17. Ivy
CHAPTER 17
Ivy
B y the time we land at LaGuardia around four in the afternoon, Emmett is silent, stoic, and busy scrolling through what seems to be some documents on his iPad.
Several times during the flight, I was waiting for him to bring up the topic.
I was waiting for him to talk about it again, but he remained silent.
Emmett is quiet by nature, but he’s not silent.
He’s always making moves, always ten steps ahead of everyone for a reason.
Once while playing poker with Noah, he admitted that the one person he’d never want to mess with outright was Emmett. There’s a reason for that.
Still waters run deep, after all, and Emmett is more unpredictable than a hurricane.
Throughout the flight, I was side-eyeing him, but he didn’t even look in my direction.
A silent Emmett is not always a good thing, not to mention he just swore that I would be signing that ridiculous contract where the terms are basically him owning me.
Being owned by Emmett Easton…
Why does the thought of that make me feel so…heated?
The way he pulled me in, held me in his lap, made me feel so crazed with emotions that I refuse to analyze right now, is still so mind-blowing.
Hell, he even buckled me in as if he’s a perfect gentleman, and for the rest of the flight I couldn’t figure him out at all.
And now, I’m feeling uneasy, and I don’t know what to do or say.
When we land, Emmett stands up, grabs our coats, and waits for me.
He even helped me put mine on. By the time we disembark and go down the stairs to the tarmac, there are two black SUVs waiting.
I notice my bags being loaded into one of the cars and then Emmett heads straight for the other car where the rear door is opened by someone vaguely familiar.
I pause.
“Ty will take you wherever it is you’re going,” Emmett calls out as he walks away. “You have my number, call me when you need me.”
When. Not if.
The arrogant bastard is certain I’ll need him.
Like hell.
As he’s about to get in the car, however, he stops and then glances over his shoulder at me.
“Don’t let me find you in a pathetic situation.”
And with that, he gets in the car. Within seconds, he’s gone.
I’m left standing there, confused, disoriented, and slightly unsteady.
Something’s off, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
It’s clear that Emmett needs my help with something. He even went so far as to threaten me, but then at the crucial point he gave me an option to back out?
Is this the new working model for villains these days? What’s happening?
“Miss Irving, this way please,” a slightly accented voice says.
I look up to see the rear door of the black SUV wide open, waiting for me.
On jelly legs, I walk to the car and then I pause.
“You must be…?”
“Ty, ma’am.”
“Ty,” I say, sounding out his name. “Please call me Ivy.”
“No, ma’am. My life would end if I do that.”
“Huh?”
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says instead, but I’m hung up on his previous words. I think he was serious too.
“Nice to meet you as well, but why do you look so familiar?” I ask.
“I’ve been with the young master for years, ma’am.”
Young master?
Must be referring to Emmett’s hidden side. The side no one can find unless he himself wants people to find it.
“Whenever you are ready,” Ty says politely with his seemingly worldly eyes that see everything.
Wait… why does he look so much like the other guy who opened the car door for Emmett just now? Except that guy has a huge scar across his face.
“Twins.”
“What?”
“We’re twins,” Ty says. “I’m older. Kai, that huge, ugly scarred brute is younger by several hours.”
I smile. Ty actually looks like he’s the younger of the two. Tall and lanky with an easygoing smile. Definitely less stoic than his brother.
“Do you read minds too?” I joke.
“In a way, ma’am. Trick of the trade.”
Hmmm, I bet when working for Emmett Easton, one has to be more than perceptive.
I bet there’s more to this.
I get in the car and then Ty waits. I realize then that he’s waiting for me to tell him where we’re going, so I fish out my phone and recite the address Jackson gave me.
With the way things panned out with Samuel, I had to find last-minute accommodations.
Lucky for me, I met Jackson—the one Astraea and Kim are skeptical about—online, and he happens to live in New York City.
He hooked me up with an apartment without having a guarantor or paying any agent fees, which is crazy good for Manhattan.
“Are you sure this is it?” Ty questions patiently, but the way he looks at me through the mirror is a bit strange.
“Yes, I’m pretty sure.” I read the text again and then look at Ty. “A friend found me an apartment in this building.”
“A friend?” he says noncommittally.
“Yes.”
“Of course, ma’am,” he says and then we’re off.
