Guilty Pleasure

01. In Debt

       "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."