed. “We call Kenzie Miss Budweiser. Scarlett, another girl in the house, her nickname is Miss Michelob Ultra.” Pamela’s face went rosy. “And me? I’m Miss Grey Goose!”

Isn't Grey Goose vodka? Lindsay's hands fidgeted at her abdomen. I’m so out of place here.

“Have you picked out a working name yet?” Jim asked. “I can set up a website profile if you like. Won't take any effort at all.”

“Kayleigh.”

“A cute name for a cute girl,” Pamela chirped.

All Lindsay had ever known was the quiet, boring existence she led in Citronelle with her religious family and a handful of friends. Everything was ordinary and controlled, though she tried her darnedest to rebel alongside her jock of an ex-boyfriend. Being exposed to heavy alcohol drinkers, and being at the ranch itself, was unsettling and would take some time to adjust to. It's not that I'm against the idea of drinking. It's just … different.

But if it wasn't for Pamela, Lindsay doubted she'd ever make the transition successfully. I trust she’ll help me get through whatever life in a brothel throws my way. Without question, Pamela was the nicest person Lindsay had ever met. She is someone I can admire and pattern myself after. Pamela was articulate, well-educated, and had an aura of kindness and good vibes that was second to none. She even insisted on buying me lunch out of her own pocket.

Instead of $350, Pamela had since loaned Lindsay $700. “You'll be able to pay for your sheriff's card and medical tests, purchase plenty of outfits, and snag some flashy bling for your room,” she said earlier. “I'm not worried about the money. Pay me back whenever.”

Unreal! I just met her.

Pamela's hand was again at the small of Lindsay’s back and she glided random patterns with her thumb as they soon strolled down the opposite corridor.

“Is Kenzie going to be okay?” Your touch is giving me goosebumps. It’s amazing! “She looked terrible.”

“Haven't you ever seen anyone with a hangover before?”

“No, cannot say that I have.” Her conservative parents also instilled the notion in Lindsay that drinking alcohol was a sin itself and must be avoided like the plague. I should get sloshed one day just to spite them.

“Don't worry, Kenzie will be fine. Happens to the best of us from time to time. The cure for her is medicine, lots of liquid, and food with antioxidants.”

“Is that … normal? Jim giving Kenzie a bubble bath?” They took a detour into the kitchen because Pamela wanted to grab a cup of iced coffee. Black with almond milk was her favorite summertime brew. “I mean, the man looked like he was in love as he tended to Kenzie. Are they … boyfriend, girlfriend? Married, even?” How would it be possible for a husband and wife to work together in a brothel? The idea sounded insane. There’s no way.

“Jim wishes they were!” Hysteria burst through Pamela. “They've been close friends for seven years, long before Kenzie ever started here.” She gave Lindsay a bottled water and sipped her iced coffee. “Kenzie was once married, but the guy was abusive and beat her up bad one night. I mean, really bad. She got out of the relationship and decided she wanted to do something different with her life. Kenzie knew Jim was the manager and asked if he could help her get a job with us. She'd grown tired of the eight-to-five.”

“But they're not together?”

“No. Kenzie loves Jim to death, but the gap in their ages – thirty years – bothers her a bit. Jim doesn't have an issue with it. Why would he? But me? I'm the exact opposite of Kenzie. I've always adored older men. I wouldn't date a guy unless he was forty, at minimum, if I was available. But I'm not. I'm taken. And forever happy.”

“Yet Kenzie will sit with her bathrobe open in front of Jim and allow him to give her a bubble bath?” Lindsay scrunched her face. “That seems … odd.”

Pamela extended both palms and giggled. She understood Lindsay was curious and wanted to put all the pieces of the proverbial jigsaw puzzle together, the same as every other newbie who’d come through the pipeline over the years. “This is a brothel, sweetheart. Things are different here. Way different. We’re not shy behind closed doors. There’s no need to be. Some of these girls I've worked with for years. They're like sisters to me. We do everything – share everything – together. This is our family. We succeed together, we fail together.

“Take Nicolette, for example. She’s been here for eight years and is one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

Nicolette. Yeah, the raven hair with a smokin’ hot body. When Lindsay met her earlier, she was sunbathing out back with Aaliyah.

“So do you do … anything … with Jim too?”

