Oh Have Mercy

CHAPTER ONE

Lauren

"Order up!" Jack screamed from behind the counter as if I wasn't standing right in front of him already reaching for the plates. I shot the cook a dirty look before I placed the fiery hot dishes on a tray, plastered on the brightest smile I could muster, and went to work on my second shift.

My feet ached, I had a migraine the size of Texas, and my ass hurt from guys slapping it so damned often. I pushed open the doors to the dining room and lounge area, giving my eyes a second to adjust to the dimly lit interior. Christina Aguilera's

Dirrty

poured through the speakers throughout the club. On the stage, Billy's newest hire--a leggy blonde nicknamed Nevaeh--stripped off workout clothes and tongued the handle of a jump rope. I rolled my eyes at the g-string she sported under her jogging pants.

Yeah, because every time I go to the gym, I make sure to wear a hot pink thong. Nothing says comfort like butt floss.

I moved down the steps to my section and stopped in front of a table of office drones. "Here, boys," I whispered in a voice I hoped sounded sultry and not hoarse. "Be careful. They're hot."

The men eyed my breasts as I passed out the plates. If they'd bother to look up, I was sure to get a shitty tip. I was getting over a cold and working a double had pretty much made it come back in full force. Runny nose, watery eyes, and sweat pouring off me like a fat man in a sauna was not the most attractive thing.

Tucking the tray under my arm, I cast a quick glance at the people in my section.

Needs more water. Another scotch. Check in on--

"Lauren," Billy huffed as he hurried up to me.

The sick feeling in my stomach increased, but for a completely different reason than my cold. Billy was the owner and skirted the sleazy line like it was his job. Depending on the day he was either going to stand up for one of the girls getting groped and throw the dude out on you ass or bargain with him to just "let him feel your ass." I wasn't in the mood to find out what guy he was today.

"Yeah?"

He dabbed at the sweat on his brow with a handkerchief. "Sparkle called in sick. That means we're short three girls."

"Well, it is that time of the year." I stopped myself from flat out running to the kitchen, only because I was sure I'd break my ankles in these heels.

A meaty hand clasped my shoulder and spun me around. "I need you to do it. You're the only one who fits into Sparkle's costume."

"No way, Billy." I pushed away from him and continued to the kitchen, slowing down as carpet gave way to smooth tile. "I'm not taking off my clothes. Go ask Tif."

He snorted. "Tif couldn't fit into the outfit if she tried. And it's hardly taking your clothes off."

"Nipple tassels are not clothes."

"Lauren." He placed a hand on top of mine when I reached for the pitcher of water. "I need you."

"No."

"I'll pay time and a half."

"No."

"Double."

I shrugged off his hand and filled a glass with water. "You deaf, Billy? I said no."

Moving away from the drink area, I took a shortcut through a set of black cafe doors to the bar. "Double and next Sunday off. Final offer."

That stopped me.

When was the last time I had a Sunday off? Six months ago for my wedding.

I mentally snorted.

But still...

Careful that water didn't slosh over the sides of the glass, I turned and regarded Billy. "One night."

"Fine," he agreed quickly, reaching forward and taking the cup from me.

"And you'll let me keep any money I make on stage."

"Of course."

"And I get Monday night off too."

"Now wait--"

"No."

He wiped his brow again and shot me a dirty look. "If I didn't need you, Lauren..."

"Do we have a deal?" I wiped my hand on my micro mini and shoved it out.

He looked at the appendage a second before shaking. "Deal. But you better shake that ass good for all the money I'm paying for it."

***

"I knew this was a bad idea," I muttered under my breath as I sprayed a cloud of hairspray and teased my limp tendrils.

Red caught my gaze in the mirror.

"Qué?"

I motioned to the too-tight corset and just-covering-up-my-areola nipple tassels. "I don't know how Sparkle can wear this. I can barely breathe and my boobs smack me in the face every time I move."

The burlesque ensemble might entice some men, but the heels were one step away from being on the same list of banned torture methods as waterboarding, the underwear a half cut saltine with string. There had to be easier ways to make a couple hundred in a few hours, though all the ways I could think of were illegal. I caught my reflection and grimaced.

Maybe illegal wasn't so bad.

Red ran a makeup remover cloth over her face. "Ya get used to it, Lauren." She paused and glanced over her shoulder at me. "What's your stage name gonna be?"

