"Oh," she breathed, stepping just close enough for him to feel the heat radiating off her. "That’s good to know then." Her lips twitched into a smile that was both wicked and playful.

"Because if you come in tomorrow, I will make everything about tomorrow... hard." She dragged that last word out.

"Doesn’t matter, ma’am," he said firmly, straightening his shoulders again. "Unless Mr. Kane says otherwise, I will be here. He is my direct employer."

The shift in his tone was subtle but absolute. The man had armor thicker than a tank, and she’d just dented it—barely. He turned toward the door, giving her his back, that perfect posture radiating both discipline and a quiet kind of defiance.

"If there is nothing else, ma’am, I will be waiting outside until Mr. Kane gets here."

Sylvia pouted, watching him retreat. He didn’t even look back. It was infuriating. She bit her lip, her mind spinning. She’d have to find a way to avoid him tomorrow.

*****

Joey found Winn easily at Commissioned Bar.

Reese had called Joey earlier. Told him Winn wasn’t doing great. That was all Joey needed to hear.

He spotted Winn at the far end of the bar, hunched over a glass, his fingers tracing the rim absently.

Joey slid onto the stool beside him. "You look like shit," he said conversationally.

Winn didn’t look up. "I feel worse."

"That’s good. Means you’re still alive," Joey said, waving to the bartender. "Two bourbons."

"Did you hear what happened?" Winn asked. He looked up at Joey through half-lidded eyes, a tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Not exactly," Joey said. He took in his friend’s disheveled state. "I was told the reading didn’t go so well though."

"Oh, it went well," Winn said with a hollow laugh. He raised his glass in a mock toast. "Quite well, actually. I am currently the richest man in the city. Gramps left me everything—but with everything came the knowledge that I am a bastard."

He tipped back the drink and swallowed, wincing as it burned its way down. "Some inheritance, huh?"

Joey blinked. "Uh... what?" His eyebrows shot up. "You’re serious?"

"Dead serious." Winn poured himself another drink before Joey could even process it. "Yeah, plot twist... Tom isn’t my father. Turns out, I’m the product of my mother’s rebellion."

Joey let out a low whistle. "You know, at some point everyone who knew how strained your relationship was with him kind of suspected it. I’m not too surprised." He reached for his own glass. "Still... damn."

"Yeah," Winn said bitterly, running a hand through his dark hair.

"You know what’s funny? I have all the money in the world, and yet my life is complete shit. My mother lied to me all my life. My father—well, the man I thought was my father—is the worst person I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing. I’m a bastard. The woman I love wants me out of her life so bad, she moved to Newark." He laughed again.

"And I’m married to a woman whose last name I only found out the day before the wedding."

Joey tilted his head, amused despite the weight in the air. "You sure know how to pick your battles, buddy."

"Don’t start," Winn muttered.

"You’ve got daddy issues, mommy issues, wife issues, love issues. Hell, Winn, you’re a therapist’s dream."

"I’d pay good money for a therapist who could untangle this mess," Winn muttered, staring into his drink as if it held the answers.

The truth was, he felt hollow. He’d grown up clawing for Tom’s approval, and now that he knew the man was never really his father, it was like the ground had been pulled from beneath him.

Every memory, every punishment, every cruel word—it all suddenly made sense, and that made it worse.

Joey leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You wanna hear the bright side?"

Winn gave him a side glance. "There’s a bright side?"

"You’re rich as hell," Joey said with a grin.

That actually got a laugh out of Winn. A real one this time. "You’re an idiot."

Joey sighed, his hand lazily swirling the melting ice in his glass. "So," he said, "how drunk do we have to get to drown out our sorrows tonight?"

"Very," Winn said flatly. He tipped back the last of his bourbon and winced at the burn. "I can’t even go up to the platinum booth. Everything over there reminds me of her."

"Come on," Joey said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Let’s go up there. You need to talk it out, not bottle it in."

"Joey..." Winn groaned, dragging out his name.

"Come on, we get drunk, we watch the girls, we talk about Ivy and what you’re going to do with all that Orchard money."

"Come on!" Joey insisted. "We haven’t hung out as single men in ages. When was the last time we just drank, laughed, and talked shit about women?"

Winn sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He stood, swaying slightly. "Fine. But the girls aren’t dancing tonight."

Joey winked. "Doesn’t matter."

******

Irene stood outside the door of Ivy’s bedroom, her knuckles grazing the wood before she knocked again. Irene balanced a tray in one hand.

On the tray sat a bowl of chicken soup, still steaming, two slices of toast with butter melting into the crust, and a glass of orange juice that she hoped would coax some life back into Ivy’s pale face. "Ivy?" she called softly. "It’s me. Irene."

There was a pause, then a muffled voice from within, sharp as a blade. "I’m fine."

Fine. The universal lie of every woman on the verge of collapse. She sighed and set the tray gently on the floor, straightening her spine as if bracing for battle. "Ivy, I cannot even begin to tell you how to feel," she began.

"I know you feel betrayed. I know you feel slighted. You have every right to." Irene pressed her palm to the door, as if her touch could somehow bridge the distance. "But, Ivy, you are still recovering. You’re pale, you’re weak, and you haven’t eaten in two days. You can’t keep punishing yourself like this."

(JessYurko and MissyDionne. You have queen for a day. Ask any questions you want)