Just then, a text pops up on my phone.
Melissa : Have you arrived yet?
Melissa : You are coming straight to the house, right? We have your room prepared!
A bubble of nervous excitement blooms in my chest.
Melissa is the daughter of the man who I’m here to meet. The man that might be my father, as Emmett correctly guessed.
At some point in my life, I realized that it might be possible that my brother and I were waiting for a man who might not have known we existed, so I decided to find him first.
By some insane coincidence, Melissa contacted me out of the blue and asked me if my biological mother was one Beverly Irving and she even asked me if I was born on the dates she had.
I was so stunned and surprised that I didn’t sleep that night.
She then proceeded to tell me that my biological father had been looking for me all these years and that I’d get answers as soon as I come to New York.
So, I shifted my entire life for this crazy mission.
I never wanted to study in this city, but I’ll do anything I can to do what needs to be done.
I don’t have much time anyway.
Me: Yes, I just landed. Thank you for your kindness but I have a place to stay.
As I send that text, Jackson texts me then.
Jackson : Are you here? Welcome to New York City! Did you get the new address I sent you? Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but I had to find another place for you temporarily. The other place is not ready yet. I’m so sorry for this.
Me : Hey! Yeah, I got it and it’s okay! So long as I have a roof over my head. I’m not picky.
Honestly, I’m not. Because if all goes well tonight, I might not even need the other place Jackson helped me find.
Jackson : Great! Do you need help to settle in? We can finally meet in person and grab dinner?
Me : Oh that would be nice but I have plans for dinner.
Jackson : That’s a bummer. Can we grab drinks for happy hour? I really want to meet you!
And I want to meet him too!
Seeing as it’s around three in the afternoon right now, I guess I have some time to meet for drinks and still make it to the place where Melissa told me to meet her around eight-thirty in the evening.
So, I text Jackson back.
Me: Let’s meet at five. Let me know where!
Jackson: I can’t wait to see how beautiful you are!
There’s nothing that quite screams OUT OF FUCKING PLACE than a wide-eyed, luggage-hauling, boots-wearing, stunned and stupefied girl who’s trying to evade the rush of angry, determined New Yorkers on the street coming at her from every which way.
“Get out the fucking way!” someone sneers at me, but when I look at them, they're already half a block away.
How do they walk so fast without tripping, let alone have time to curse at a stranger while they are at it?
“Sorry,” I mumble, moving to the left, only to bump into a woman who’s ‘attempting’ to reel in a set of loud toddler triplets.
“Hey, watch it!” she snaps.
“My bad, sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, just get out of the fucking way!”
Umm… I’d heard stories about New York City before.
Hell, I’ve binged-watched Sex and the City , The Devil Wears Prada , and all the chic movies they don’t make anymore now.
All of them had mentally prepared me for how different this city is, but holy mango sorbet on a hot July afternoon… there’s nothing quite like the frenetic flow that is this living, breathing monster of a city.
"If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere…" Yeah, Alicia. I just need to make sure I’m not trampled to death or that my luggage won’t get kicked out onto the street before I can conquer this block, let alone the damn city.
I suck in a deep breath, clutching the handle of the suitcase closest to me with a death grip.
I’m finally here. After so many years of wondering and searching and yearning…I’m now just a ride away from them.
Just as I think that, my phone buzzes with a text.
Melissa : Oh that sucks! I really think Daddy would love it if you stayed with us while you are here.
A burst of hope blooms in my chest.
I almost squeal but I’ve never made that sound before, and it always seems unnatural to me, but I can’t help the buzz that starts in my belly.
Me : Oh, I don’t think it’s right. I’m so nervous.
Melissa: Oh hush. You have no idea how Daddy can’t wait to meet you…after all these years.
Me: Really?
Melissa: You’ll see for yourself! Just come, get to know us while staying with us! The fact that I have a sister! It’s bonkers…almost unbelievable still.
My stomach dips and twists until I feel like I might pass out from nerves.
I have a sister…
Fast-forward from emails and texts, I’m here and I get to meet my biological father, and a half-sister who found me, and tonight… I get to meet them!
They even want me to stay with them.
If Grammy and Samuel ever find out what I’m doing here, I’m pretty sure they’d hate me.
After all, from the stories I’ve heard, whatever happened to my mother was the fault of the man she fell in love with.
