Chapter 19 Selling Him
Seeing that the wealthy women were about to get handsy, Sadie's annoyance boiled over. With a biting edge, she said, "Aren't you all a bit too old for this?"
"What are you, a waitress? Get lost, don't waste our time!" The fattest of the women impatiently waved Sadie away, clearly unbothered by her presence.
"Do you even know who you're talking to?" spoke another woman, practically dripping in jewelry, glanced disdainfully at Sadie before fixing her flirtatious gaze on Micah. "You'd better behave; there's plenty in it for you," she said with a seductive smile. "So, how about it? Want to serve us?"
Sadie, snapping into action, stepped forward and boldly wrapped her arm around Micah's, declaring, "He's my man, don't even think about it!"
Micah raised an eyebrow, amused and intrigued by Sadie's sudden claim.
"Oh, really? You?" The wealthy woman raised an eyebrow, a scornful smile playing on her lips. "Can you even afford his appearance fee? You can barely support yourself, right?"
With a smirk, she reached into her bag and slapped a stack of cash on the table, the bills making a sharp, crisp sound. "Spend one night with me, and all this is yours."
Sadie's heart skipped a beat, her eyes drawn to the money involuntarily. Internally, she wrestled with herself. 'This… this is too much!' she thought. 'But no, I can't just give in.'
"I spent fifty thousand dollars on him! You think you can buy him off with that little money?!" she retorted, summoning all her defiance.
The wealthy woman looked Sadie up and down, her disdain palpable. "Fifty grand? You?" she scoffed.
"I saved up for a year just for this man. What, is that a problem?" Sadie forced herself not to look at the cash, straightening her back defiantly.
The woman laughed, clearly used to these kinds of scenes. "Fifty thousand isn't enough? How about five hundred thousand?" She scribbled a check, placed it on the table, and slid it toward Sadie. "Get lost."
Sadie hesitated for a split second, then grabbed the check and turned to leave. "Have fun, you three!" she bit out, a mix of guilt and resignation coursing through her.
'Sorry, Micah, but that's just too much,' she thought as she quickly stepped toward the door, only to feel a hand grip the collar of her shirt.
She didn't dare look back but pried Micah's fingers off her collar. She knew—without needing to see—that his eyes were full of murderous intent.
Sadie was right.
Micah's eyes were indeed filled with a dark, almost homicidal glare as he watched her retreating figure. His grip on his wine glass tightened until his knuckles turned white.
Outside the private room, Sadie leaned against the wall, feeling a pang of guilt gnawed at her. She hurried out of the nightclub, her mind in turmoil.
Inside, the women eagerly approached Micah again. "Come have a drink with us," one purred, but Micah didn't even bother to lift his eyelids. He closed his eyes, refusing to acknowledge their presence.
As the last drop of wine slid down his throat, there were three loud bangs. The women fell, their hefty bodies causing the floor to shudder, making the wine in the bottles ripple on the coffee table.
A black-clad bodyguard opened the door cautiously. "Mr. Clemens, are you alright?"
"Clean it up," Micah commanded coldly, stepping over the coffee table to avoid touching the fallen women. He left the room, not sparing them another glance.
By the time he dealt with the aftermath, Sadie was still struggling to catch a cab outside the club.
She grappled with indecision, wondering whether she should go back to check on Micah. She sent him a quick, tentative text. No reply. Another. Still nothing. Sadie's guilt mounted, but she thought, 'It's his job; he doesn't need my sympathy.'
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