Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ivy
Leather jacket. Boots. The helmet Thorne bought me. Yes, it should be in the garage, but it’s too pretty. My finger traces the elegant script of my initials embossed on the back. Madison is at a friend’s house for the night.
I hold the jacket for a moment, feeling the quality of it, the weight of what it represents. He takes care of me in ways I never asked for. Ways that make me feel cherished and then remind me he could vanish just as easily.
Setting it back on the bed I glance out my window.
The summer afternoon outside my window is perfect, golden and warm.
We’ll ride for a few hours, leaving all the mess behind.
Bill’s ultimatum. His family scandal. The constant negotiations of what Thorne and I are to each other.
Tonight, it's the road and the bike and us.
Bill Fischer's name lights up my screen. My good mood plummets.
I set my helmet on the bed and pick up my phone. “Bill, I thought I had until next week to give you my answer."
"Actually, that's why I'm calling. Good news—the partners met this morning and we've decided to keep you on."
I sink onto the edge of the bed, clutching my riding jacket. Relief floods through me so suddenly that my knees go weak. "You have?"
"We reviewed your file thoroughly. Your track record is impressive, Ivy. Very impressive. We'd be fools to let you go over one... complication."
They saw reason. Maybe the other partners looked at my cases, my win rate, my billable hours and realized—"
“In fact,” Bill continues, his tone shifts, becoming too smooth, too pleased, “we'd like to put you on the partnership track. Formally. With an eye toward making you partner by year's end if things continue as they have.”
I freeze. Partnership track. End of year.
Three days ago I was facing termination. Now I'm being fast-tracked to partner?
"That's... Bill, that's wonderful, but I don't understand. What changed?"
"Your work speaks for itself, Ivy. The partners recognize your value to the firm." He pauses. "And frankly, your relationship with Blackstone Bourbon has proven to be... mutually beneficial."
The warmth drains from my body. "What do you mean?"
"Well, some exciting news on that front.
We've just formalized a long-term partnership with Blackstone Bourbon.
Full environmental retainer, exclusive representation for all their East Coast operations.
EPA compliance, water rights, environmental impact assessments for distillery expansions—the whole package. "
"When..." My throat closes. I stand, the jacket falling to the floor. "When did this happen?"
"Contract came through yesterday afternoon.
Very eager to move forward, which we appreciate in a client.
" That careful pleasure in his voice. "Quite a significant win for the firm.
We're looking at approximately eight million annually over five years, plus potential referrals to other distilleries in their network. "
Yesterday afternoon. Right after Bill's ultimatum. Right after I made Thorne promise not to get involved.
No. No, he wouldn't.
"Bill, I didn't—" The words stick in my throat, come out wrong, like I'm choking. "I didn't ask him to do that."
"However it came about isn't important. What matters is that it did. And you've clearly got excellent instincts about client relationship management, Ivy. That's exactly the kind of strategic thinking we look for in partners."
The jacket lies on my floor. The helmet with my initials rests on my bed. The motorcycle rides and the way he takes care of me.
The promise he made in the billiards room.
“That's not what this is.”
But even as I say it, heat crawls up my neck. Because part of me knows exactly how it looks.
"Look, I understand you might have some reservations about how this played out.
" His tone shifts to something almost paternal.
“But here's the reality: you're in a relationship with someone who values you enough to invest in your success.
People leverage relationships all the time; men, women, doesn't matter. Tom Henderson married a client and made partner. Same principle.”
"It's not the same—"
"Isn't it? You delivered transformative business to this firm. That's the bottom line. And now we're delivering on our end—partnership track, year-end goal." A pause. "Everyone wins, Ivy."
My hand wraps around my throat. Eight million dollars. He called Bill. After promising me he wouldn't. After looking me in the eye and swearing he'd stay out of it.
"This isn't how I wanted this," I manage.
"But it's how it happened. And that's what matters." Bill's satisfaction bleeds through every word. "The work will be real. The money is real. Your partnership will be real. You should be celebrating this, not questioning it."