Pamela came close to spitting her coffee out. “What? Jim? Sex, you mean?” She cackled so hard that she had to place a hand on her stomach. “No. No way. Jim is like an uncle to me. I started fresh out of high school and Jim was the maintenance guy and swing bartender back then. He's always been such a gentleman. Colt's father, William, ran the place in those days. But when William passed away, Colt inherited the brothel, and the first thing he did was promote Jim to manager. That was 2008. It was a hefty promotion. A well-deserved one too.”

“Colt was the manager before his father died?”

“Yeppers. Colt has worked here since the day he turned eighteen. He was still in high school when he started. All his friends, as you may imagine, were insanely jealous. William groomed him to one day take over the family business from the start.”

“What about his mom? Is she around?”

Pamela arched her back and winced. “No. She and William divorced when Colt was six. She couldn't stand what her husband did anymore, so she ran off to Houston with another guy and left William to raise Colt all by himself. Trying to raise a child as an only parent and own and operate a brothel at the same time wasn’t an ideal situation.“ Pamela rocked back and forth and expelled a noticeable hiss. “The last time Colt spoke to his mother was at William's funeral in October 2008.”

“Wow. That sucks.” Ten years? Talk about a broken family.

“Jim has worked here for thirty-five years. Colt first met him when he was nine and Jim was twenty-one, and now they're best friends. Though he's here twelve to fifteen hours per day, five, six, or even seven days a week, Jim claims he's never worked a day since he started. He gets to sit at a bar, drink unlimited beer, stream porn and sports all day, socialize with customers, and best of all, half-naked women are running around him at all times.” Pamela's eyes filled with mischief yet again as she twirled her head from side to side. “I want his job for myself one day!”

“Twelve to fifteen hours a day? Wow. That's nasty.” How does Jim get any sleep or time to himself? “How many hours does Colt work during a typical day?”

“Fifteen. He works every day for three weeks straight and then returns home to Maryland for a week to kick back and relax. Still, he's always on the phone with Jim about this place. During Colt's week off, Jim works seven days himself.”

“Have you and Colt … h-hooked up … for sex … since the time he made you keep your clothes on to start?” Is him fucking you a regular thing? Lindsay hoped something similar would become commonplace for her and Colt too. The need from earlier was still there, still throbbing. Lindsay wanted to be with Colt, to touch every inch of his body. If Pamela could do it, then why not her? “Twelve years ago, right?” Lindsay stumbled over her words asking Pamela such a personal question but reminded herself where she was. No inhibitions. No boundaries. “The two of you seemed … flirty … earlier.” Lucky girl.

“Me and Colt? Yeah, I guess you could say we've … hooked up since then.” Pamela winked an eye and giggled at her own words. “A time or two, maybe more.”

“What's he like?” Lindsay asked on impulse.

“Hmm?” Pamela licked her lips. “Are you interested in him? Have a crush?” Her eyes glimmered. “It’s easy to have a crush on such a fine, fine man like Colt McCarron.”

“I had the time of my life!” Another man’s voice originated from the hallway outside the kitchen, startling Lindsay. “I always do when we’re together. You’re a dream come true!” She took stock of an older, middle-aged guy – a customer? – in the corridor. Wearing shorts and an old t-shirt with dried paint splotches, he appeared like he did manual labor in the blazing sun all day long.

An instant later, a naked woman appeared, running toward him, and leaped into his arms. They embraced and shared a passionate kiss.

Another working girl?

“I love seeing you, baby.” Short, buxom, and full of energy, the red-headed ravisher purred as she kissed her way along his neck and up to his ear. “I wish you’d visit me more often. You always make me so happy.”

“I would if I could afford it.” With his hands, the man captured the back of her head and reeled her in for a deeper kiss. His fingers then slid from her curls, caressing down her arms, encircling her waist, until he grasped her ass.

These two must’ve just had a party.

Her voice a whisper, Pamela nudged Lindsay with an elbow. “That’s Scarlett. You’ve yet to meet her because she’s been busy making money.”

Scarlett? Miss Michelob Ultra?

“The guy is Randy. He’s a local who lives in town and comes to visit Scarlett once a month, like clockwork. Pays in cash.”

“Is he married?” Lindsay silently mouthed. He looks married.

“Yeah, he is.”

