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Chapter 6: Garbage Bags in the Rain
Tanggal publikasi:
2026-11-04 03:01:44
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The cab driver made me pay before he’d load the bags.Forty-two dollars to the north bank, he said, cash or card up front, and he watched me tap my phone with the face of a man who’d picked up a lot of crying women from a lot of gutters and wasn’t about to get stiffed by another one. My eleven hundred dollars became one thousand and fifty-eight. I sat in the back seat with two garbage bags piled on my lap and one at my feet, holding my grandmother’s frame against my chest, and I kept my mind blank until the car stopped.The Ashcroft estate sat on a hill above the river behind black iron gates, and from the road all I could see was a long drive lined with lamps and the glow of a house so big it could have been a hotel. The driver dumped my bags on the gravel and drove off before I’d even shut the door.A guard stepped out of the booth by the gate. He looked at my wet hair, my ruined blouse and my garbage bags, and his hand went to the radio on his belt.“Deliveries go through the servi
The Billionaire's Fifty-Dollar Mistress Chapter 6: Garbage Bags in the Rain
Sienna moved first.She crossed the office in four quick strides, and before I understood what she was doing, she’d pulled the lid off the caramel latte in her hand and thrown the whole thing in my face.It was still hot. I gasped and stumbled back into Lucien’s chest, and the coffee ran down my cheeks and into my collar, soaking the front of my cream blouse until I could feel it cooling against my bra.“You gold-digging whore,” Sienna said, and her voice shook. “You think you can climb into my father’s bed and then walk into my house? My house? You’re nothing. You’re a fucking Harlow Street nobody who got lucky once.”Jordan stood behind Sienna and said nothing at all, which was exactly what he’d always done.Lucien hadn’t moved. I could feel him behind me, solid and warm, his hand still at my waist.“Sienna,” he said quietly. “Go home.”“Dad, she…”“Go home. Now. Graves will have your car brought around.”He didn’t shout, and he didn’t need to. Sienna’s face crumpled, and she shot m
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I didn’t sit down.I stood just inside the door with my purse clutched against my stomach and stared at the money on his desk, and every clever thing I’d rehearsed on the bus vanished from my head.“If this is about the fifty dollars,” I said, “I was drunk, and it was a joke, and you can keep it. Consider it a tip.”“I intend to keep it.” He came around the desk, and the room seemed to shrink. In daylight he was even bigger than I remembered, broad and solid, his shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders, a vein standing out along one forearm. He stopped close enough that I had to tilt my chin up to meet his eyes. “Nobody’s ever paid me before, Ivy. I found it educational.”My face went hot. “Why am I here?”“Sit, and I’ll tell you.”This time I sat. He didn’t go back behind the desk. Instead he leaned against the front of it with his long legs crossed at the ankle and picked up a thin folder.“Ivy Monroe. Twenty-six. Top analyst at Brennan & Cole two years running. Eight months
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By Thursday afternoon, I had applied for thirty-one jobs and been rejected by nineteen of them.The other twelve hadn’t bothered to reply. Two recruiters I’d worked with for years let my calls go to voicemail. One of them, a man I’d once covered for when he missed a client deadline, finally texted me back on Wednesday night: Word is the Brennan & Cole layoffs on your floor were flagged as performance cuts. Sorry, Ivy. Nobody wants to touch it right now.Performance cuts. I’d been the top analyst on my floor two years running.On Wednesday I sold my grandmother’s gold bracelet to a pawnbroker who offered me a third of what it was worth and smirked when I took it. That got me to eleven hundred dollars. I still needed eight hundred more by Friday, and I’d have sold a kidney if Mrs. Delgado had accepted organs.She didn’t accept excuses either. On Thursday morning I found a printed notice taped to my door, right at eye level where every neighbor walking past could read it: Rent due in ful
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My left shoe was under his bed, and I had to lie flat on a carpet that probably cost more than my car to reach it.The bathroom door was shut and the shower was running. Grey morning light poured through a wall of glass that looked out over the whole of South Valley, with the river curling through it and the towers of the financial district so close I could have read the logos on them if my head hadn’t been pounding. I grabbed the shoe, sat up, and caught my reflection in a mirror on the opposite wall. My hair was wild, my blouse was buttoned wrong, and there was a mark on my neck that hadn’t been there yesterday.Last night came back to me in pieces. His hands. His voice in my ear, low and rough, asking if I was sure, and then not asking anymore because I’d made it very clear. The way he’d taken his time with me, as though he had nowhere else in the world to be. I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes and waited for the shame to arrive.It never quite did. What came instead w
The Billionaire's Fifty-Dollar Mistress Chapter 2: A Stranger Who Paid
By nine o’clock I had spent forty dollars I didn’t have at a bar called Halloway’s, and the bartender had stopped pretending to like me.It was the kind of place I’d never have walked into on a normal Monday. Dark wood, leather booths, and men in loosened ties talking about mergers. The bartender had a man-bun and a smirk, and he’d taken one look at my puffy eyes and wrinkled skirt and decided I wasn’t going to tip well. He was right. I ordered whiskey because Jordan hated it, and every time I finished a glass I ordered another, just to prove some point I’d lost track of somewhere around the third one.My mother called twice. I let it ring both times.“Same again,” I said, sliding my glass across.The bartender didn’t move. “Card first.”I handed it over. He ran it, frowned at the machine, and pushed it back to me with two fingers as if it might be contagious. “Declined.”“Try it again.”“I tried it twice.” He leaned on the bar. “Look, sweetheart, it’s Monday. You’ve had your cry and
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