Page 108 of With a Cherry On Top

Damn. Out of characters. I send it anyway, then start typing again.

beatrice asked me to. it’s too fucked up, and i’m quitting. i’m really sorry ab?—

“Fucking stupid characters!”

Her eyes flick to the screen, mid-drizzle of honey. Her expression falters, the sultry mask she wears cracking.

“Sorry, everyone, but I have to go. Connect at the usual time tonight or tomorrow morning, and we’ll continue our game.”

No anger in the chat. No protests. Just a few understanding comments before the screen buffers, then goes dark.

I run a hand through my hair, my mind racing. Should I call? Should I text again? What should I do?

Then—a chime.

A private call request from Cherry.

Without hesitating, I click to accept, barely reading the disclaimer about the call being free of charge.

The screen lights up, and there she is. Her makeup is smudged, remnants of honey still glistening on her skin. She’s holding a wet towel, moving it over her belly with absent strokes.

“Hey,” I say quietly.

She pouts. “What do you mean you’re quitting?”

“I mean I’m quitting—on Monday. I’ve already told Ian to call me in the morning. I’ll tell him everything Beatrice is doing, and then I’m out.”

Charlotte’s face hardens, the bright glow of the screen catching the tremble in her jaw. She continues to drag the towel over her stomach, the tension in her shoulders tightening like a bowstring. “Ian?”

“My boss. He’ll want to know why I’m flaking out. I’ll have to explain it to Amelie too.”

Her lips press together, a muscle in her cheek twitching. “You can’t tell them.”

“Why not?”

Her eyes flick up to meet the camera. “Because it’s my life, and I don’t want you to.”

I sink back in my chair, chest heavy. She’s right. It’s not my place to expose her, no matter how much I want to fix this for her. No matter how much it kills me to watch her go through it alone.

“Okay, then...then I’ll tell them about us,” I say, my throat tightening around the words. “That we’re involved, and I can’t continue working for your mom. Either way, I’m not doing this anymore.”

Though I expect her to be relieved, her lips twist. “So you’re abandoning me.”

“What? No, I?—”

“You won’t come over anymore.”

“No, but once I’m not employed by your mom, we can just...” My mouth stays open, but the words don’t come. We can just do what? Date? Be normal? Pretend we aren’t tangled in a mess of complications? She’s a cam girl. A twenty-three-year-old firecracker who doesn’t belong to anyone. A model who travels the world.

And I’m . . . me.

“What?” she mocks, setting the towel down. “You’ll come to my shows? I’ll watchWilly Wonkawith your daughter?”

I swallow hard. The idea isn’t absurd to me. It’s terrifying, sure. Uncertain, improbable, but it’s not bad. If anything, it almost feels like an unattainable dream.

Her expression shifts, something breaking behind her eyes. “You’re leaving me with her.”

My brows knit together. “Charlotte?—”

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