isabella [h.s.]

seven

**Let me see you dance,
I love to watch you dance
Take you down another level
Get you dancing with the devil**

ISABELLA

"Can you hurry the fuck up?" Trey huffs for about the tenth time, impatiently tapping his hand against one of the many lockers in the dressing room. "You don't get paid to stare at yourself in the mirror all night."

I just roll my eyes, ignoring him the best I can as I finish my lip liner. If he makes me mess it up, I will be throwing hands, although I may have to do that anyway simply because he's getting on my very last nerve. He's been on my ass ever since I arrived at the club an hour ago, following me into the dressing room while clapping his hands excitedly and telling me we're going to make 'big bucks' tonight. I'm not quite sure where this revamped work ethic has come from, as his nights usually consist of his feet propped up in his office, watching re-runs of SNL while devouring a whole pizza. He probably owes his drug dealer some money or something.

When Trey lets out another sigh of impatience from behind me, I shoot him an annoyed glare through the mirror. "I'm making myself pretty," I remind him, pencilling in the rest of my lips with the same nude colour before rubbing them together and then turning around to face him. "You want me to look pretty, don't you?"

He raises an eyebrow. "I'd prefer you to look sexy rather than pretty. Which you do," he replies with a creepy smirk, and I just scoff at him as I walk across the dressing room to grab my heels. "I'm not too sure about this no wig situation though. Where's the blonde hair? You know the customers like that the best."

Propping my leg up onto a chair to fasten my shoes, I say, "Yeah, well, I don't really have the time to put that on. Unless you're ok with me spending another half an hour in here?"

Trey shakes his head, clearly not inclined to let me do that. "No way. You've been getting ready for long enough."

I just roll my eyes again as I finish fastening my shoes, checking my outfit in the mirror one last time. Tonight, I'm wearing a bra and thong underwear, with a diamanté bralette underneath, the chain stretching all the way up my chest and then attaching to the thick diamond choker around my neck. It's a lot more revealing than the other outfits I usually wear, but I like it nevertheless. It should make me quite a lot of money, too.

When I turn around again, making it clear that I'm ready now, Trey shoots me a sarcastic smile. "Finally," he huffs, following after me as I begin to walk out of the room. "Now, someone has made a special request for you tonight. And you know what special requests mean: more tips. So make sure to treat him right."

"Oh yeah?" I reply, my voice heavy with fake enthusiasm. "And will that money go to me or you, huh, Trey?"

He just tuts, choosing to ignore my comment. "Just get out there already. And don't keep the man waiting for too long," he says, miming smacking my ass as he practically shoves me out the door and I grimace in disgust, quickening my pace as I hurry away from him.