Randy took Scarlett’s hand in his and studied their entwined fingers for several seconds. His tongue found hers in the open air and flicked, fast, wet, quick. “Oh my God. You’re incredible, Miss Scarlett Rose. Just fucking incredible. How is it you’re always so fucking radiant? You’re the hottest woman in the universe.” He reached into his pocket and handed her a piece of hard plastic. “Here, a fifty-dollar gift card for Amazon Prime Video. I’ve been giving you gift cards these past few months since you’re required to split cash tips with the house. I want you to keep the whole tip and use it for something you enjoy.”

“You’re so thoughtful, baby. I love it. I love you!” Scarlett was gushing with gratitude. “When I’m home with my son, we often veg out together in front of the television and watch Prime Video.” A tear streaked down her cheek. “Thank you so much. You’re so good to me. I don’t deserve to have someone as sweet as you in my life.”

“Oh, I enjoy it. I enjoy you. You know I’d do anything for you. Anything in the world.”

Scarlett wrapped a leg around Randy’s hip and hugged him one more time. “You want to head out front for your exit interview with Colt or Jim? Don’t worry, let me find some clothes to throw on and I’ll be right out so we can talk.” Scarlett tipped her face upward and kissed Randy yet again. “I love talking with you. You’re so kind.”

“Sure thing, sweetness. I’ll be at the bar waiting.”

“You’re my favorite monger.” Scarlett let out an excited growl. “Hot and handsome too. You know how to take care of a girl in bed. Oh, come here, baby, and give me another kiss. Give your sugar baby another kiss. I could never get enough kisses from you.”

After the man sauntered off with a satisfied, shit-eating grin, Scarlett did an about-face, but stopped and made eye contact with Pamela. Lindsay watched as, like someone had flipped a switch, Scarlett wasn’t so affectionate anymore. Not with the man no longer there.

She rolled her eyes, wiped her lips with a thumb, and trudged back to her room.

Scarlett didn’t look happy. “Umm, what was that about?” She looked disgusted.

Pamela guided Lindsay into an adjacent room, well out of earshot. “Randy can be overbearing at times. He tells Scarlett he’d leave his wife for her in a heartbeat. During their parties, he talks about taking her on a honeymoon to exotic locations. Talks about having children with her too. Scarlett doesn’t believe he’s totally serious about everything. It’s all part of his fantasy. Still, Randy’s in love with her but is sane enough to realize they’ll never see each other outside these walls.”

“His wife doesn’t know he comes here?”

“Of course not.”

“And Scarlett has no genuine interest in him?”

Pamela’s face contorted. “Heck no. She lives in Ohio and commutes here every three weeks for work. She’s also engaged to be married and has a son from a prior marriage. Plus, Randy’s a customer. That’s a fine line, a forbidden line, and we’re not allowed to cross it. If we exchange personal information with our clients, such as real names, cell phone numbers, or private social media accounts, we’ll be in trouble. Colt has fired girls for that. He’s a stickler for the rules. What happens in the brothel stays in the brothel. That’s our motto here.”

“Randy’s wife wouldn’t be happy,” Lindsay said, “if she knew he dropped five hundred bucks here every month.”

“Scarlett actually charges him seven hundred. She has him hooked and could charge more if she wanted. It surprises me that she doesn’t.

“That’s the thing about working here, honey. You’re going to run into a lot of married men who’ll be cheating on their wives with you. You cannot let it affect you or make you feel guilty. It’s a job, so think of it that way, okay? I can tell you’re a sweet, good-natured girl and have a close-knit, loving family. You can’t discriminate or pass judgment on any customers for anything they say or do, or let your emotions get in the way. You’ll lose money. Maybe your job too.”

“I won’t.” A close-knit, loving family? I love my family, yes, and they love me, but I couldn’t wait to get away from them, especially Mom. I need a break from her.

“And you can’t judge yourself, either, for anything you do with a customer. Things will eat away at you, and you’ll go crazy in the end. It’s not worth it.”

A moment later, Scarlett strolled into the side room off the kitchen. She had on an oversized pink t-shirt with a Mickey Mouse logo across its front, a pair of orange ankle-high socks, and her bright, vermilion-red hair was swept back into a loose bun.

“Hi, I’m Scarlett. I suppose you’re new here? Pamela said we’d be getting a turnout today.”

“Yep, I’m Lindsay. Got here this morning.” Scarlett’s eyes were as green as the cold, hard cash she’d just earned, Lindsay thought, for a job well done.

Pamela ran a tender hand up and down Lindsay’s back one more time. “Working name, honey. I want you to use it. We all call each other by our working names.”