The man I’ll meet tonight.
Around me, life is moving at lightning speed.
Traffic is moving then grinding to a stop every few seconds.
Horns are blaring every thirty-six seconds.
Down the street there’s a child crying.
Across the street is a hawker promoting a club from the top of his lungs.
All of this—and the text messages—becomes part of my excitement.
I’m not in Westbrook Blues anymore. A town where the wealthy collided with secrets and danger.
A place where only small, tightly knit groups interwoven by loyalty and blood thrived.
My little family is neither wealthy, nor have we ever really fit in.
We’re just the help.
The third choice.
The ones to pity and give a pat on the back.
But here, I’m just a tiny dot and it’s here that I will finally get my life into perspective.
“Hey you!”
I shake my head and come back to reality. Looking up, I see the older, grumpy lady glaring at me. I recognize her voice instantly…from the many phone calls we’ve had over the past month or so.
“You must be Mrs. Derrington!” I say, stepping forward to meet her.
“No, I’m not,” she says, her face scrunching up even more, which pronounces her wrinkles and the laugh lines around her sharp eyes filled with annoyance. “Mrs. Derrington was my fucking mother-in-law. She’s dead now, thank God.”
I don’t know if I should laugh so I just nod.
“I’m Ivy?—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know who you are, but I wasn’t expecting you to be so…” she trails off, giving me a long, intense once-over.
I start feeling uncomfortable, but then her sharp eyes track back to my face.
“Are you an addict?” she demands.
“I’m sorry, what?—”
“You must be an addict, a porn star or a criminal. Which is it?”
I’m so shocked that I become tongue-tied.
“Excuse me?” I stutter. “I’m not so sure what you’re asking.”
She rolls her eyes so perfectly, it would give Kimmy a run for her money.
“Why do you want to live here, is my question,” she says in an exasperated tone. “Only three kinds of people live in this building and you, bless your heart and the naivety I see in your eyes, you don’t look like the type to jaywalk, let alone spread your legs on camera, snort a line or pull a heist. So again, why do you want to live here?”
Did she just call me a rule follower? If only she knew that I’m a liar, and in a way, a deceitful person.
I clear my throat and smile. “Like I explained over the phone, I just moved here from across the country. This is my first time in New York City and this is all I can afford.”
Actually, my new friend Jackson who I met online told me about this place, but he told me not to mention his name to the landlady.
“Are you pregnant?”
My jaw drops open. “What?”
“Hmmm, you look like a prude, so maybe not. So you must be here for an adventure of some sort or maybe you’re running away from home? Strict parents that forbade you from going out, drinking or holding hands with a boy?”
I want to laugh out of embarrassment because I’m pretty sure the only boys who’ve ever held my hand are Noah, George, and Alex when they were helping me go down a flight of stairs or when we were boarding a plane one time or those chivalry moments.
But instead of a laugh, a sudden burst of guilt blooms in my chest.
I’m not exactly running from home, but my exodus wasn’t done in full truth.
I’m not here for academic reasons at all but I spent the entirety of my flight over here stewing in heated guilt and anxiety. There’s no reason to rehash that.
“Not at all. In fact, I’m?—”
“Yeah, yeah, I don’t want to hear your sob story,” she says, then she turns on her heel and starts walking away, going towards the raggedy building I was side-eying this entire time.
It looks… rough, beaten up, and not at all hospitable.
My stomach starts sinking. Please don’t let that be the building.
I quickly fish out my phone and go to my emails to check again the address Jackson gave me.
I stay there, not knowing what to do until she looks over her shoulder at me. “Are you coming?”
I blink at her. I can’t really afford to be picky right now. I just need a roof over my head for now. After I meet my father, things will change, I’m sure.
“Yes, I’m coming!”
I grab my stuff and follow after her into the building. The entrance is narrow and dark with rusty letterboxes on both walls. Most are even overflowing with mail.
It’s a twenty-four-story building with only one elevator that is so old, it takes ages to come down when the landlady calls for it.
When the elevator finally arrives, she presses for floor eleven and I almost groan.
I hate odd numbers.
My mind already works in strange ways so adding OCD to the mix shouldn’t be a surprise… but then again, this is all just TikTok diagnosed. I’m perfectly fine—as long as I don’t get probed and talked in circles by an actual professional, I won’t get tagged, so yeah… never let them know your next move.