I close my eyes. He doesn't get it. He'll never get it.
"Is there anything else, Bill?"
"Just congratulations. You've proven you can bring in major clients and manage complex relationships.
Those are both critical partnership qualities.
" A pause, and when he speaks all the false warmth is gone.
“Oh, and Ivy? Mr. Blackstone seems very invested in making sure you're happy here.
I'm sure you understand how important it is to maintain positive relationships with our most valuable clients.
So let's make sure things stay smooth, shall we? "
The implied threat lands like a fist to the gut. Keep Thorne happy, or else.
"Of course," I manage.
"Excellent. We'll talk more next week about the partnership timeline and transition planning. Enjoy your weekend."
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone. The riding jacket lies on the floor where it fell, and the helmet still sits on my bed with my initials in elegant script, commissioned just for me. All his thoughtfulness. All his control.
Forty million dollars of it.
He promised. He looked me in the eye and promised.
My phone buzzes. Thorne's contact lights up the screen.
I’m on the road. I’ll be home in 20.
Another buzz.
Thank you for tonight. I need it.
I stare at the messages. At the riding gear on the bed. At the empty hallway where he'll appear and everything will end between us.
Thank you for tonight. Like he knows it's the last one.
Like he knew what he'd done and wanted one more evening before I found out.
I can't stay up here. Can't pace this room for twenty minutes rehearsing what I'll say.
I head downstairs and sit on the bottom step, the marble cold through my jeans. The foyer is vast and empty. Just like everything else he promised.
Headlights sweep across the windows flanking the front door.
I stand. Press my palms flat against my thighs to stop them shaking.
The door opens. He walks in with his keys in one hand, already reaching for his phone with the other, probably to text me that he's home. His shoulders aren't quite so tense, and the corner of his mouth quirks up like he's already imagining our ride.
Then he looks up.
Sees me standing at the base of the stairs.
The almost-smile dies. His hand stills on his phone. He knows.
"You called him," I say.
His expression shifts. Resignation, maybe. Like he knew this was coming.
“I did.”
And just like that, the last thin thread of hope snaps. I'd held onto some desperate belief that he'd have an explanation, something to make this go away. But it dies alongside his happiness.
"After I explicitly told you not to." My voice shakes. "After I begged you to stay out of it. After you promised me you would."
"They were going to fire you or make you so unhappy you'd leave." He closes the door behind him, but doesn't move closer. "Your career was in jeopardy. I fixed it."
"You BOUGHT it!" The words explode out of me. "You called Bill and offered him eight million dollars in annual business! Full environmental retainer, exclusive East Coast representation. The whole goddamn package!"
"I offered them business contingent on working with competent attorneys—"
"Don't you dare spin this!" I advance on him, and he actually takes a step back.
"You put a price tag on my career, then you paid it.
Do you have any idea what Bill just said to me?
He congratulated me on my 'excellent instincts about client relationship management.
' He said I've proven I can bring in 'transformative business.
' He practically patted me on the head for being so strategic with who I sleep with!”
"He's an asshole," Thorne says flatly.
"He's an asshole you just proved right!" I shout. "He accused me of using our relationship to advance my career. And then you called him and made it true! You confirmed everything he said!"
"That's not what happened—"
"Yes, it is! Don't you see?" I'm pacing now, can't stand still, need to move or I'll scream.
"Bill thinks I played you. That I got you 'wrapped around my finger' and convinced you to hand over millions in business.
He thinks I'm smart for doing it. Pragmatic.
He compared me to Tom Henderson, who married a client and made partner by bringing in her company's business.
That's what I am now. The woman who fucked her way to a partnership! "
"Your work is exemplary," he says, spreading his hands. "All I did was make sure they recognized that."
"Tell me honestly," I say, stopping in front of him. "If you weren't sleeping with me. If I were just an attorney you hired and didn’t know me beyond my work, would you have called Bill?"
