My Boyfriend Charged Me to Sleep With Him

I practiced the call four times before I made it.

I sat on my kitchen floor with my back against the cabinets. My laptop was open beside me. On the screen was a spreadsheet I'd kept for three years. Every dollar I gave Tyler. Rent. Phone bill. A new guitar he never played. The total sat at the bottom in bold. $23,417.

I had never shown it to anyone. Not even myself, really. I just kept adding to it, like a diary I was too scared to read.

Now I read it. All of it. Then I picked up my old phone.

He answered on the first ring. Of course he did.

"Finally," Tyler said. "You done sulking?"

I closed my eyes. I let my voice go soft and shaky. The voice he liked. The voice I'd used a hundred times when I said sorry for things that weren't my fault.

"I feel terrible," I said. "About New Year's. About how I left."

A pause. I could hear him smiling. "Yeah. That was pretty immature, babe."

My nails dug into my palm. "I know. I want to make it up to you."

"The thousand would be a good start."

"I can do better than that." I swallowed. "There's this private club in Midtown. Members only. A friend from work got me a reservation. Saturday night. A whole VIP suite."

Silence. Then, careful: "Who's paying?"

There it was. I almost laughed. Three years, and I'd never seen him so clearly.

"It's my treat," I said. "All of it."

"Seriously?" His voice jumped. Then he caught himself and dropped it low and warm. "I mean. Wow. That's really sweet, Esme. That's the girl I fell for."

"So you'll come?"

"Obviously." I heard him shift, like he was sitting up. "Hey, can I bring Kayla? And a few of her girls? They were worried about you. About us. It'd be good for them to see we're okay."

Worried. Kayla, laughing with her head tipped back. *Don't be cheap, Esme.*

I knew what he really wanted. An audience. He wanted people to watch him forgive me. He wanted to sit at the head of the table while I paid for his crown.

"Sure," I said. "Bring whoever you want."

"You're the best, babe." He was already distracted. I could hear him typing. "Text me the address. Oh, and wear something nice, okay? Don't embarrass me."

He hung up first. He always did.

I set the phone on the floor and stared at it. My hands weren't shaking. That surprised me more than anything.

I picked up the black phone Marcus gave me and sent one line to speed dial one.

*He took it. Kayla's coming. Plus friends.*

The answer came back in under a minute.

*Good. More witnesses.*

---

Saturday night was cold and clear. The city glittered like it had something to prove.

The club didn't have a sign. Just a black door on a quiet street off Madison, with a brass number and a man in a long coat standing beside it. He looked at me once and opened the door.

I was early. I wanted to be.

The slate-blue gown moved when I moved. It was simple. No sequins. No slit up the leg. Just smooth silk that fit like it had been made for me. Because it had. I wore my mother's gold earrings with it. Nothing else.

I knew what Tyler would see. A plain dress. No logo. He'd think it came off a rack at a discount store. He only understood things with price tags.

Good. Let him think that.

Inside, the light was low and amber. The air smelled like leather and old wood. Somewhere, a piano played something slow. Nobody turned to stare. In here, everyone was somebody.

A man came toward me across the thick carpet. He was older, maybe sixty, with silver hair and a navy suit. His smile was polite and exactly the right size.

"Miss Nichols. Robert Chen. I manage the house." He didn't offer his hand. He offered a small bow. "Mr. Hart sends his regards."

"Is he here?"

His smile didn't move. "Mr. Hart is wherever he needs to be."

That wasn't an answer. I let it go.

He led me up a curved staircase to a set of tall double doors. Inside was the VIP suite. Velvet couches the color of red wine. A long marble table. A wall of glass looking down on the street. A chandelier dripped light over everything.

"Your guests will have whatever they ask for," Robert said. He handed me a leather menu. "These are the menus they'll receive."

I opened it. Wagyu. Caviar. Champagnes with names I couldn't pronounce. Whiskey older than me.

There were no prices. Not one.

"They won't know what anything costs," I said.

"No, miss. Not until the designated moment." He folded his hands. "The house will hold the tab. It will be presented only when you're ready. Not one second before."

"And if they order everything?"

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. It looked a lot like pleasure.

"Then I'll make sure the kitchen is fully staffed," he said.

I ran my thumb along the edge of the menu. Then I set it down and straightened it until it lined up perfectly with the edge of the table.

Robert noticed. He didn't comment.

"Is there anything else you need, Miss Nichols?"

I touched my clutch. Inside, my phone was already set to record. My heart was beating hard and slow, like a drum before a march.

"No," I said. "Everything's in place."

He bowed again and left me alone.

I stood at the glass and looked down. Headlights slid past below. Somewhere out there, Tyler was on his way. Laughing, probably. Already ordering in his head.

A cab pulled up to the curb. The door opened. I heard Kayla's laugh float up through the cold air.

I didn't step back from the window.

I waited.