Guilty Pleasure

“This is an offer you can’t refuse.” The attorney slapped a folder on the table, adjusting his bifocals to get a good look at me. I shivered underneath his scrutinizing stare. He had the kind of gaze that could turn you to stone. His name was Mendoza, but it should’ve been Medusa. I adverted my eyes to the grimy floors of New York’s cheapest law firm. I thought I saw a cockroach scurry into the corner of the room. “And quite frankly, you have no other choice.”

I did have a choice. Although, I’ll admit my options were limited. I didn’t have a full hand of cards that I could play. I only had two, but Mendoza’s disdainful eyes told me this wasn’t a game I wanted to play. In his words, it was one that I’d already lost.

“You can spend three months at his humble abode or you can spend three years in prison.” He opened the folder that enclosed photographs of a house that was anything but humble. It didn’t look like a home. It looked like a vacation resort. I rolled my eyes. “If you decline this very generous offer, he’ll be taking this straight to the police. He has lawyers that could put my áss in jail. You wouldn’t win the case.”

“I can do anything I set my mind to.” I folded my arms across my chest, growing tired of men telling what I could and couldn’t do. For now, I was a free woman and I sure as hell was going to act like it.

“Ivy, don’t be ridiculous.” My mother, Donna Abernathy, said from the other side of the room, her mouth hanging agape. “Do you know what happens to pretty girls like you in prison? You’re going to become somebody’s.... somebody’s....”

“Bítch.” Mendoza finished my mother’s sentence, pointing a chubby finger in my face. “You’re going to become somebody’s bítch.”

I stared at him blankly, unperturbed by that revelation. I’d done my research. I knew about prison bitches. I knew about everything. The crooked correctional officers, the handmade shanks that were fastened out of the sharpened end of a toothbrush, the drug trade going on behind closed doors— or more precisely— behind cell doors.

The thought of all of that did frighten me, but he frightened me more.

“You might act like you have a spine now,” Mendoza said with toxicity in his voice. His brown eyes were practically black now. “But someone in prison will break it.”

“I’m a tough girl.” I forbid myself to shrink underneath his tyrannical gaze. “I can handle myself.”

“That mouth of yours is going to get you in a lot more trouble than good.” He raked a hand through his salt and pepper hair, shaking his head like a disappointed father. “I can’t help you, Olivia, if you don’t want to help yourself.”

“It’s Ivy.” I corrected him with an icy glare, shifting in the hard plastic seat to get comfortable. “And it doesn’t seem like you’re helping me at all. That’s what I’m paying you for, right? To help me?”

“Yes, but I can only do so much.” Mendoza pushed the beige folder across the table until it was directly in front of me. “Go over the documents, read it thoroughly, and then make your decision. Everything you need to know is right between those pages.”

I grabbed it regretfully, wanting to get this sad meeting over with. The only thing we had established was how hopeless I was. I tightened my hold on the folder, knowing I’d probably burn it before I actually opened it up and read it.

“If this goes to trial, I won’t be going with you.” Mendoza replied quietly as my mother and I gathered our things. “Take his offer before he takes away three years of your life. You won’t get them back.”

“Maybe I’ll take something of his in return.” I stood up from the chair, turning my back toward the middle-aged Spanish man.

“That’s what got you into this mess in the first place.” He said underneath his breath.

I ignored him as I walked out of his office. I didn’t leave with a smile on my face. When I got home, I was going to write him a one star review on Yelp.

My mother and I parted ways outside of the small building that made up Mendoza’s law firm. It was nestled in between two other buildings, one of which was a family owned pizza shop. The other had been a meth lab at some point. Now, it was abandoned and all of the windows were busted out. The neon spray paint added a nice touch to it, though.

Before she headed to her silver Nissan and I to the crowded subway, my mother had some final advice for me. If you’re expecting some heartwarming words of wisdom or motherly concern, you’re going to be severely disappointment. My mother was too selfish and opportunistic for that.

“If you go to prison, you will be a disgrace to the Abernathy name.” She narrowed her blue eyes at me, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. Unfortunately, people walked around her. I shamelessly hoped that they would trample her. Okay, okay. I was a terrible daughter. “Can you imagine what your father would think? He would turn over in his grave, child!”

Yes, because at twenty-one years of age, I was still treated like a child.