The silence stretches. He could lie. Should lie, probably.
"No," he says. “But—”
"And if you hadn't offered eight million in business, would they have put me on partnership track?"
"Probably not."
"So my career is now directly tied to our relationship. My success is tied to your money. My reputation is tied to sleeping with you." My throat burns, but I force the words out anyway. "That's not a career, Thorne. That's being a kept woman with a law degree."
He flinches like I've hit him.
“I’m protecting you,” he says quietly.
"You were controlling me." I shake my head. "Just like you tried to control the narrative of your father's corruption. Just like you tried to control Williams in that jail cell. Just like you're trying to control how this whole scandal plays out."
"Someone has to!" he shouts.
“Your brother won't speak to you. I'm standing here telling you that you destroyed my career trying to save it. You keep losing people, Thorne. Have you ever wondered why?”
He goes very still. "I can't just stand by and watch."
"Yes, you can!" My fury is hot and clarifying. "You can respect that I'm an adult capable of fighting my own battles. You can trust that I know what I'm doing with my own career. You can let people fail or succeed on their own merits instead of swooping in like some kind of bourbon-soaked Batman!"
Despite everything, the image’s absurdity almost makes me laugh. Then I remember I'm the punchline.
"And you know what the worst part is?" I drop the volume but not the edge. "I was falling for you. The real you. The man who makes me laugh, who challenges me, who sees me as an equal. But that's not who you are, is it? Not really."
His hand flexes at his side, like he wants to reach for me. "Ivy—"
“You literally JUST promised me you'd stop making decisions alone. We just had this exact conversation. And the first time something affects me personally, you do it anyway? You proved you CAN change, Thorne. You just won't. Not when it really matters."
He takes a step toward me. I back up onto another stair. We are eye-to-eye now.
"You're your father with a conscience that kicks in five minutes too late."
The words land like a physical blow. I watch him absorb them.
"I know." His voice is flat. Dead. "I know I am."
"You made a unilateral decision about my career, my reputation, my future, without consulting me.
That's exactly what he did to my mom. Over and over.
It's why she made excuses for me not to visit her and told me to stay far away from you and your brother.
Who wants to watch someone they love get steamrolled by Blackstone 'protection'? "
"Ivy, that's not—"
I hold up a hand. "I need space. From you, from this, from all of it." I move toward the stairs, need to get away from him before I start crying or screaming or both. "Don't call me. Don't text. Don't send any more money to my firm. Just... don't."
"Where are you going?"
I pause halfway up the stairs and look back at him. He looks smaller somehow. Diminished. The great Thorne Blackstone reduced to just a man who fucked up.
"Somewhere you're not," I say. "Somewhere I can figure out who I am when I'm not in your shadow."
I start up the stairs.
"Ivy, wait."
"No." I don't turn around. Can't turn around or I'll lose my nerve. "I can't leave. Not completely. I promised Madison three months. I have a case with your distillery. I won't uproot everything because you can't stop trying to control everything."
I reach the landing and look down at him. He's still standing in the same spot, like he's been frozen.
"So here's what's going to happen," I say, steadier now. Clearer. "I'm locking my door tonight. And every night until I can find some place else to stay. We'll be civil for Madison's sake. We'll coordinate schedules so we're not together more than necessary."
"We can work this out."
"No. No, we can't. Because you'll never stop trying to fix things that aren't broken. You'll never trust me to handle my own life. And I can't be with someone who thinks caring means removing every obstacle from my path, even when I specifically ask you not to."
I turn toward my room. "If you do find my door unlocked, it is open for Madison. But not for you. Not anymore."
"And Thorne?" I pause, don't look back. "Don't you dare try to 'fix' this. I mean it. No more interventions. No more money. No more anything."
I walk down the hallway and into my room. Close the door and turn the lock. Madison won't be back until morning.
I sink onto the bed, push the helmet to the floor, and burst into tears.