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“Ivy?” I call as I walk around the house to find her. I find her in my room, about to leave with laundry in her arms. “Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?” I muse, picking at a stray hair and tucking it behind her ear. I like touching her.
“Hello, sir.”
I scrunch my nose. She knows I don't like it when she calls me sir, but she does it anyway. It makes me respect her. If she were any other girl, she would have made a move on me by now. Most of my previous housekeepers didn't last a week.
“Sir? Is that what you and your friends are going to call me when you finally have the money to pay me to dance for you girls?” I expect her to laugh. Maybe even tell me I need to get off my high horse. But I get nothing from her, which is unusual.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She shrugs and sidesteps me. “Just tired.”
I watch her walk away; my high spirits lower with hers until they seem like puddles on the floor.
As I shower and change into casual clothes, I try to figure out what the problem may be with her, but I'm unable to come up with anything. When I eventually come downstairs for dinner, she's about to leave.
“Ivy, wait,” I call after her. She pauses at the door, her demeanor stiff.
“Not tonight, too, Mr. DeMontez.”
I nod. I think I've finally accepted that she will never agree to have dinner with me. I just bug her for the fun of it.
“I know. I just wanted you to have this.” I dig into my wallet and fetch her a few hundred dollar notes.
She gapes at me. “Why?”
“Just to encourage you that you're doing a good job. Take it.”
She smiles and takes the money from me. “Thank you,” she whispers.
I force a smile as she walks away. The food tastes sour in my mouth as I eat, but I force it down anyway, not one to mess with my health. When I'm done, I find my way into the house cellar, unsure if I want to drink. But I eventually pick out a bottle of my favorite whiskey. I don't make drinking a habit, but once in a while, I indulge myself.
Walking back into the living room, I fetch a glass and take a good swallow of the drink before I bring my phone out and scour the internet for something to pass the time with. For most men, now would be the time to call a woman and invite her over for the night. But I've got none. The one woman I want, I can't have.
Maybe that should change.
Changing the course of my action, I started to search for dating websites online. Soon, I find one, though it isn't entirely a dating platform. It's more like a hook-up website. The name says Sugar Baby Finds Daddy.
I take another sip of my drink for liquor confidence before scrolling through the list of beautiful women. None of them catch my eye. I'm about to give up when I see a blonde that looks like Ivy. Blinking, I click on the profile and immediately zoom the picture once the page loads.
It is Ivy.
Except it isn't.
The Ivy I know has black hair, she doesn't use makeup, and she certainly wouldn't put her virginity out on a bid website for any man to buy. I'm intrigued, regardless. So I make a bid five times the charge, so I'm not outbid by anyone else. One hundred thousand dollars.
All that's left now is to meet this girl who looks just like the woman living rent-free in my head. Let's hope she surpasses the current standard.
Chapter Three
Ivy
The scream that leaves my mouth at the sight of the notification on my phone the morning after Rafael tipped me three hundred dollars is not one of joy. It's not one of pain, either. It's of shock.
Holy shit!
Someone bid a whopping hundred thousand dollars to take my virginity.
When Roxanne first brought up the idea, I told her she was crazy. Who would pay to take someone’s virginity? Turns out a lot of people will. So reluctantly, I created a profile on the website she recommended, not believing the whole thing would pan out. But it does, according to the message I'm staring at right now.
