When a struggling Broadway talent agent reluctantly agrees to represent a male stripper, she finds out there's more to her new client than oiled abs.
Season 1 of Strip in the City
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Today might be the worst day of my life. I just lost my biggest c...
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"Auditioning?" I said, still cradled in West's arms. The places where he was holding me were damp with sweat, and I silently cursed myself for not taking a shower. I caught a whiff of my own B.O. and realized how gross I was from pilates.
West nodded. "That's right. This is my audition." He leaned in an inch closer. "I want you to represent me."
Even in bright daylight, he looked so perfect. Invisible pores. High cheekbones. Full lips. My heart did that stupid flutter thing it did every time I thought about our dance at the Oiled Olive.
"Represent you?" I asked, trying to order my thoughts. "Like as your agent?"
West nodded again.
If anyone was main cast material, it was West. But, there was one glaring problem—his resume.
"I'm sorry, but don't represent exotic dancers. I'm not that kind of agent."
West's grin widened until I could see his teeth, and being on the receiving end was magical. "Are you saying you'll represent me if I quit stripping?"
"I...uh..." I said, stalling as I considered his offer. Talk about putting a girl on the spot. He was literally holding me in a dip on the corner of 73rd and Columbus in front of a bagel shop, asking me if I'd take a chance on him if he stopped stripping.
There were a million reasons why I should say no. I was very attracted to this man, and that was to say nothing about the elicit dance we shared or our viral pool rescue. West and I already had a history that involved touching each other in ways agents and clients shouldn't ever do.
At this point, maintaining a professional relationship with West Tenney was impossible. My best friend even had a calendar with his mostly naked body.
West was grinning down at me, looking so hopeful that I felt bad bursting his bubble. I had to make him see reason. Perhaps some of DeShauna's sound financial logic would convince him this was a bad idea.
"You do know this is New York City, right? If you quit stripping, how are you going to pay your rent?"
I could tell this fact was something he'd also been thinking about by the way his grin slipped.
"I just need some time to find a new job. Can you give me like a week?"
I wasn't sure what job he would get in a week to replace the income he made working at the Oiled Olive. Besides, going on auditions didn't pay the bills. What if I couldn't get him a job right away? What if his history stripping came out, and no one would hire him?
Being responsible for West's financial security wasn't something I wanted to do. Hell, I was barely responsible enough with my own money.
He was waiting for me to say something, still holding me in a dip. We were so close I could feel his heart pounding and his breath coming and going. I didn't want to tell him no, but I didn't have a choice.
