I've Changed

24. truth

"Fuck off," I shout over the music to a man approaching me with a confident expression. His eyes widen, and he almost drops his drink before sprinting away through the crowds dancing in the middle of the club.

I roll my eyes as I walk past the several intoxicated customers who seem to be having a nice time when I am not.

"You just had to drag me here," I say as I approach Malcom, who is pumping his fist in the air to Rihanna's "don't stop the music." It's now 6 p.m., and Malcom was supposed to do this trade with another investor, but he backed out, prompting him to call me.

"I swear, I had no progress," he says, raising his hand in defence before downing a drink whose name I don't know.

"Where is he?" I ask, and he gestures to the club's private rooms in the corner, making me frown. The number of men I had to persuade in those rooms was ridiculous, but at least I never used "sex" as an answer; I'm just a good persuader.

Malcom pats my arm as I take a deep breath, which I quickly regret as the scent of sweat and alcohol stings my nostrils. I hurriedly walk to the rooms, rolling my eyes when I noticed a bodyguard in front of one of the doors. I'd get a lot of frightened and jealous looks on my way there, usually from women, but the men's devouring expressions made me want to tear their ears out.

I come to a complete stop in front of the bodyguard, who is looking at the opposite door and not moving an inch. As I reach the door handle, the security grabs my hand roughly, causing me to twist his hand and force him back with the other, causing him to stumble and grunt.

"I work with Russo," I spat at him, his eyes widening and motioning for me to go on. I open the door and my eyes land on the guy I'm here to do the trade with, as two strippers grind and dance on him.

Their gazes are drawn to the entrance, where I am standing. The women are terrified but irritated that their work is over, and the man has a smirk on his face. "Out," I say, motioning to the girls, who run out in half-naked bodies, high heels, and wads of cash in their hands. As I watch him adjust himself on the leather sofa, I slam the door shut and bring a chair in front of him.

I take a look around the dirty room, my eyes hurting from the purple lights, the beer bottles and glasses strewn around, a few $100 bills littered about, and the strong stench of sex in the air.

I focus on the man in front of me, who extends his arms and raises his glass of bourbon to his mouth, staring at me through his lashes while I maintain a blank and expressionless emotion.

"How may I help you Ellie Mae?" He raises a brow, setting the glass down.

I scoff, "Really Matteo." "You couldn't give Malcom a quick payment transfer."

"I knew you'd show up if I refused his help," he shrugs as he leans forward.

"Well, I'm here," I declare confidently, finding the bag in the corner, which I assume contains the money stacks.

"You're very observant," he says as he removes the black duffel bag from his hands and hands it to me with a phoney smile on his face. I stand up to take it, my eyes narrowed at the suspicion, but as my hand takes hold of the handle, he yanks it toward him, leaving no room between us. I sigh, not wanting to go down this path of escape, but I do.

I put the bag down and re-sit in the chair in front of him. I cross my arms and evaluate the situation before deciding whether or not to proceed. With a smug grin on his lips, he tilts his head up and down, desperately staring at my figure.

"Because it's my birthday, why don't you surprise me," he says in a seductive tone that makes me gag, but I don't respond; instead, I look at him with a straight line on my lips and my eyes fixed on him.