I hadn't even thought of one. Candy, Sugar, and Cherry were all taken, leaving very few desserts left. I went to gems. Already had a Sapphire, Ruby, and Jade. "Pearl?"

"No. That chick nine weeks ago was named Pearl, remember? Did that weird thing on stage where she smeared marshmallow fluff on her chest or something."

"No," I said slowly. "Must have missed that night."

There were always weird chicks coming in. They'd strip a few times then leave or get fired. Some only wanted to work the backroom, some thought their tits were worth more than a couple hundred because their stripper friend at one club or another pulled in five grand a night. I'd seen more girls leave than stay.

Smacking her lips together, Red started to do her face again, this time in darker shades. Her next set was a rocker number--Buckcherry on blast.

Red and I had a classic work friendship with the occasional "here's what you missed" text for days when we were off. We'd bonded at the bar one night near closing, watching one of the ten-day strippers work a geriatric's lap, practically digging in his wallet to the utter ambivalence of the guy's caretaker.

After a lengthy discussion about how trashy and awful the stripper was we'd mutually agreed it was time to let Billy know when she pulled the old guy's credit card and started asking security questions.

Ten minutes later, she was fired and the old man was getting fawned over and apologized to by half a dozen girls, drinks on the house of course.

"What about Precious?" she suggested.

"Reminds me too much of the movie."

"Jasmine?"

"Disney Princess."

She huffed as she pulled out a pot of cream eyeshadow and slathered glittering black on her lids. "

Dios M í o!

Got anything better or you just going to shoot down all my ideas?"

Since I wasn't going to do this again, I didn't really see the point in a name. They could just call me "Tits" for all I cared--it was what half the guys did anyway. "How 'bout--

achoo!"

I sneezed all over the counter and mirror, making Red jump about three feet in the air.

"Jesus, Lauren!" She pressed a hand to her naked breasts. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

I squirmed uncomfortably as something wet settled between my legs.

Great, I peed a little.

Mikey, our sound and lights guy, popped his head in the girls' dressing room and glanced around. "You okay, ladies? Sounded like a dude sneezed back here."

I threw my feather boa at him. "Oh, shut up."

He laughed and caught the flimsy projectile before it fell five feet from him. "You can't throw worth shit, Lauren. You ready to go?"

No, I'd never be ready. The woman reflected in the mirror looked sultry and sexy. Heavy smokey eyes, rouge stained lips and cheeks, perky breasts, and the kind of small waist and wide hips hourglasses envied. But my worried brown eyes were the only things I couldn't hide.

"Guess so." I slapped my hands on my hip and carefully got out of the chair. My toothpick heels teetered and my arms flailed for a second. "Whoa!"

"Be careful," Red said, rushing to my side. She leant me her shoulder for support and I stared into overly blue contact lenses. "Look, Lauren. All you need to do is shimmy, blow a few kisses, and straddle the pole. Feel like you're going to fall? Start crawling."

"Like a baby?"

Mikey chimed in, "A sexy baby."

Red ignored him and stared hard at me. "If you don't think you can get up again in those shoes, make a show of taking them off. Feel sexy and you can make anything look hot."

I kept that in mind as I carefully walked to Mikey and leaned heavily on him. He half carried me up the short set of stairs to the back area of the stage.

"Think you'll be okay?"

"I'll be fine once it's over."

"Fair enough." He left me near the entrance to the stage and went to the electronic board where he controlled everything. A quick check of the equipment and then he grabbed the microphone. "What's your name?"

Ugh, I'd never thought of one. "Uh...Mercy?"

He raised a brow. "I can work with that."

My breathing was shallow, heart racing. Oh, shit. I was really going to do this. Walk on stage, shake my goodies, and crawl around for money. My tombstone would read: Here lies Lauren Eckles, dumped at the altar and one time stripper.

"Ready?"

I nodded and shivered all over. "Sunday off. Monday off. Sunday off. Monday off," I chanted like a prayer.

"Gentlemen and ladies, welcome to Tribus," Mikey crooned over the microphone. "I hope you're all having a nice night. Now, I want you to get on your knees and beg for

Mercy!

"

CHAPTER TWO

Deok-su

Of all the places Deok-su was required to travel to work Los Angeles was his least favorite. In fact, of all the countries America was his most disliked. The streets were dirty, the people crude, and the language convoluted and twisted so far from its British and Germanic roots as to be its own entity. However, America was a capitalist society with innovative business that thrived. Money, leaders, and changemakers went to the U.S., and he followed them with the ruthlessness of a bloodhound.

