Chapter 6 Pole Dancing

Madelyn strode to the table and, without flinching, slammed back three shots of vodka one after another.

"Miss Dixon, come on-three shots barely count for someone like you," someone teased, grinning as the crowd watched.

"Honestly, that's almost insulting. Even I feel slighted." Jerred leaned in with a sly smile, nudging several more bottles her way. "Why stop there? Go on, clear the whole table for us."

The words barely left his lips before the room erupted in laughter and rowdy encouragement.

Sprawled across the couch, Christopher watched her with languid interest, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

He knew downing that much would probably send Madelyn straight back to the hospital.

But Madelyn didn't hesitate. She snatched up the closest bottle, uncapped it, and took a long pull, the burn barely registering.

She couldn't afford to back down-not if she wanted to clinch the project and finally get what she wanted from Julissa.

Madelyn tipped the bottle skyward, draining every last drop before letting the empty glass clatter onto the table. Locking eyes with Christopher, she squared her shoulders, her expression unflinching.

"Since we're all here, I'd like to take this chance to apologize to you directly, Mr. Yates." Her voice rang out with practiced steadiness, though her cheeks were already tinged with red. She dipped into a deep, earnest bow. "I never meant to embarrass you at that party. Someone like you wouldn't waste time holding a grudge, but I should've come forward sooner. That's on me."

Without waiting for a reply, Madelyn snatched up another bottle, unscrewed the cap, and downed it in a single, unbroken gulp.

Her face grew even more flushed, but she straightened, refusing to let it show.

"I hope we can work together from here on out. And if you ever need anything from me, just say the word," she finished, her tone even, the alcohol doing nothing to shake her poise.

Christopher's gaze darkened with a flicker of annoyance, but Madelyn kept her chin up, acting as if she hadn't noticed at all.

With the formalities over and the liquor warming her veins, she knew it was time to steer the conversation toward business.

Madelyn straightened her shoulders, confidence gleaming in her eyes as she declared, "When it comes to the Aurora Mall project, no one fits as well as the Brennan Group. We're not just bringing bottles to the table-we're here with real commitment." She tipped the third bottle back and shook it with a playful flair before setting it aside.

Christopher's expression shifted, a hint of intrigue replacing his earlier boredom. "Oh? And what else does your 'commitment' look like?"

Before Madelyn could answer, a leering voice cut through the commotion. "Hey, sweetheart, with a body like that, why not give Mr. Yates a show? There's a pole right there-come on, dance for him! Who knows, he might give you whatever you want!"

The room erupted with raucous laughter, the air thick with ridicule.

Even Christopher's gaze lingered, his smile turning wicked, openly inviting her next move.

Madelyn, dressed in an ordinary business suit-modest, with nothing daring about it-still felt bare beneath the men's scrutinizing eyes.

Christopher lit a cigarette and drew in a leisurely drag, the smoke curling lazily from his lips as he regarded her with unashamed arrogance.

His look roamed, skimming the elegant line of her throat, tracing her voluptuous shape before pausing brazenly at her hips. "That sounds perfect to me," he remarked, his mouth curled into a wolfish grin. "If I remember right, you're in PR, aren't you? A good PR rep should know how to make people happy. Isn't that your specialty, Miss Dixon?"

Madelyn's composure faltered, her posture subtly wavering.

Maybe it was the alcohol thrumming in her veins or maybe the old humiliation-each time it happened, it was just as raw.

Still, she said nothing.

One of Christopher's cronies, catching her hesitation, shot her an impatient look. "Didn't you hear Mr. Yates? He asked you a question. Are you admitting he's right, or not?"

Madelyn wanted to fire back, to insist he was dead wrong.

But one reckless answer and the entire partnership would vanish. She couldn't risk leaving the Brennan Group, not while Simon's trail remained cold and Julissa's threat hung over her like a stormcloud.

"You're absolutely right, Mr. Yates." Madelyn forced the words out of her throat. She barely let herself linger in resentment before straightening her shoulders and flashing a smooth, professional smile. "You want a dance? Sure. If it pleases you, Mr. Yates, I'll gladly oblige."

She lifted her hand and, with a graceful flick, slid her hairpin free. Her loose, glossy waves tumbled down, framing her face as she prepared to take the spotlight.

She then marched over to the gleaming pole stationed at the edge of the room, squared her shoulders, and inhaled as if steeling herself for battle.

With practiced poise, she hooked one leg around the cold steel and let her body flow, every movement seamlessly melting into the next.

In the muted, smoky glow, her face flickered between innocence and dangerous charm-a breathtaking contradiction that drew every gaze.

Even dressed in her conservative business suit, she radiated a captivating magnetism, transforming each motion into a slow-burning temptation.

When Madelyn dropped into a smooth spin, a smug voice piped up from the cluster of men. "Damn, she's got skills. Bet she's wild in bed, too."

Derogatory remarks like that had long since lost their sting.

Madelyn had mastered the art of tuning them out, moving through the storm with her head held high.

Christopher pulled out his phone with a flourish, making sure everyone noticed as he dialed Bryson. A sly, malicious grin curled on his lips.

"A scene like this is too good to keep to ourselves, don't you think? Let's make sure Mr. Mills gets a front-row seat," he announced, already angling the camera toward Madelyn just as the call connected.

At that exact moment, Madelyn was bent backward, her chest arched upward in a striking display, caught mid-motion by the sudden scrutiny of the camera.

"Mr. Mills, feast your eyes. Look at how devoted your Miss Dixon is-putting on this special performance for us," Christopher drawled, his tone dripping with taunt.

Madelyn's face drained of color. She faltered, suddenly rigid, the music fading in her ears beneath a wave of humiliation.

Christopher clicked his tongue, growing impatient. "What are you stopping for? The show's not over. Keep going."

Turning back to the video call, he added with feigned innocence, "You don't mind, do you, Mr. Mills? After all, Miss Dixon volunteered herself. We're just the lucky audience."

For a brief moment, only static and shallow breaths filled the line-until Bryson's voice finally cut through, colder and more distant for the layer of digital distortion.