Ivy squirmed with every ounce of strength left in her, her mind racing back to Balfour. How she
regretted lying on the phone! Maybe, just maybe, if she had told the truth, Balfour would have come to
her rescue.
Heat washed over her as she struggled, her vision blurring, her head spinning. “This drink…” she
muttered under her breath.
“How do you like it? Feeling hot, huh? Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take real good care of you soon
enough!” Vincent sneered triumphantly, moving closer with each word.
Ivy stumbled backward, her body feeling like a dead weight.
Who could possibly save her now?
Elsewhere, Balfour had downed a couple of beers back in his buddy’s VIP booth, but he couldn’t shake
off a persistent unease. The image of Ivy toasting that sleazy old man played on his mind, stirring up a
strange agitation.
His phone buzzed. It was Quinton.
“Mr. Howard, I’ve dug into that mess from the other night. Turns out it’s just as Ivy said. Her sister set
her up to sleep with some big-shot investor. Ivy wandered into the wrong room because she was
plastered, no one pushed her towards you.”
After the call, Balfour remembered the crumpled bills Ivy had thrown at him.
Suddenly, he stood, heading for the exit.
“Where the hell are you off to, Balfour?” a friend called after him.
“Need a smoke!” Balfour threw over his shoulder without turning back.
“Again? You just had one,” his friends murmured among themselves.
Balfour stormed back to the booth where he had last seen Ivy, his foot crashing against the door.
BAM!
As Ivy’s consciousness slipped away, she thought she saw Balfour’s silhouette.
It must be a desperate hallucination; Balfour wouldn’t know to come for her.
“No! Don’t touch me!”
Ivy woke with a start, her scream fading as she sat bolt upright to find herself in a spacious, well-lit
room.
Looking around, she realized she was in a hotel suite. The bathroom light was on, the sound of running
water indicating someone was showering.
Her mind flashed back to Vincent, his greasy hands and lecherous smile. After drinking that spiked
wine, her body had felt on fire, and when Vincent made his move, she had been powerless to stop him.
Had she ended up in the clutches of that repulsive man after all?
The thought made her stomach churn.
She had to get out, now. She couldn’t bear the thought of facing that disgusting man.
Clutching the bed sheet around herself, Ivy slid off the bed, searching in vain for her clothes. There
wasn’t a shred of fabric in sight.
Where were her clothes?
She noticed a set of neatly folded men’s clothes on a nearby dresser.
Was Vincent’s taste in clothing really this impeccable? And the size looked all wrong.
With no time to ponder, she grabbed a shirt and slipped it on. It was a vast improvement over being
naked.
Shirted and slightly more dignified, Ivy found her purse and phone. She was ready to bolt.
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