CHAPTER 23: I AM NOT DOING ANYTHING

Unable to take it, he reached forward and pressed the red button on the edge of his booth. His signal for service. His signal for her.

******

"Kelvin, why do you keep doing this to me?" Ivy snapped, eyes blazing.

"I am not doing anything. When a millionaire who is a platinum member of this club gives me an instruction, I follow it to the letter." Kelvin shot back, hands splayed dramatically. His belly strained against his too-tight shirt, his tie dangling as if it had given up trying to tame him.

"Well, give him the same answer as the last time," she snapped, tugging her robe tighter around her shoulders. Glitter clung to her collarbone. "This is becoming ridiculous, Kelvin. Who the hell is this millionaire?" She could brave a hundred greedy eyes out there, but the thought of some invisible man obsessively asking her in particular for a dance made her skin crawl.

"You know I cannot give out names. Confidentiality, Beyonce. That’s what keeps the platinum rolling in."

"I just don’t want anyone stalking me." Her throat tightened as the words slipped out. The club was safe, in its twisted way, because it was all transaction. Kelvin protected his dancers, God bless his old soul. Outside the club though, there were no rules. "I have this job to pay for my mother’s upkeep in the nursing home," she reminded him. "That’s the only reason I’m here. I don’t want any trouble."

"You carry too many responsibilities for one so young," he said, shaking his head. "And then you go on and have a pauper for a boyfriend when you could have so much more. Mark my words, that boy is going to break your heart all over this floor."

If he only knew how close to truth he was. She was already on a break from Steve. Already halfway broken. But she dared not mention it. Because if she gave him that opening, he’d pounce. He’d mount the pressure.

"Listen, he is still offering the same amount as last time. Fifteen thousand dollars for a lap dance. I told him no. He asked me to come ask you, and he will keep asking until the day you say yes."

"I’m not giving anyone a lap dance. Tell him that." Every time this mystery millionaire popped up, dangling obscene amounts of cash, she felt cornered. "I’m going home. I have a work thing tomorrow. See you on Friday, Kelvin." She didn’t wait for his rebuttal. If she stayed a second longer, he’d wear her down. She wasn’t for sale—not in the way he wanted her to be.

She stormed out of his office and slipped back into the dressing room, shutting the door behind her. Peeling off her glittery costume, she exchanged sequins for denim and cotton, returning to the version of herself that existed outside the stage lights.

When Trish came back in from her own dance routine, her skin glistening under the vanity bulbs, Ivy couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. "Trish, will you have some time tomorrow?" Ivy asked.

"What’s happening?" Trish raised a brow, digging through her tote for a makeup wipe.

"I have a work dinner party tomorrow." Ivy bit her lip, suddenly embarrassed. "I was thinking you could help me pick an outfit. I don’t really have much to get a new one. I just need to raid my wardrobe and see what I can work with."

"I can lend you some money."

"I won’t be able to pay you back, Trish." Ivy hated the idea of debt, she was still paying off her father’s gambling debts.

"Okay." Trish shrugged, deliberately light. "I’ll come with some of my dinner dresses. We’ll pick the perfect one for you."

"Thanks, Trish." Ivy passed through the hall where the bass still thumped faintly from the main floor, before pushing open the back door of Commissioned. The night outside was cool, a welcome reprieve. She inhaled deeply, the crisp city air cleansing her lungs.

******

Across town, Tom watched his daughter bid her mother good night. The scene should have been tender—Sylvia tucking the blanket tighter around Anna, pressing a kiss to her cheek—but to Tom, it only twisted the knife deeper. Sylvia’s visits always stirred a mix of rage and disappointment. To him, she was a walking, talking reminder of all his failures: the scandal, the wasted potential, the shame that clung to their family name. Still, tonight was different. Her recent escape from rehab, though a disgrace in the eyes of most, gave Tom an opportunity.

He had been waiting for an angle, a chink in Winn’s armor. But Sylvia could become the wedge. If she played her part right, Tom could corner Winn without him ever realizing who was pulling the strings.

"I’ll walk you out," Tom said.

"Don’t stay too long." Anna said. "You know Winn is going to be annoyed if she gets back home late. It’s a miracle he let you come to see me."

"Give it time, Ma. He will loosen the leash." Sylvia smiled.

"Come, Dad. Let’s go." Sylvia slipped her arm through his.

Tom smiled faintly as they walked into the corridor. To Anna, it looked like fatherly affection.

When they stepped outside the house, Tom cleared his throat. "Sylvia," he began, "you know how I worry about your brother."

Sylvia’s head snapped toward him. Her lips curved in that sardonic smirk she’d perfected over years of disappointing him. "No. You don’t."

"Come on now," he pressed. "I worry about him. He is thirty-seven, for God’s sake, and still has no marital plans."

Sylvia let out a laugh. "Dad, cut the crap. We both know the only reason you’re suddenly invested in his love life is Grandpa’s will. Don’t pretend this is about grandchildren."

She was right, of course. Winn’s stubborn bachelorhood was a financial noose waiting to tighten, one Tom had no intention of wearing. Still, he was her father, and fathers knew how to pivot when cornered. "Well then," he said smoothly, "you see why I should worry even more. All of your grandfather’s investments, his estates, his legacy—it will all rot."