"So, Korean, huh?" Mark Lemair nodded to him from across the boardroom table. The forty year-old was a self-made billionaire who'd made his first million flipping real estate before investing in technology stocks, earning big, cashing out, and buying startups. Most of those startups failed, but a few succeeded, their ideas bearing incredible fruit Deok-su was here to negotiate for. "My daughter's obsessed with those, uh--What are they called? Like dramas or something. Thunder or Snow starred on one of them.

Full House

, I think it was. Had to watch an episode with her. I nearly killed myself."

Deok-su smiled tightly at the man. For all the money and fame, Lemair seemed to be perpetually tied to his less than sterling upbringing. One, Deok-su had thoroughly versed himself with. On the one hand, he honored the man's dedication and tenacity, but on the other hand sitting for five minutes with the man was torture in and of itself.

"Rain," Deok-su corrected the American. "His name is Rain. You are right, the show is

Full House

."

"You watch it?"

"No." He shook his head. "My older sister."

"Right."

Deok-su looked around the boardroom. It was large but simple, the table, chairs, and large flat screen the only pieces of furniture. Two pitchers of water, a triangular speakerphone, and two contracts sat on the overly long mahogany table. From Deok-su's line of sight was a framed, blown-up picture of an apple. He knew that Lemair's side showed the Los Angeles skyline. Usually it would be reversed, the active city a distraction so that the negotiator could slip something into the contract that shouldn't be there. But the green CEO didn't know those rules.

"I think the Pierson Brothers must have gotten the time wrong," Lemair said after a second. "Let me check with my assistant." The man turned in his chair and yelled, "Suzie!" loud enough to shake the pitchers of water.

A Latina woman walked into the room in a fitted camel skirt and cream blouse. "Yes, Mr. Lemair?"

"The Pierson Brothers were supposed to be here half-hour ago. Where are they?"

She scrunched up her perfectly arched brows and whipped out her phone. A quick series of

tap tap tap

and then her eyes widened and she worried her glossy bottom lip between her teeth. "They should be here soon, Sir."

"How soon?"

"Six o'clock."

Lemair exploded from his chair. "What?"

The secretary teetered back on her high heels. "I, um, got the time wrong. I thought you told me to schedule it for six."

"Why would I ask you to schedule a meeting that late? The office closes at six."

"I don't know. I just--"

He waved his hand and cut her off. "Get the brothers on the phone and tell them you fucked up. Get them here. Now. Unless you want to keep Mr. Park waiting."

The woman looked at Deok-su before her eyes returned to her employer. "No, sir. Right away, sir." She scurried out of the room.

Lemair fell back into his chair and swiveled to Deok-su. "Sorry 'bout that."

Americans.

"Not at all."

"You speak real good English," Lemair commented. "Where'd you learn?"

The need to correct the other man's grammar rode him hard, but he subdued it. He wanted this acquisition. "England. My parents wanted me to have a British education. I spent most of my childhood there."

"Oh yeah? I was thinking about sending my son to boarding school in Europe."

The glass door swung open again and the secretary arrived, bright red and flustered. "Mr. Lemair, I have some bad news."

"The lawyers died," the man dead-panned.

"No, no, no. Um..." she dithered. "The lawyers can make it earlier."

"Great. The bad news?"

"Tomorrow." She winced as his expression changed from mild anger to full blown fury. "I, um, had it set for the wrong date...and time."

Lemair opened his mouth to say something he would likely regret, but the assistant rushed on, "I'm fixing it. It'll be fixed. I'll just go fix that."

The room was silent for a while after the secretary left. Lemair sighed gustily, ran a hand through his hair, tugged off his tie, and turned to Deok-su. "I'm exhausted. You exhausted? How 'bout we head to a gentlemen's club?"

Of all the...

"Mr. Lemair, I do not think it would be wise--"

"Oh, come on," he cajoled. "My treat. You'll love it. Ever been to a gentlemen's club?"

"Yes." And he'd hated it.

"Not like Tribus."

"I would rather not."

"I'll have to insist," Lemair bit off, his professional smile tightening. "Come on. My treat. We can pick all this up tomorrow. You'll be here for a few days anyway."

Only in America. Only in America would a business meeting to discuss a multi-million acquisition be pushed aside for half-clothed women and alcohol.