“He’s dead, mother, just like my chances of being the perfect daughter.” I turned my back, walking down the sidewalk. I had a train to catch and I didn’t particularly feel like listening to my mother guilt trip me. “I’m not a college student anymore. I’m a criminal.”

* * *

A glass of wine was waiting for me back at my apartment in Queens. Thankfully, there was a sexy man serving it to me. Unfortunately, he was gay.

I swirled the red wine in the crystal glass, eyeing my best friend suspiciously. We only drank wine on special occasions when one of us had something big to announce and the only announcement I had was that I might be going to prison. Needless to say, that wasn’t something to celebrate.

I figured that it might have something to do with his career so I pried brazenly.

“What’s the big news?” I took a sip of the wine, welcoming the bittersweet cherry taste. “Are you going to be in fashion week?”

Will Carrington was an up-and-coming model— mostly coming as he slept with a lot of sleazy photographers just to get low quality photographs of himself in return. I didn’t judge him one bit. If he wanted to sleep his way to the top, I’d be cheering him on from the bottom.

“I wish,” He looked crestfallen as his full lips fell into a pout. He truly was handsome, duck face and all. I had no doubt in my mind that I’d see his gorgeous mug on a billboard one day. “Your mom told me about what happened at Mendoza’s. She said that I should look for a new roommate because you’re going to prison. After that phone call, I figured we both could use a drink.”

He took a drink of his wine, adding, “Orange jumpsuits are atrocious. Do you really think you can pull them off?”

I laughed, unable to stop myself from rolling my eyes. It was just like him to be concerned with prison fashion as if that was the most important thing to be worried about. It wasn’t.

“I heard the food’s gross, too,” He said quietly, staring at the ceiling. “And you know what happens to pretty girls like you in prison? It rhymes with grape.”

“My mother asked you to say that, didn’t she?” I groaned, downing the last little bit of the alcohol. I needed to be buzzed in order to have this conversation. I couldn’t deal with her nonsense when I was sober.

“She did it out of love... and self-preservation.” Will gave me a smile out of pity. “She doesn’t want you bringing shame to the precious family name.”

“She ruined our name when she slept with my father’s best friend.” I deadpanned as my hand tightened around the glass. “She’s the reason my father jumped off of that bridge and she has the audacity to blame me for ruining the family name? Unacceptable.”

Will ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair, shrugging absentmindedly. He didn’t like getting in between my mother and me. When she wasn’t berating me, she was making him homemade cookies and doing his laundry. He was the son she never had.

“Three years is a long time, Ivy.” His tone changed as a wave of sadness washed over him. His gaze lingered and his shoulders dropped. “What if I, like, die?”

“I’m the one that’s going to be living in a maximum security prison with murderers.” I patted him on the back playfully. “I think you’ll be fine.”

“I won’t. I’ve lived with you since I was eighteen. If you leave now, I’ll face abandonment issues and die.” He dropped down to his knees, interlocking his fingers in front of me. He was begging. He was actually begging. Before I could comprehend why a grown man would get down on his knees, he did something else unimaginable. He grabbed ahold of my leg and wrapped his own arms and legs around it. “I won’t let you go.”

“It’s my decision—”

“OH, WON’T YOU STAY WITH ME?” He broke out in a singsong voice, belting the lyrics to a song I didn’t recognize. “CAUSE YOU’RE ALL I NEED!”

I rolled my eyes, trying to shrug him off me but he had an unrelenting death grip. He wasn’t going to let go until I gave him an answer that satisfied him.

“I’ll think about it, okay?” I folded my arms across my chest, pressing my lips together ruefully. “I’ll go through the folder and see what he wants from me.”

“Great.” He let go instantly, having gotten what he wanted. He stood up from the ground, dusting his designer clothes off. They would need to be ironed as soon as possible. He grabbed the bottle of win, refilling both of our glasses. “Let’s celebrate your freedom.”

“I’m not free yet.” I downed the drink in one giant gulp, reaching for the folder on the countertop. Enclosed was an offer I couldn’t refuse, or could I? I’d certainly tried to decline it more than once.

I opened the folder slowly and carefully, expecting the pages to be laced with anthrax. On the contrary, they seemed clean, crisp and orderly. Whoever put this file together was a clean freak. The pages were printed evenly and their was even a table of contents to navigate the reader through the documents.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1) CRIMES COMMITTED AGAINST SPENCER T. SCOTT

2) EVIDENCE OF CRIMES COMMITTED

3) OFFICIAL CHARGES AGAINST OLIVIA F. ABERNATHY

4) THE OFFER AND THE CONTRACT

5) PENALTIES

6) ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My mouth dropped when I saw the last thing on the list. Had he really made acknowledgements on something like this? I flipped to the last page to find out and sure enough there it was.

