Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Ivy
I’m dragged out of sleep by a small elbow landing squarely on my ribs. Elsie is sprawled across me like she’s claiming territory, blinking up with a sunny, too-awake grin.
As I reach for my cellphone to check the time, the first thing I see isn’t the hour—it’s a message from Dane, sent sometime in the night: Can I see you?
A stupid, traitorous smile curves across my mouth, excitement churning that I will see him later tonight.
I jolt as Elsie lands on my stomach with zero remorse.
“Auntie Ivy, I’m hungry, and Mommy’s asleep,” she announces like it’s a crime, already crawling under my arm like a baby octopus.
“Are you sure?” I say, rubbing my bleary eyes. Sloane is usually up before the sun, glowing and organized. Then I remember that last night was Dane’s father’s engagement party, and it all makes sense.
“Come on,” I say, nudging Elsie off the bed. “Let’s feed you before you start gnawing on my arm.”
We head into the kitchen, and I assemble her usual breakfast—cereal, toast, fruit, tiny dinosaur vitamins she insists are proper medicine and definitely not candy. Elsie chatters through all of it, narrating absolutely everything she’s doing.
Sloane eventually appears, wrapped in a silk robe and moving like someone whose soul has left her body and is considering returning later.
“You okay?” I ask, trying not to smirk.
She presses her fingers to her temples. “Ugh, who turned the volume up?”
“That good, huh?” I tease. “So, how was it?”
“Extravagant, over the top...kind of like if hell had a black tie dress code.”
“Sounds about right.” I snort.
“But the champagne was exquisite,” she groans, guzzling a glass of water. “I might have shared a bottle with Dominic Bexley.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Fancy.”
“I might have also—” she winces “—accidentally shown him a picture of Elsie.”
I wave it off. “He’ll survive. And there’s no way Dominic speaks to Dane anyway, so you’re safe.”
She cringes into her coffee. “True.”
I force a light tone, casual, breezy, like I haven’t been thinking about Dane since I opened my eyes.
“So... how was he?”
Sloane looks up. “Who?”
“Dr. Evil, I mean, when he’s supposed to be having fun. Since he’s usually terrorizing the workplace.”
Sloane’s eyes brighten instantly, like she has some juicy gossip.
“Oh my god. I think I worked out why he’s been in a good mood. His ex was there.”
My stomach plummets. “Ex?”
“Leandra, the model. Apparently, she is the only woman he ever dated for a semi-normal amount of time after...”She trails off respectfully.“...everything.”
A cold tightness coils in my chest.
“She came back from Paris,” Sloane says, dropping her voice, “for him, apparently. I guess it’s kind of romantic.”
“Oh.” My voice is sandpaper. “Were they... getting on?”
Sloane nods. “Yes. They were dancing together, and then she sat at his table with him and his siblings for the rest of the night. And when I was leaving—” she hesitates. “I saw them outside, standing pretty close.”
Her words drift away, the rest of the room going with them as something in me sinks.
Because what did I think I was? I knew better. He even told me. A stupid power play—his way of putting me back where he thinks I belong after I dared to walk into his world like I have the right.
I was convenient. Useful. That’s all.
Before I can gather my thoughts, my phone pings again.
dane
In case you forgot, I'm picking you up later. It's Vice nightclub, right?
I stare at the message.
Then at the ceiling.
Then back at the message.
“Everything okay, Ivy?” Sloane says, glancing at my phone while I push it out of sight.
“Of course,” I say, voice too bright. “Anyway, I should get ready. I have rehearsal soon.”
I sweep out of the room before Sloane can tell something is wrong, closing the bathroom door quietly behind me.
Stepping into the shower, I let the heat pour over me, trying to contain every stupid feeling clawing up my chest.
The pressure builds until I shut off the water harder than necessary.
I’m halfway through towel-drying my hair when my phone buzzes across the counter, and I can’t help glancing over.
dane
Call me when you get this.
A pulse of annoyance flickers. I set the phone facedown and continue getting ready.
The moment I sling my dance bag over my shoulder, the phone vibrates again. It sounds harder this time, like it’s impatient too.
dane
Just a reminder, I don't like waiting.
I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. “Join the club,” I mutter.
I exhale, ignore it, and sling the phone to the bottom of my bag, heading to rehearsal.
By the time I’m stretching at the barre, the phone gives off a low, grinding buzz against the floorboards. It’s amazing how a vibration can sound pissed off.
At the water break, I finally cave and open it.
dane
Don't make me come find you.