For a second, Deok-su considered leaving, walking out and letting his grandfather know that he couldn't do it. But the failure left him with a bad taste in his mouth. Against his better judgement, he heard himself say, "Let me get my coat."

CHAPTER THREE

Deok-su

"Hey, Duckso, what are the gentlemen's clubs like in Korea?" Lemair asked as they flashed their IDs at the bouncer of Tribus and went through a red velvet curtain to the dark interior of the club.

Deok-su grimaced, the butchering of his name like a knife to the gut. "Not like this."

Lemair tossed a glance over his shoulder as the curtains behind them settled and the dark interior of the club became more pronounced. "Like what?"

"It is a dance club. Very loud music, flashing lights, and crowds of people," he explained as they made their way into a gentleman's club that was opposite his explanation in almost every way. "The women rarely show their breasts, though they dress the same. The performance, the--how do you say...raunchiness? That is what matters."

He stopped when it was obvious Lemair wasn't listening, his eyes fixed on a blonde on stage dancing to a smooth R&B track. A crimson mask covered half her face while tight leather cut in strategic places clothed her body. There was a whip in her hands, and a man sitting in a chair on stage with her.

Lemair nudged Deok-su with his elbow and nodded to the woman. "That's Candy. You like her? I'll have her come over."

God no.

He shuddered but forced a smile. Lemair was a contract--walking, talking banknotes. "Thank you for the offer, but no. My girlfriend would not approve." Especially since she didn't exist.

The American shrugged as a white woman in a skimpy black skirt and tight black shirt came up to them. "Mark baby, long time no see," she said with a pout. "Where ya been?"

"Around."

"Ya know, Billy's still fucking pissed you stole Suzie from us."

He snorted and cast a glance around the club. "Might have to give her back now."

"She not working out?"

"Can't do shit."

"I'm good. Worked at my dad's office for a summer filing contracts, booking appointments, and stuff."

Lemair turned back to the blonde and very slowly trailed his eyes up her body. "Oh yeah?"

She leaned closer, and Deok-su could practically see the hunger in her eyes, the desperation. "Yeah."

He watched as Lemair leaned close to the girl's ear, whispered something, then drew back. She nodded slowly. "Okay." She turned, grabbed two menus, and started to walk. "This way, gentlemen."

Finally.

The sooner the night began, the sooner it would be over. He needed to review the contract one more time, if only for his state of mind. Deok-su was a perfectionist, which automatically made him a hard worker. He loved his job, felt validated in his position. In spite of the fact that it was a family owned business, he'd had to work three times as hard as the other employees, show no signs of weakness, and do it all under immense pressure and stress. The pressure came from his role as C.F.O. but the stress was familial and in the form of a five foot three woman who whined at him to "find a wife and start making babies--my great grandchildren." His grandmother had set him up on

seon

meetings, but most of the women were gently-bred young ladies who hoped to stay home, raise children, and spend his money. He wanted a partner, not a leech. It was insanely Western of him and annoyed his grandmother to no end.

"Here we are," the waitress chirped as she gestured to a half-moon booth close to the stage. Lemair slid in one side as Deok-su took the other. "I know you want scotch, Mark," she added with a quick smile. "What would you like, Sir?"

"Water."

"Come on, man!" Lemair groaned. "Get something good. First round's on me."

He wanted

soju

but doubted they had it. It was hard, fast, and would make the night immensely more pleasurable if in the morning he couldn't remember that he'd gone with a client to a gentlemen's club. It wasn't that the practice was unheard of or even taboo, but why men wanted women they'd never be able to get in any other situation playing nice for money he'd never know. There was no challenge there.

However, falling into a drunken stupor wouldn't make the night bearable. Instead he gave his patent, very Cambridge answer: "Two fingers. Neat. Glendronach 15 or 18 if you have it. If not, bring me a Jameson."

The girl's eyes widened slightly at his words. "Oh, uh, okay." She blinked and scrambled to hand the menus out. "Here's a menu. The chef's special..."

She prattled on, but Deok-su failed to pay attention. Instead, he scoped out the club and its patrons. The interior was nice, all polished dark wood with a hit of lemony wax coupled with pliant, burgundy leather booths. A dark carpet that looked almost black stretched the length of the room to a standard bar taking up nearly the entire right side of the room, stopping at the stage taking up one wall of the club. It was a long silver stage with three poles on it, shaped like a bubbled I. They sat on one of the insides of the I, close enough to reach out and touch the silver monstrosity.