My Stepbrother's Rules: The Complete Series (Steamy Stepbrother Romance) by Lila Moore Read Free Book Online Page B

see what happened next.
    “No, I was just talking with the girls.”
    “These girls are supposed to be working.”
    She shot them a look and they scrambled to dress, reapply makeup and get back out into the club.
    “What are you really doing back here?” she asked.
    “She said she was working here,” a girl chimed in.
    She reminded me of that girl in elementary school who tries to curry favor with the teacher by tattle-telling on the other students. I forced a smile on my face to try and hide my feelings of betrayal. It was silly. I didn’t even know the girl, but I felt like she was ratting me out.
    “I was thinking about applying for a job,” I lied. “The girls were just filling me in on what it’s like to work here.”
    “Were they?” she said with an incredulous laugh.
    “Are you hiring?”
    “Always. Especially when the applicant is a sweet little thing like you.”
    I took a step back.
    “Great! We’ll be in touch.”
    I ran past her and out the door. Ivy turned to watch me flee. I struggled to open the door. She calmly walked up to my side and opened it.
    “Why don’t you come back Friday night?” she asked. “I’ve got something special in mind for you- that is, if your boyfriend doesn’t mind.”
    “He’s not my boyfriend,” I replied as I ran past her.
    I didn’t bother to tell her I wouldn’t be back Friday night. Had I already made up my mind to return? Alex wouldn’t like it. Ivy wanted me alone, free from Alex and his jealousy. How far was I willing to go for a story?

4
     
     
     
     
     
    “Henrietta! My office- now!”
    I nearly jumped out of my chair with fright. When my editor screamed across the office like that it almost always meant trouble. I was prepared for the worst.
    I walked into his cramped office cautiously. Stacks of papers and books covered the room, along with an old typewriter. My editor loved telling stories about the old days when it was just him and his trusty typewriter, an antique he’d inherited from his father.
    I usually smiled along politely while he talked about how different things were back in his day.
    “That’s when being a journalist meant something,” he’d say. “It’s not like today with your blogs and…”
    I usually tuned out the rest. He could rant like this for hours. I could taste acid in the back of my throat as I entered his office.
    “Sit down, Henrietta.”
    Obediently, I sat. My editor loved giving commands. He’d fit in well at The Red Room, I thought absently.
    “Most people call me Etta, sir.”
    “Henrietta,” he continued, “it’s amazing.”
    He tossed my story onto the desk before me. When I got home from the club last night, I’d quickly written a two thousand word essay about the club, the girls, and a watered down, PG-13 version of the BDSM experience. It was more than my editor had asked for, but I couldn’t help myself. There was more to talk about than I realized.
    I wanted to capture the atmosphere and people as best I could. I edited the piece several times, trying to make it shorter, with little success. As I glanced over the version on my editor’s desk, I noticed several red mark and crosses. He’d obviously cut my piece way down. I didn’t care though. I was too excited by his enthusiasm.
    “It’s great. You give me more and you might have a real future here.”
    “More?” I asked.
    “I want you to get inside at one of these parties. Are the clients elected officials? Are they using government funds for these parties? Are they buying prostitutes on the taxpayers’ dime? These are the questions I want answered. Familiarize yourself with the names and faces of government officials and be on the lookout for them. Your first story is a good introductory piece. It’s full of sizzle, but I want red meat. Corruption, sex, misappropriated funds… this story has it all. You better deliver it.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Now get out of here and get to work.”
    I swallowed hard and rose. How was I