“Yeah… him,” I say. Then, after too long a pause, I lift my eyes to Maddy’s. “It was him.”
Maddy goes completely still.
“It was him. Your boss?” she asks, confused.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I was with him.” My throat tightens. “He… he walked in, and it was Nico. My boss.”
Maddy opens her mouth like she wants to speak, but just freezes like that. Then she says, “I’m so confused. Your boss bid on you? What was he doing there?”
“He was therebecauseof me.” I toy with the lid of my cup. “Apparently, he was tipped off that I was there and came to rescue you.”
“He paid seventy thousand dollars to rescue you?” Maddy asks in disbelief. “Wait, who tipped him off? Why would he do that?”
I sigh. This is an even longer story than I anticipated, and somehow, selling my virginity is the simplest part. “He’s… connected. Well-connected. And seventy thousand dollars is not much to his family. In fact, it’s very little.”
She scratches her head. “Okay, so you didn’t sleep with him?”
“No, I did,” I whisper.
“So, he wasn’t there to rescue you?”
I huff out a breath. “He was, but it... I don’t know. It’s complicated. He was there to rescue me, and he did because it could’ve been really bad. But I did sleep with him. For other reasons. Like, not money-related. I don’t know. I’m still trying to work it out.”
“What other reasons?” she asks, voice tight. “Because right now all I’m hearing is a man with money and power—your boss—walked into a room where you had none of either and—” She stops, swallows, and her eyes flash. “And I don’t like it.”
“I know,” I whisper. My fingers worry the cardboard sleeve on my cup until it starts to bend. “I don’t like it either. But itwasn’t… like that. Not the way you’re thinking.” I look up at her, forcing it out. “He didn’t force me. He didn’t threaten me. He didn’t—”
My voice wobbles, and I hate it. “I was scared, and I was alone, and then I saw him and something in me just… snapped into relief. And then it got complicated.”
Maddy leans back a fraction, eyes hard. “Complicated how?”
Just then, my phone signals that it’s time to pick up my dad. I snatch it in relief.
I glance at the screen, then squeeze the phone into my palm as if I hold it tight enough, it’ll keep me from falling apart. My chair scrapes softly as I stand. “I have to go,” I say, already reaching for my bag. “They’re done. I need to get him.”
Maddy’s hand shoots out and catches my wrist. Not hard. Just enough to stop me. “No,” she says, low. “You don’t get to drop that on me and then run across the street like it’s nothing.” Her eyes flick over my face, like she’s trying to read the parts I’m still refusing to say. “Erica—”
“I’m not running,” I whisper. My throat tightens. I pull my wrist free and force myself to meet her gaze. “I’m choosing my dad right now.” I swallow hard and grab the strap of my bag. “I’ll tell you everything, okay? I just can’t right now. I don’t even know everything right now. But I have to go.” I turn toward the door before she can argue, my feet already moving, because if I stay one more second, I’m going to break.
Chapter Sixteen
Nico
The bass hits me in the chest the second I step through the main doors.
This place is one of the nicer ones. Not a sticky-floor, neon-sign kind of club. Dark velvet. Low gold light. Clean lines. Expensive bottles behind the bar that nobody actually buys unless they want to be seen buying them.
It’s still loud. It’s still sweaty. It’s still a job.
Antonio is a half-step behind me, moving slower than he wants to admit. He’s dressed like himself—sharp but relaxed. But there’s a carefulness to him now, an extra beat before he turns, the way his hand brushes his side as if he’s checking that everything is still where it should be.
He wanted an excuse to get out of the house. I’m only here because I have to be.
I don’t mind managing the clubs. I even like it sometimes. But visiting the clubs during the busy hours is something I have to be in the mood for. And I am definitely not this week.
Not when I’ve spent the whole week on edge because of Erica and her “yes, sirs.” Looking at her ass as she walks away in those skirts she wears. Not when I know exactly what her tits feel like in my hands.
Not when I just got her email request for days off for her dad’s surgery—all next week.
