The cost of being kept(chapter 3)
description: Talking to your best friend led to feelings being shared about your situation. But who knew Steve would be spending the night a few days later?
no word count i’m too lazy to count🥴
As you started getting ready for your date with Steve, your phone rang.
“Hi, bitchhhh! You haven’t called me in a while. What’s going on??”
You giggled at your best friend.
“Hi, Jade. Thanks for asking how I am. How are you?” you said sarcastically.
She moved closer to the phone screen because something in the background caught her eye, the hot pink Birkin bag.
“Holy shit. Where did you get that from?” Jade asked, her jaw dropping.
“Umm if I tell you, you promise not to tell anyone back home?”
“Of course not. Spill the tea, sis.”
“I kinda, maybe, went on a sugar daddy website and found one. Now he’s spoiling me rotten, and I’m getting ready to go on a date with him right now,” you blurted out with an awkward grin.
You froze for half a second, the mascara wand still in your hand, watching Jade’s eyes go wide on the screen.
“You what?” she whisper screamed, then immediately lowered her voice like someone in her house might overhear. “Bitch. Pause. Rewind. You found a sugar daddy? And he got you a Birkin? Is that real? Let me see it properly.”
You turned the camera toward the hot pink bag sitting on your bed like it belonged there, its gold hardware catching the light from your little vanity mirror. Jade made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a dying animal.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. That’s like thousands. Multiple thousands. Who is this man? Is he ugly? Is he mean? Does he smell like an old man?”
You laughed, but it came out thinner than usual.
“His name is Steve. He’s 46. He has salt&pepper hair, freckles, and he owns businesses and a gym. He’s actually really nice. Like, annoyingly respectful. We signed a contract and everything. Weekly allowance. No pressure.”
Jade was quiet for a second. The kind of quiet that meant her brain was doing the math.
“Weekly?” she finally asked. “How much are we talking?”
You hesitated, glancing at the soft butter-yellow dress laid out on the bed, the one that echoed your first date.
“Okay. Okay, I’m not judging. I’m just girl. That’s life changing money. That’s ‘never go back to the coffee shop’ money. That’s like your mom would have a stroke if she knew’ money.”
Your stomach tightened at the mention of your mom.
“You can’t tell anyone,” you said quickly. “Not your sister, not your cousins, nobody back home. I mean it, Jade.”
“I won’t. Promise. But” She chewed her lip, the teasing energy fading into something more careful. “Are you okay, though? Like, for real. You were just living in Chicago by yourself struggling to get by, and now some older guy is dropping designer bags and ten stacks a week on you. That kind of stuff can get in your head. Do you feel weird about it at all?”
You looked at yourself in the mirror your curls still damp from the shower, the new pink bag in the background, the dress waiting. The apartment still smelled faintly like the roses Steve had sent this morning after the Birkin arrived.
“Sometimes,” you admitted quietly. “It’s so easy now. Rent’s paid. The fridge is full. I don’t have to count every dollar before I buy coffee. But then I think about what happens if he gets bored, or if something changes, and I get this little drop. Like the floor’s going to disappear.”
“Yeah. That tracks. Just don’t disappear on me, okay? I don’t care how expensive the bag is. You’re still my best friend who used to steal my fries and cry over shitty dates. just keep me in the loop.”
You nodded, your throat a little tight.
“I will. I have to finish getting ready, though. He’s picking me up soon.”
“Send me a fit check. And text me when you get home. Love you, rich bitch.”
You hung up and sat there for a moment longer than you meant to, your phone warm in your hand. The secret was out, only to Jade, but still out. It felt lighter and heavier at the same time.
Your phone buzzed again almost immediately.
Steve: “Driver’s going to be about ten minutes early. No rush. Just wanted you to know. Can’t wait to see you.”
You stared at the message, then at the Birkin, then at your own reflection.
The little drop in your stomach was still there. But you stood up, reached for the dress, and kept getting ready.
You put on the gorgeous black dress with the open back and paired it with a matching hot pink thong and a pair of thrifted hot pink heels that complemented the Birkin.
You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. Your hair was styled elegantly, and you smelled like coconut. you quickly snapped a photo and sent it to jade.
“real sexy bitch, don’t do i wouldn’t do😉”
A knock at your apartment door pulled you out of your thoughts. Three soft taps.
You glanced at yourself one last time before peeking through the peephole. A man in a black suit stood patiently outside, hands folded in front of him.
“Mr. Harrington sent me to pick you up.”
You smiled politely. “Thank you. Just let me lock up.”
The driver stepped aside as you pulled your apartment door shut, making sure you had your keys before following him downstairs.
Waiting at the curb was a sleek black Mercedes, polished so well it reflected the city lights. The driver hurried to open the back door for you.
“Thank you.” As you slid inside, the scent of expensive leather mixed with the faint smell of cedar. A chilled bottle of sparkling water sat beside you, along with a small envelope with your name written across the front in elegant handwriting. Curious, you opened it.
