Tough times, no money, need a job.
Waitresses wanted. Sounds good. I could do that.
So I go.
Dressed nicely, of course. A little black skirt, not too short, not too long. A crisp white blouse, ironed, demurely buttoned. Black pumps.
El Mirador. Sounds classy enough. Good tippers, hopefully. Boy do I need this job.
Slaying? Yeah, there’s the job satisfaction, but hell, you can’t live on that. Bills, bills and more bills. And they need paying.
Nice place. Gold columns, atmosphere and waiters. Never saw waiters like these before. Winks. Yeah, I could work here.
And the waitresses? Heck, all ten feet tall, legs that go on forever. Right, I can do ten feet tall. Back straight, chest out. And cleavage, lot’s of it. Okay, open top button, maybe one more.
Door opens. “Mr Williams will see you now.”
I wipe my damp palms on my skirt – don’t know why I’m so nervous – walk into the room and my jaw drops open.
It’s him. Spike. Sitting behind the large mahogany desk. Eyes just a little too wide when he sees me. Hides it well though. Steeples fingers, leans back. Smirks.
“Well, well, Miss Summers.” He looks me up and down and my heart sinks. Then he continues. “Sit down, please, and do tell me. How badly do you want this job?”
I wouldn’t have taken him for a lounge lizard, but there he is silk shirt open just enough, gold watch, immaculate hair. The twinkle in his eye full on now. What the hell’s he doing here?
He’s also become a mind reader since I last saw him.
“Nice little side line, don’t you think? Got lucky in Vegas, thought I’d open a place of my own.”
No, it’s too much. I get up and turn to go. “There’s been a mistake,” I mumble. ‘And hell will freeze over before I work for you,’ I think.
Don’t even get to the door.
“I’ll pay you double the going rate.”
I turn. “Haven’t even interviewed me yet.”
“Oh,” he says leaning forward. “You got what I’m looking for. Wanna show me?”
“Go to hell,” I say, pulling at the door handle. Did he say double? I could use the money. Why did he have to say that? Devil and temptation.
He’s seen the hesitation, is out of his chair. Cool breath on my neck, how does he move so fast?
“Come on Slayer. I know you wanna dance.”
“You’re an arrogant pig, Spike,” I say it without looking around.
“And you’re miss tight knickers. Come on,” his arm on mine as he turns me. “Chance to make some cash, lots of it. Girl like you’ll have them queuing up.”
Something about the way he looks at me. The challenge in his eyes. I can’t let it go. I’m the slayer, and this is Spike. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
And I don’t back down for anyone.
“Okay,” I say. “You gonna give me this job?”
“If you want it.” He pulls up an armchair and sits down. “Go ahead, show me your stuff. I’ll be the client, shall I?”
I take a breath. I can do this. How hard can it be?
“Is there anything I can get you sir?”
“Depends on what you’re offering.”
“It’s all there on the menu.”
“And what are today’s specials?”
“On the board, sir.”
Hand in his pocket. Wow, that’s a lot of money. He’s up and stuffing it between my breasts.
“Private room, I think. Don’t want to share this with nobody.”
Private room? Wow, am I dumb, or what? Falls on me like a cartoon anvil.
The money’s out, fluttering around his head, but he’s so quick. At the door before I can get out, grabbing the handle.
He’s always done this. Got my back up with just a look, a word.
“Get out of my way, Spike.”
He doesn’t move.
“Slayer’s a goddam chicken.”
That does it. I grab his arm and yank him back into the chair. He’s only half surprised.
I hitch up my skirt and sit astride him. Okay, now he’s all surprised.
“You want to interview me?” I’m very close now, the closest we’ve ever been. I see his nostrils twitch at my scent. His eyes flicking up and down as they focus in on the part of me that’s almost shoved into his face. I lean forward so that they’re barely touching him. “So let’s start, ” I breathe.
Silk shirts, so very sensuous. I rub my hand across the front of it, letting it slip between my fingers. Open a couple of buttons. His eyes, impossibly wide now but alive to the possibilities. His hand comes up but I bat it away.
“No touching. Touching’s extra.”
I slip from his lap and turn so he has my back. Sliding up my skirt just high enough to let him see what I have on underneath, then I start on my shirt buttons.
“Turn around love.” Just a hint of desperation in his voice. “I need to be able to see you.”
I look coyly over my shoulder. “It’ll be worth the wait,” I say, continuing with my task. I hear him sigh and when I turn round his breath catches.
“Very nice, love.” It comes out on a shaky whisper and his hand strays to the front of his pants.
“That’s extra too,” I say, wagging my finger at him and pulling my shirt away. “Now be a good boy and put your hands on the arms of the chair and keep them there, until I say you can move them.”
He wants to play, I can see that. The hands go where they’re supposed to be and he’s already eager and waiting for the rest. Good old Spike. So predictable, so easy.
My hand goes to the front clasp of my bra and I finger it innocently.
“How badly do you want this, Spike?”
He nods eagerly.
“I can’t hear you,” I say, my voice low.
“Christ, Buffy, take it off,” he pleads, hands clenching, hips lifting. Excitement clearly outlined beneath his tight pants.
“Well, you see, Spike,” I say putting each of my hands over his and trapping them. Leaning forward I give him a good look at the prize.
“We have a variety of specials on the menu tonight, but it really depends on your budget. Just how much do you want this?”