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. âThis drinkâ¦â she muttered under her breath.
âHow do you like it? Feeling hot, huh? Donât worry, sweetheart, Iâll take real good care of you soon enough!â 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 buddyâs VIP booth, but he couldnât 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.
âMr. Howard, Iâve dug into that mess from the other night. Turns out itâs 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.â
After the call, Balfour remembered the crumpled bills Ivy had thrown at him.
Suddenly, he stood, heading for the exit.
âWhere the hell are you off to, Balfour?â a friend called after him.
âNeed a smoke!â Balfour threw over his shoulder without turning back.
âAgain? You just had one,â 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 Ivyâs consciousness slipped away, she thought she saw Balfourâs silhouette.
It must be a desperate hallucination; Balfour wouldnât know to come for her.
âNo! Donât touch me!â
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 couldnât 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 wasnât a shred of fabric in sight.
Where were her clothes?
She noticed a set of neatly folded menâs clothes on a nearby dresser.
Was Vincentâs 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.