Thought you’d like something to read while you’re on the way.
Inside was a handwritten note.
I know tonight might feel intimidating. It doesn’t have to. No expectations. No performances. Just dinner with me. If at any point you want to leave, say the word and we’ll leave. i hope you know I’m looking forward to getting to know you, not impressing you. See you soon.- love steve.
You read it twice before carefully folding it back into the envelope. A smile tugged at your lips. Maybe Jade was right.
Maybe this really could get in your head. Because a handwritten note somehow made your stomach flip more than the Birkin ever had.
Twenty-five minutes later, the Mercedes pulled up in front of one of Chicago’s nicest restaurants. Warm lights glowed through the windows, and a valet immediately walked over as your driver stepped out to open your door.
“Have a wonderful evening, Miss.”
You thanked him before smoothing your dress.
The heels clicked against the sidewalk as you walked toward the entrance. Before you could even reach the door, it opened.
Steve stepped outside. He looked even better than you remembered. A charcoal suit fit him perfectly, the jacket tailored just enough to show his broad shoulders without looking stiff. His white button-down was open at the collar, letting a few stray chest hairs slip out, and his salt&pepper hair had been pushed back neatly.
For a second, he just stared. Not in a way that made you uncomfortable. More like he’d forgotten how words worked. “You look…” he started before shaking his head with a quiet laugh. “Wow.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks.
His eyes traveled over your dress before quickly meeting yours again, refusing to linger.
“I was worried I’d underdressed.”
“I was worried I’d overdressed.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.” steve chuckled
The corners of his mouth lifted into an easy smile.
He offered you his arm. “Shall we?”
You slipped your hand through his arm, surprised by how natural it felt. Inside, soft jazz drifted through the restaurant while candlelight reflected off crystal glasses. Conversations blended together into a low murmur, creating the kind of atmosphere that made you instinctively lower your voice.
The hostess smiled the second she saw Steve.
“Good evening, Mr. Harrington. Your table is ready.”
He nodded politely before following her deeper into the restaurant. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice people looking.
Some recognized Steve. Others were simply curious about the young woman walking beside him carrying a bright pink Birkin.
You suddenly became very aware of the bag hanging from your shoulder. Steve seemed to notice. Without saying anything, he leaned over just enough for only you to hear.
“They’re looking because you’re the prettiest woman in the room.”
“I think they’re looking because of the bag.”
Despite yourself, you laughed. The nervous knot in your stomach loosened just a little.
Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so scary after all.
After this, the conversation slowed down.
Dinner stretched longer than either of them planned. The food was excellent, but the conversation was better. Steve asked questions that weren’t just polite. He wanted to know how you ended up in Chicago alone, what the coffee shop job had been like on the worst days, what your mom was like, why pink was your favorite color, if you wanted to continue your education.
You found yourself telling him things you hadn’t even told Jade yet, how the silence in your apartment used to feel heavier than the bills, how the first time the allowance hit your account you sat on the bathroom floor and cried from relief.
He listened without interrupting. When he talked about himself, it wasn’t the polished version. He told you about the gym that almost failed in the early years, the nights he slept on the office couch, the marriage that ended because both of them had been too busy building their businesses to notice they were growing apart and ended sour, on his ex wife’s end. He didn’t present it as a sob story. Just facts about himself, spoken quietly between courses.
By the time dessert arrived, the 10k weekly arrangement started to feel like background noise instead of the main event.
When the check came, he signed without looking at the total. Outside, the Mercedes was waiting, but he didn’t immediately open the door for you.
“Can I walk you a little?” he asked. “Just around the block. It’s a nice warm night.”
They walked slowly. Your heels clicked against the sidewalk in rhythm with his longer strides. He kept his hands in his pockets most of the time, only occasionally brushing your lower back when you crossed a street. The conversation stayed easy. You learned he hated the taste of champagne but ordered it anyway because it made other people relax. You told him you still felt guilty every time you bought something that wasn’t on sale. He laughed at that, soft and genuine.
After the walk, you both got into the car and drove back to your place. At your building he didn’t try to come up. He just stood with you under the awning while the driver waited at a respectful distance.
“I had a really good time,” he said. “Better than I expected.”
He hesitated, then added, “I’d like to see you again. Not just for the arrangement. Dinner. Or a walk. Or nothing fancy. Just time together.”
You nodded. “I’d like that.”
He leaned in and kissed your cheek, warm, brief, careful. Then he waited until you were safely inside before the car pulled away.
The next few weeks moved differently.
Steve still sent the weekly transfer on time. The Birkin stayed on your shelf. But the dates changed. They stopped being about expensive restaurants and started being about longer conversations.
One Tuesday he picked you up in a regular black SUV instead of the Mercedes and drove you to a quiet lakefront path. You walked for almost two hours. He asked about the things you did when you couldn’t sleep. You asked what it felt like the first time one of his businesses actually turned a profit. He admitted he still checked the numbers at 2 a.m. out of old habit.