I clench my jaw tight as I swipe it off with more force than necessary, anger spiking.
Who the fuck does he think he is?
Shoving the phone into my bag, I hurl myself back into rehearsal, letting the beat drown him out. Every kick, every turn, every sharp snap of movement is aimed straight at him.
Another vibration rolls through my bag. Short. Impatient.
I keep moving, not bothering to look. I don’t have to. His scowl practically radiates through the screen.
After rehearsal, I shower, dress, and try to shake off the tension bleached into my muscles. On the journey home, my bag shivers again. I resist checking. Leaving it unread feels like a pathetic victory.
By the time I’m home getting ready for Brody’s launch night, the vibrations seem like they’ve worked their way into my bones.
I drag smoky shadow across my lids, swipe on red lipstick, and slip into my black sparkly mini dress and heels.
I don’t need Dane Black to feel sexy or have a good time. That I can do all on my own.
In the Uber, my phone lights up again and again.
dane
We had a deal
Do-not-push-me.
Ivy.
I switch the phone off completely.
Let him choke on the silence.
Tonight is not about Dane Black and whatever web he thinks he’s spinning around me. Tonight is for me because it’s about time I start putting myself first.
I breathe out, slow and steady. And for the first time all day, a small part of me feels like I’m taking back control.
Vice is already throbbing by the time I arrive, the bass rattling through the sidewalk as the queue snakes around the block. Inside, it’s chaos. The ceiling pulses with shifting lights, strobing through the swell of bodies pressed together tight.
Jennie screeches my name over the music. “IVY! Finally!”
She’s radiant, with her silver eyeshadow up to her temples, hair smooth and glossy, dress a silver shimmer over midnight blue. She grabs my hand, tugging me through the crowd toward our group clustered near the bar.
“We started without you,” she says, thrusting a shot glass at me, pulling me into a quick hug.
“I can tell.” I grin, knocking it back; the burn a welcome distraction.
My eyes flick to the DJ booth, and Brody is already on the decks. You can’t miss him. The booth glows electric blue, and he’s right in the center of it—head bobbing, body moving, fingers adjusting knobs he probably can’t even see straight right now.
There’s a whole flock of girls around him, all legs and hair, reaching out to touch him, whisper in his ear, scream his name.
Same old scene. Same old Brody. The only difference is that now there’s no jealousy.
I’ve moved on. Jumped from one red flag right onto another.
The thought has me clambering for another shot, sinking it before my thoughts can spiral.
Brody looks up mid-transition and catches my eye instantly. His face lights up with a smile that looks a little too wide, his eyes like saucers even from across the room.
I grab hold of Jennie’s arm and pull her into me. “Fuck, Jennie, is Brody high?”
To be honest, I’m not sure why I’m even asking. His pupils are huge. Not nightclub-dim, huge—chemically huge. Jet black, swallowing the color, shiny and glassy. I know that look far too well. It’s the one he used to get right before he’d promise the world, then forget every word in the morning.
Jennie doesn’t even bother to look at him; she knows already. “Yes,” she confirms quietly. “He says it’s only for tonight.” She shrugs, her eyes the same defeated shade as mine.
“Damn,” I sigh, shaking my head. “Well, we know how just one night usually goes.” I glance at him again, and he waves me over as if he expects me to go running straight to him.
“Ugh, Jenny.” I turn away, gesturing towards the bar. “I need another fucking drink.”
“Amen to that.” She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the bar. We sink more tequila shots and a couple of extra just because. Enough so that any thoughts of Brody or Dane dim, the pounding bass becoming the only noise in my mind.
We shimmy our way to the center of the dance floor, and the music hits me full-force—vibrating my ribs, rattling my teeth, the buzz of tequila hot in my veins.
Say what you want about Brody, he knows how to make a room move.
Jennie and I let go, our hands in the air, hair sticking to our skin as we laugh at nothing and everything.
Another round of shots appears. Then another. Oblivion just around the corner.
The room mellows in that soft, warm way where I feel lighter than I am. My thoughts loosen. My shoulders loosen. And it’s the first time in days, maybe longer, I don’t feel like I’m holding anything together.
A few guys edge closer—the kind who come to clubs specifically to linger behind girls like us, hands kept just a little too close. But tonight, I’m not interested. I sway away from them, laughing, letting the music drown them out.
For a minute, it actually works.
I forget him. I forget everything.
Until I feel someone step into my space—too close, too familiar. A prickle runs down my neck before I even turn.
“Ivy.” Brody’s breath grazes my temple, warm and heavy. “There you are.”