Chapter 5 Strip for Me, Baby Girl

The taxi barely came to a stop before I opened the door open and rushed up the steps of our Upper East Side house. My heels clicked like gunshots against the marble floor. The moment I stepped into the house, I knew something was wrong and i don't like this feeling.

Adrian was pacing in the foyer, shirt half-buttoned, hair a mess, phone glued to his ear. He didn't even wait for me to drop my bag.

"Where the hell have you been Erica?" he snapped the second he saw me.

I blinked. "Good evening to you too, sunshine."

"Dad's been arrested!" he exploded. "Fraud, Erica! Do you know what that means? The investors are demanding their money back, the staff are quitting like it's a game show, and you're out gallivanting with your ex!"

I dropped my purse on the floor. "Wait-arrested? What fraud? He's been drinking whiskey and sadness for weeks, what fraud could he possibly-"

"Apparently," Adrian cut in, rubbing his temples, "he signed a loan deal using fake collateral. One of the buildings wasn't even under our name anymore."

"Oh my God..." My stomach dropped. "He's in jail?"

"Yes, genius. Jail." Adrian threw his phone on the couch. "Where were you? Don't tell me you couldn't seal the deal with Nathan. I mean, weren't you two all cozy in college? What's taking so long? Is he playing hard to get or are you just bad at seduction now?"

I sucked in a sharp breath. "Excuse me?"

"You know what, never mind. Just do whatever you have to. Use your brain, or your body-I don't care. If anything happens to Dad, it's on you. You already killed one parent, do you want to take out the second too?"

The words landed like a slap.

"You don't mean that Adrian," I whispered.

He scoffed. "Don't I?"

I stood frozen, the living room spinning slightly. The guilt I'd been dragging around for years hit me full force-again. I was seventeen when Mom died. I snuck out to a concert, thinking I was clever. Got drunk, got in trouble, and Mom came rushing to get me... only to have a heart attack behind the wheel. All because of me.

And now this.

I did what I could-called the banks, reached out to board members, tried to talk to staff.

Doors slammed in my face-metaphorically and literally.

I sat in my room at midnight, knees pulled to my chest, watching my phone like it held the meaning of life. There was only one person left. One person I never wanted to call again.

But I did.

Nathan.

He answered on the third ring. "Changed your mind?"

"I need help," I said, voice low. "Please. Can we talk?"

He sent me a location. No words. Just a pin drop and a smirking emoji.

Of course.

---

The cab stopped outside what I thought was a fancy underground lounge. I walked in, and-

Nope.

Definitely not a lounge.

It was a strip club. A very elite one, judging by the velvet ropes, mood lighting, and the man in a tuxedo checking coats and judgments at the door.

Nathan sat in a VIP booth like some bored mafia prince, sipping something golden from a low-ball glass. He looked like sin in a suit-relaxed, amused, and far too smug.

I walked up to him, already regretting every decision I'd ever made.

"You have an odd taste in meeting places," I muttered.

He gave me a slow once-over. "I have odd tastes in general. Sit."

I sat.

"I accept," I said quickly. "The marriage deal. Six months. I'll do it."

He sipped his drink. "You're late."

"What? It hasn't even been twenty-four hours!"

"I hate being left standing," he said coolly. "Offer expired."

"Come on, Nathan. I didn't even say no. I just needed time to-"

"Time is money, sweetheart. And you wasted both."

I clenched my fists, trying to keep my temper in check. "What do I have to do for you to reconsider, Mr Barth?"

He leaned back, eyes gleaming like a cat playing with its food. Then he pointed toward the stage.

"Strip for me, baby girl."

I choked. "What?"

"You heard me. Get on that pole. Show me how much you want to save your company."

"You're insane."

"And you're desperate." He took another sip. "Look, it's simple. You want me to invest in a burning dumpster fire? Prove it's worth it. Prove you're worth it."

I looked around. No one seemed to care. There was a woman on stage twirling like a goddess, people clapping, laughing, drinking champagne. To them, it was just another Thursday night in billionaire world.

To me? It was humiliation on a pole.

But my father was in jail. My company was dying. And I was out of options.

I stood up.

"Wait." Nathan smirked. "You're actually going to do it?"

"Close your smug mouth," I snapped, walking toward the stage. My heart was beating like a war drum.

I climbed up awkwardly, nearly tripped on my heels, and grabbed the pole like it was a lifeline.

The music changed-some slow, jazzy beat that made my movements even more embarrassing.

I tried to spin.

Failed.

Tried again.

Still failed.

At some point, I gave up and just started swinging around like a lost drunk aunt at a wedding.

Laughter erupted from behind me. I didn't need to look. Nathan was probably choking on his drink.

"You done?" he called out.

I stopped mid-twirl, panting. "I hate you."

He stood up, walked over, and offered a hand.

"Good. Now we're getting somewhere."

---

Back in the booth, I plopped down, cheeks burning. "Was that entertaining enough for you?"

He grinned. "Terrible form. No rhythm. But 10 out of 10 for effort."

"So...?"

He leaned in. "Marriage. Six months. My rules. Starting tomorrow."

I exhaled. "Deal."

He clinked his glass against mine. "Welcome to hell, Mrs. Barth-in-progress."