Hermione knocked on the door, despite having no desire but to disappear. She had a mission to do.
"Come in," a voice called, sharp and commanding even at a distance, making her shiver, and reminding her that just how bad a situation she was in. She bit her lips as she opened the door, taking the first glimpse of Mr. White.
She didn't know what she expected, but what she got was a young man who filled his suit far more than she expected was not it, with just a stubble, wearing sunglasses, and sitting behind a large desk. She was glad for the sunglasses, remembering Candy's words about striking eyes. She was unbalanced enough as it was.
The reason for that, his smile. She had never seen a smile like that, soft yet sharp, kind yet domineering… She felt something in her flip, one that she had never felt before. She tried to focus on other traits, such as his raven hair, which was messier than Hermione liked, though even that wasn't a big help. She hated messy hair, as it usually meant the boy in question was equally careless in his life.
Yet, every other detail this Mr. White displayed contradicted that. A well-organized desk, a snow-white shirt, a suit without a crease… No, it was clear that he just had particularly stubborn hair.
"So, you're our new waitress candidate," he asked.
Hermione found her words being arrested, so she dipped her head down … which didn't help her calm down any as the first thing she noticed was the depth of her cleavage, one that she was displaying against a stranger.
For the mission, she repeated in her mind several times, then remembered Candy's advice. Think of him as a professor. Maybe the Defense Against the Dark Arts, considering none of them managed to stick more than a year.
"Yes, sir, I'm the new waitress, here for my interview," she answered, her voice smoother than she had expected.
"Good, take a seat," he said as he pointed at a coach perpendicular to his desk. She took a deep breath and walked forward, her gaze still on the floor even as she did her best to use every little suggestion Candy had, trying to look alluring.
She might have been unsettled by the way he had smiled, but that was not a reason to abandon the mission, though that didn't prevent from every step taking an eternity in her mind. She was not used to looking like this.
She wished Lavender was there to take her role instead.
She settled on the leather couch, carefully keeping her legs shut as she raised her gaze … only to freeze once more.
This time, the responsible party was her own reflection.
Distracted by the situation, she hadn't realized that there was a mirror in the room, covering a huge part of the wall. And on that wall, she saw her reflection.
It took a second for her to realize it was not a painting but her reflection. She had to move her arm to be sure, because the girl in the reflection didn't look like her at all. A complete stranger, dressed in a micro skirt that did nothing to cover her legs, making her desperately close her legs, and a cleavage deep enough to give her professors a heart attack.
Yet, the biggest difference was her face. She had always been the bookworm, the plain girl of the herd, the ugly duckling, the one boys were ignored. Admittedly, her passion for studying didn't make her popular with the boys, but she was aware that the biggest problem had always been her looks.
Yet, the woman in the mirror was anything but plain. Full lips, beautiful, large eyes, elegant cheek lines, all framed by what had replaced her otherwise bushy, messy hair…
It was like one of illusion drawing, where, once noticed, everything had changed. The woman in the mirror was her … yet she was not. Hermione felt overwhelmed.
Or, more accurately, someone on the cover of one of those naughty magazines, the sight promise enough that there were even racier pictures hidden inside.
She felt like she was in trance, so she was glad that rather than waiting for her to speak, Mr. White had been going through the conditions for the job with her. An explanation that she had missed quite a bit.
"… of course, as a waitress, you always have the right to switch to dancing. We even have a little bounty program that in case of an emergency, waitresses could take the stage for a double bonus. Would that be something you are interested in?"
Just like that, Hermione felt her haze being broken. "I … what?"
"Being a dancer. Is it something you might be interested in?"
Her answer was a definite no, but she didn't want to tell him that. "Maybe, once I get used to the safety of the club," she answered instead. A bald-faced lie, as she had no intention of staying here for long, just a few days until she could meet with Harry Potter and bring him back to Britain.
Even if she wanted to do it, she wasn't exactly a dancer or a gymnast, certainly not enough to impress men that arrived at the club.
Still, she used the opportunity to look at him, trying not to look like she was about to collapse.
"Very good," he answered. "But don't worry, while we're happy about that, it's certainly not a necessity for every waitress." Then, he chuckled, a surprisingly warm sound that left her insides burning with an emotion that she couldn't recognize. "Between you and me, we like when the waitresses deny the opportunity to dance. Some of our customers are more interested in novelty than anything else, and somehow, the presence of the beautiful woman in a strip club that refuses to take her clothes off them is an incredible attraction."
"Really?" Hermione found herself asking, surprised, and too unbalanced to keep that question back.
"Of course. Believe me, once you start, you'll climb high in the bounty board?"
"B-bounty board?" Hermione found herself asking, hoping that it was not something he hadn't mentioned before.
"Ahh, I thought I mentioned it, but maybe I missed it," he said, his tone suspicious, but luckily, he shrugged. Still, it told Hermione that it was not a good idea to take these risks too much. "It's actually a very simple thing, and very innocent. It's just an official collection table, and each waitress has their name on it. The customers add as much as they want, and the money grows, until the waitress decides to take it. Then, there's a special event where the girl dances for two hours, one public, but open only to the contributors, and an hour in a private show for the biggest contributor."
"S-sounds fascinating," Hermione muttered, even though she found herself helpless under his words. Luckily, she wouldn't stay long enough to matter either way.
"Now, as I explained before, it's time for the next stage of the interview," he said as he stood up.
Hermione froze as he circled around the desk, glad that he wasn't looking at her, because in her shock, she didn't hear whatever was about the interview. Yet, considering he was walking toward her, she didn't have a good idea.
"No need to be nervous," he said even as he sat next to her. Hermione shuffled in discomfort. "As I told you before, we just need to make sure you can handle a few touches from the clients, and push back as necessary. We don't want our waitress to allow us to be touched anywhere sensitive, but a few playful flirtatious touches shouldn't cause a slap as well. Now, I'm going to act like a customer first. Feel free to use the safe word I had given you to stop me if you feel too uncomfortable."
Hermione knew she should stop him and ask what that safe word was, but she was afraid revealing that she hadn't been listening for the last few minutes would just end the interview early.
And she couldn't afford the failure, not now. Not with everything that was going on. So, she said nothing as he sat next to her, trying to believe that she wouldn't need the safe word.
She tried to think of him as a professor, which was harder … yet easier at the same time.
She felt a blush creeping up. It was one of her little dirty secrets, but a little private time with the professors had always been her greatest fantasy. Never based on an actual professor, considering the slim pickings at Hogwarts. The only one that had been handsome enough was Lockhart, but he was there when she was just a child, and learning about the truth of his exploits ruined him even for her fantasies.
So, it was always nameless, faceless people played in her fantasies. Making the presence next to her a great, horrible trouble. And, her horny schoolgirl getup was hardly helping…
It took all her efforts not to flinch when he dragged his finger on the back of her hand, a very innocent touch. Or at least, what was supposed to be an innocent touch, but left burning tracks in its aftermath.
Maybe it was not going to be too easy, Hermione thought…
Author notes: And, another chapter is here.
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