Scarlett giggled at Pamela. “Everyone except you.”

“I’m Kayleigh.” Wow. That felt strange.

“Good to meet you, Kayleigh.” Scarlett shook Lindsay’s hand. “I wish we could talk more, but I must go out and sit with Casanova until he leaves. If I’m lucky, it’ll be within the hour. I trust Pamela is taking care of you?”

“She is.”

“Pamela takes care of all the girls here. She’s our Mother Hen, so to speak.” Scarlett offered Lindsay a quick hug. “Hunt me down later if you want to talk. I’ve been working here for three years and am always willing to help a new sister out.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“We’re all a family,” Pamela reiterated. “We have each other’s backs.”

“So true,” Scarlett smirked.

Lindsay’s breath came much easier than before, and her nerves had settled. “I love the atmosphere here.”

Scarlett exited the room and plodded off to the lobby.

“At least Colt will tend bar and keep a close watch on Randy,” Pamela said.

Right. Jim was getting the bubble bath ready for Kenzie.

“Randy isn't so open about his fantasies involving Scarlett when Colt or Jim is around. He talks to Scarlett in more general terms.” Pamela rubbed at her forearm. “Of course, little does Randy know that Colt or Jim listens in on every party through surveillance.”

Lindsay's body stiffened. “They listen in through surveillance? How? You mean they … spy?”

“Hidden microphones are all throughout our rooms. Cameras too. Colt and Jim, you will notice, have earpieces in their ears whenever a customer is present.” Lindsay's eyes bulged as Pamela elaborated, “It's for our safety and protection. Don't worry, honey. No one ever sees the video unless there's a customer complaint warranting it or if one steps over the line and roughs us up. You’ll never find a more straitlaced, by-the-book brothel than this one. It’s an extension of Colt’s personality. We don’t do anything underhanded behind the scenes.

“But as for the microphones … yeah. Colt or Jim may not listen to every party in real-time, but trust me, they'll hear it within twenty-four hours. They're listening to see if a customer crosses the line or if we share personal, sensitive information with them. Like real names, phone numbers, and private e-mails. Or if they try to do it with us. It's not tolerated at all.”

Lindsay was silent for several seconds. She did not know how to respond.

“The cameras and microphones are there to protect us. It's okay, honey. Trust me, alright? I’d never let anyone do anything to hurt you here, I promise.” Pamela’s cheeks dimpled as she extended a hand. “C'mon, let me show you to your room and help you settle in. It's awesome because you're gonna be right next door. We’ll be neighbors.”

The light returned to Lindsay’s eyes. “Really?”

“We'll share the same bathroom too.” Pamela was like a kid on Christmas morning who'd just opened the present at the top of her wish list. “You and me, and any of our private customers. I have plenty of expensive soaps, shampoos, and lotions.” Her lashes fluttered. “You're welcome to use any of them. I don't mind sharing.”

“Wow, thank you. You're so kind. So, this whole stage name thing? Working name, I mean.” Lindsay allowed Pamela to guide her out of the kitchen. “Everyone has a working name except you. I'm Kayleigh. Sahara and Riley are getting married, and they're calling each other Sahara and Riley. Are those working names?”

“Yes. It's what Colt prefers. Kenzie is a working name, and it's what Jim calls her, too, though they've known each other for many years before Kenzie stepped foot in here. Colt likes the anonymity and encourages us to use our working names.” Pamela pressed two fingers to her own smiling lips. “That being said, I know the real names of all the girls here. In time, you will too. Scarlett, for example? Her real name is Amy. And Kenzie? She's Cierra.”

“Colt and Jim? Those their real names?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you exempt from the other girls?” Lindsay’s tone was inquisitive as she took a step closer. “Pamela is your real name. Why are you Pamela instead of Dakota? You mentioned Dakota was your working name back in the day.” She raised her hands in mock surrender. “I'm simply trying to understand is all, not be nosey.”

Pamela hesitated once more, her lips arching, and hooked a hand on Lindsay’s belt. Considering their mutual attraction, was there any reason not to be forthcoming about who she truly was? Usually, it took about a month for turnouts to learn the so-called truth. “Colt refuses to call me anything but Pamela. It's just how he is.”

“Why? I don’t understand.”

“Because I’m his wife.”

(End of Chapter 2 - to be continued)