If only that helped with the antsy feeling in my chest now.
“I’ll be staying on the eleventh floor?” I quip.
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
The look she gives me almost stops me dead in my tracks.
“No, not at all. I was just wondering if you have anything on the even-numbered floors.”
She rolls her eyes again.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those ADJB mental pariah people.”
I almost wince at that. The conversation around mental health has evolved in recent years, but there are still quite a few people who don’t believe in it. As if to prove my point, she goes on a tirade.
“It’s ADHD,” I correct quietly.
“Yeah whatever. If you ask me, those are not real problems. There are just picky people who’ve never had to struggle for anything in their lives, so they do this for attention.”
I take a deep breath, literally biting my tongue to keep from telling her what I think, but for now I don’t have a plan B for my accommodation while I’m in this city, so when the elevator finally reaches its destination, I heave a sigh of relief.
The landlady walks out and turns left. I follow her, only to see an open door to my right… and just beyond is…
My jaw drops.
“Is that…?”
A literal all skin, brazen orgy going in the room…with the door all the way open.
An orgy…with several body parts of God only knows how many people, hanging in so many different directions.
And the sounds… the skin slapping, the groans and moans…
My God! It’s not even two in the afternoon and they’re really at it…
“What’s wrong, girl? Haven’t you seen some recreational activities in real life?” the landlady says sarcastically. “I was joking before, but you really must be a virgin.”
For the love of all things good, why is everyone on vagina business lately?
“A word of warning, Stickler,” the landlady says, giving me a hard look. “In this neighborhood, snitches really do get stitches, straight into a coffin.”
She looks me straight in the eye as she says that and for once, I know she means it. There’s a warning and threat in her eyes.
“Now, I’m not sure what you hope to find here, or if you’re one of those undercover chameleons that work for the government, but I’d advise you to mind your damn business. There are many folks here that are just living life the only way they know how. Unlike you, they can’t afford to pay rent for the next three months up-front.”
Shit. I knew I should’ve paid bit by bit, but Jackson said it would be better this way.
“Anyway, this is your apartment.”
We enter the apartment all the way at the end of the hallway, passing five other units.
Immediately I can tell the space hasn’t been lived in for a while and there’s a musty, almost rotten-like smell.
“You see, like I assured you, the place is in great condition. There’s running water. Electricity. There’s even a bed and a couch from the previous tenant. The rest, you’ll have to find something or make do with what’s there.”
I look around the space. The unit faces the street which means the soundtrack of this place will be traffic, angry drivers, and everything that comes with it.
The walls are thin and painted a green that looks like medical waste…
No, snap out of it, Ivy. You’re not here for luxury. This isn’t Westbrook Blues anymore. This is my one shot.
“So? What do you think?”
I turn around to see the landlady is still glaring at me, as if she’s waiting for me to complain about something.
So, I plaster a huge smile on my face and temper down my discomfort. “It’s great!”
I’m smiling so hard, my jaw is starting to ache, but then again, if there’s one thing about me? I’ll always pretend to be okay when in fact, all I feel in my chest is fear.
But in this case, I have no idea why I’m also feeling this cold sense of dread. Like something horrible will happen… or maybe something despicable already happened in this apartment. Yes, it has to be that.
My phone buzzes with a text again.
Melissa: I’ll send a car to come pick you up.
Me: I…I actually have to meet a friend so I’ll freshen up a bit here.
Melissa: You have a friend in NYC? I thought you didn’t know anyone. Anyway, should the car pick you at your hotel? You can always check-out same day.
“Are you taking the place or not?” Mrs. Derrington snaps.
“Uhh, can I stay for a few hours?”
“That wasn’t the deal. I won’t be giving you back?—”
“You can keep the money, it’s okay. I just think I might be leaving the city tonight.”
Mrs. Derrington gives me a once-over. “I knew you don’t have the stomach for this but newsflash, doe-eyed girl. You need to toughen up because soon, life is going to come at you pretty fast.”
Her words make a shiver go down my spine.
“Stay for as long as you want. You paid for this, just give me back my keys at the end of our agreed period.”
And with that, she leaves.
Just then, I hear the distinct sound of a toilet flushing… from right above my head.
What have I done?