Caitlyn slid her feet into the four-inch red heels and bent forward to buckle the thin straps around her ankles. Already tall, she felt like a Yeti in the damn shoes, but they were an essential tool of her trade. Three-inch heels were the minimum for strippers. Anything shorter and a girl's legs looked like tree trunks and her stomach pooched out when she strutted on stage. It didn't matter how slender she actually was, the heels made the difference.

The shoes she chose had a plastic, one-piece sole and heel. While not as elegant as heels made of wood or leather, the plastic didn't flex as much and resulted in less strain on her back and legs.

She sat up and leaned back in the chair to take stock of her appearance. Sitting before the oval mirror in her costume, she looked like a little girl playing dress-up. Time to slather on the glam. Make-up was as essential as the heels in this profession.

A wry grin crossed her face when she realized she had labeled stripping as a profession. Of course, many of her co-workers did consider this their career, but not Caitlyn. For her, this was a way to pay for graduate school.

A hulking figure appeared in the mirror, his image looming behind hers. "You have any problems last night?"

The grin turned to a full-fledged smile. "No problems, Andre."

He didn't return the smile, but glared at her with an expression known to send hordes of burly men running for cover. He crossed his massive arms over his chest. "I have to leave early again tonight. I want you to promise you'll have Mickey walk you to your car when you leave."

"Save the menacing glower for someone who doesn't know what a sweet guy you are," she told him.

An imposing black man with a shaved head and piercing green eyes, Andre stood six-four and could bench press a Buick. His forearms were bigger around than her thighs, and a wicked scar from a knife wound bisected his left eyebrow. Despite his terrifying appearance, Andre was nothing but a teddy bear.

A big, gay teddy bear. He was perfect for strip club security. He could single-handedly repel a marine assault and never be distracted by the bouncing breasts around him.

"Don't give me that, little girl," he warned. "You tend to slip away without an escort if someone doesn't keep tabs on you."

"I leave after my set to go home and study," Caitlyn pointed out. "You make it sound like I'm dodging a tail to avoid having my cover blown."

With anyone but Andre, she would have winced at her choice of words, but he didn't bat an eye or make an annoyingly inappropriate sexual comment. "Regardless of the reason, you need to have a security guard walk you to your car."

Caitlyn scowled at his doggedness. She knew the guards were concerned about the dancers' safety, but this was a high-end gentlemen's club with a separate parking lot for employees. She didn't relish the idea of waiting for a lull in club activity just so someone could walk her twenty-feet to her car.

"I'll be careful," she promised.

"Someone will walk you to your car," he told her.