Forty
A year and a half later
Freya slung her scarlet-embroidered handbag over her shoulder, the coin fringe tinkling as she passed through her office door and into the crowd at her new club. Sweat clammed up her bare collarbone, and her amethyst dress clung to her skin, the discomfort evermore noticeable since she ran late again. Gideon would no doubt chew her out.
She whizzed past the long bar, the air a mix of sweetness and astringency from the alcohol and juice cocktails. Various gargantuan gilded mirrors hung behind her rainbow-vested bar staff, the back wall dotted with black and white portraits of past and present burlesque stars.
And even as she raced, her body took on a life of its own, turning her toward tonight’s manager, despite how ridiculous this final check would look.