I’d like to thank my secretary for putting this together and capturing the creative vision I set out for. Without her, none of this would be possible. I’d also like to thank the woman in question, Miss Abernathy herself. If she hadn’t stolen from my business, I wouldn’t be here. Thanks for stabbing me in the back, Ivy. Now, let me rub yours.

“He wants to rub your back?” Will asked, hovering over my shoulder. He, too, had read the insane document. “That could be nice. Who doesn’t love a good massage?”

“He’s talking about not pressing charges.” I sighed, rubbing my temples. “If I go work with him for three months, he won’t pursue any legal action. Supposedly.”

“You need to jump on that offer and ride it like a goddamn horse!” He shouted so loud that I had to cover up my ears. “Three months is better than three years.”

“You sound like my mother and Mendoza.” I covered my face with my hands, letting out a frustrated scream that I’d been holding back since I first found out about this sketchy deal weeks ago. “Am I the only one who feels like this is a trap? He doesn’t want me to work off my debt. He wants me to pay with my life.”

“Don’t be dramatic. There’s only room for one diva in this house and that’s me.” Will put an arm around me from behind, forcing me into an uncomfortable hug. I felt like he was giving me a chokehold. “Honestly, Ivy, I know what’s going on here.”

“An evil billionaire is trying to coax me into his house so he can exact revenge on the girl that tried to take down his company?”

“Hell to the no.” He furrowed his eyebrows, shaking his head back and fourth in disagreement. “This isn’t about him. It’s about you. You’re starting to feel guilty about what you did so you’re trying to compensate for it by ruining your own happiness. That’s why you’re so willing to go to prison.”

“Or maybe I’m right and someone’s out to get me.”

“The only person out to get you is yourself.” He grabbed me by the chin, tilting my head back so that I’d look him in the eyes. The sun from the window reflected in his irises, making them look golden. “Take the offer. It’s a good one. You’re acting like you’ve struck dirt, but you’ve struck gold.”

He kissed me on the forehead, muttering a final plea against my skin. He left me wanting more than he could ever give me. I watched as he walked out the door, sliding on a leather jacket on his way out. He was leaving to give me space to think about my decision, but I didn’t want to be alone.

Left to my own devices, I rummaged through the rest of the documents in the folder. There were pictures of me doing things that I shouldn’t have been doing. There was more than enough evidence to convict me. I felt my faith crumble. Mendoza was harsh, but he was absolutely right. If this went to court, I would undoubtedly lose.

In my haste of going through the pages, a small paper fell from the folder. It landed on the floor underneath my seat. I stood up, plucking it from the ground. Upon further investigation, it was a business card.

Spencer Scott

President & CEO of Scott Solutions & Holdings INC

1128 Sixth Avenue

New York, NY

I knew that address all too well. It was my former work place where I worked as an intern over the summer. In all my time there, I never got the privilege of meeting Mr. Scott, the twenty-eight year old man who headed the company. And now that I had the opportunity to meet him, I didn’t want to.

I stared at the phone numbers on the other side of the card. It displayed both the company’s number and his personal number. I knew this wasn’t his usual business card. Someone as high profile as him wouldn’t give their number out to the public. Women would hit up his phone like it was a chat line for desperate singles.

I couldn’t exactly blame them... from all of the photographs I’d seen of him online he was an eligible bachelor. He had the looks, the social status, the wealth. He had everything and I was the girl who threatened to take it all away from him.

As an aspiring journalist, it was in my job description to snoop and pry for information. I just never thought I’d cross the line of right and wrong to get a good story. Of course, I got caught as soon as I crossed that very line. And let me tell you, the grass wasn’t always greener on the other side. In fact, it was brown and dying.

On a sudden impulse decision, I dialed the number on the back of the card. It was his personal phone number and by the seventh ring I was convinced that he wasn’t going to answer the call. It was probably for the best.

There was a deep breath and then, “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. I was beginning to think you weren’t interested.”

“I’m not.” I panicked, hanging up the phone.

I let out a sigh of relief and then one out of horror. What had I just done? Had I just sealed my fate with two simple words?