Page 41 of The Devil of Downtown

Brody holds up his hands, smirking. “Relax, I’m joking.” His phone buzzes, and he groans. “Give me a sec, gotta take this. Don’t go anywhere,” he says, disappearing toward the restrooms.

“Sorry,” Jennie says when he’s out of sight. “I didn’t realize he would just turn up.”

“It’s fine.” I shrug, even though my chest’s tight. “It had to happen at some point.”

“I don’t think he’s over you.” Jennie frowns.

“He looks well, though,” I say, blowing out a breath, not ready for a deep dive into the never-ending Brody drama.

“Well, he’s a good-looking bastard when he’s not high, so there’s that,” she says before her face curves into a grin. “So, London. Spill. You said you really fucked up. Definereally?”

I stare into my coffee, heart thumping. “London ended up being more than business.”

Jennie frowns. “Okay...”

“I was pretending to be Sloane—covering for her, you know that.”

“Yep...crazy, but go on.”

“Dane was there too, obviously. And something... happened.”

Jennie’s brows shoot up. “DaneDane? As in Sloane’s boss, Dane?As in, I’d lay down my life for him and have all his babieshot.”

“Keep your voice down,” I hiss.

She leans in. “Jesus, Ivy. Howsomethingare we talking?”

“As in...,” I pause, dropping my voice to a guilty whisper. “He finger-fucked me to the best orgasm of my life.”

“Oh-my-fucking-god, Ivy,” she shrieks, silencing the entire café.

“Jennie, can you not...” My cheeks flush a deep scarlet.

She stares at me, jaw slack. “That’s impressively bad, Ivy.”

I bury my face in my hands. “What do I do? I haven’t told Sloane yet.”

“Step one,” she says, stirring her coffee. “Donottell Brody. He’ll challenge Dane to a duel with a guitar pick.”

Before I can reply, Brody reappears, dropping into his chair, grin reloaded.

“So, what did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Jennie and I say in unison, a little too quickly.

He leans forward, all warmth and easy swagger. “You know, I’ve got my first set soon at Vice nightclub. You should come. I’ll put you on the guest list.”

Jennie claps her hands. “Cool. I’m in if it’s VIP?”

“Of course,” he says, eyes on me. “And you, Ivy? Be nice to get the old crowd back together.”

“Yeah, sure,” I mutter, because saying no to Brody has never been my strong suit.

We’re just about ready to leave when my phone vibrates against the table with an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Ivy Vale?” a bright voice says. “This is casting for42nd Street Reimagined.The creative team was impressed today. We’d like to offer you the role of Lorraine.”