Another night , He invited you to his place for the first time, he cooked for you simple pasta, good wine, no people, just you and him. You sat on the kitchen counter while he stirred the sauce and told you about the freckles on his shoulders that used to get him teased as a kid back at hawkins, his home town. You told him about the first time you ever felt pretty, and how rare that feeling still was. He didn’t rush to fill the quiet that followed. He just looked at you like he was trying to memorize the way you said it.
Then you guys started texting more than logistics.
Steve: “Thinking about that story you told me about the coffee shop regular who always ordered the same drink and never tipped. Still makes me laugh to myself.
You: He was the worst. Also I keep meaning to ask,do you actually like jazz or was that just the restaurant? also what’s the song of the week?
Steve: “Real talk? I like it more than I used to. Especially when I’m not trying to impress anyone, and the song of the week is the promise by when in rome, it’s old but a classic.”
You sent him a photo of the yellow dress from the first date hanging in your closet. He replied with a picture of the handwritten note he’d written that night, still folded in his desk drawer.
The physical side stayed slow on purpose. Kisses at the end of nights grew longer, more intentional, but he never pushed past what you initiated. One evening on his couch, after a long conversation about your mom and the things you still hadn’t told her, you rested your head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat for a while. His hand moved slowly through your curls. Neither of you said anything for a long time.
“This is different,” you murmured eventually.
“Yeah,” he answered, voice low. “It is.”
You tilted your face up. He kissed you, deeper this time, but still careful, still checking. When it ended, his forehead rested against yours.
“I don’t want this to just be the arrangement anymore,” he said quietly. “I like knowing you. The real version. Not the one who feels like she has to perform.”
Your throat tightened. “I’m still figuring out who that is when the money isn’t the loudest thing in the room.”
“That’s okay. We can figure it out at whatever speed feels right.”
You stayed like that a while longer his arm around you, the city lights soft through the windows, the expensive watch on his wrist forgotten against your back.
For the first time since the Birkin arrived, the little drop in your stomach wasn’t about what would happen if he got bored.
It was about how much it already mattered that he hadn’t.
Once the months started to pass, a comfortable rhythm placed,
steve never tried to insinuate any sexual acts; only a few makeout sessions here and there when you were comfortable, and the conversations stayed deep. He never tried to enter your apartment without permission.
One day, you were in the middle of a FaceTime call with Jade doing face masks together, talking about Steve when a soft knock echoed throughout your apartment.
“Hold up, Jade, someone’s at the door.”
You quickly got up with your phone in your hand, not thinking twice about your appearance when you opened the door to see Steve. You let out a sound, kind of a scream and gasp, before shutting the door on his face before running to the bathroom to wash off the clay mask.
Steve stood at the door frozen for a second before chuckling to himself about the inhuman sound you just made.
“Girl, what?? What the fuck was that sound? Are you okay?” Jade questioned.
“Bro, OMG, Steve is at my door, and I opened the door looking like a damn clown.”
You quickly left the bathroom before going back to the front door and opening it.
“Hi,” you said softly with a smile, trying your best not to laugh.
Steve stood there shaking his head, “Now, on what gods earth was that sound you just made?”
“I-I didn’t expect you to be at the door,” you shifted awkwardly.
“Wait, what does he look like? I wanna see,” Jade asked from the phone screen. Steve looked down at the phone curiously, “Who’s that?”
“Jade!! Remember when I told you about my best friend I’ve known since 6th grade?”
You quickly brought the phone up, pointing the screen towards Steve.
“Hi, Steve,” Jade said more quietly, clearly losing her confidence now she had a face to match the name.
“Okay bye Jade!” you exclaimed, hanging up on her before she could even get another word out.
“Hi!” you said softly before kissing Steve on his cheek. “You wanna come in?”
“I’d like that, baby,” you giggled at the name baby, the cute pet name Steve had given you the past couple of months of you being together. you quickly sat on your small couch with steve.
“Why are you here? Not that you being here is a problem, just we always go to yours.”
“Bad day at work,” Steve sighed. “Remember how I told you I wanted to expand my hotel business? Well, one of them isn’t doing good up on the West Coast, and my business partner was being an asshole about it.”
You sat there with your feet tucked under you and listened to him rant about his bad day at work.
“I was near, on my way home, but I remembered my special girl lived over here, and I missed her.”
You felt your cheeks get hot at the moment.
“Well, good thing you’re here now,” you grinned softly before climbing onto Steve’s lap, thighs on each side of his legs, as you started to press soft kisses on Steve’s face. He closed his eyes, melting into the kisses, holding your waist tight.
“How about you stay the night here? We can order something here and just relax. I don’t like you stressing, Steve.”
Steve opened his eyes, grinning that same boyish smile, kissing you on the lips before pulling back. “I think I like that idea.” You squealed before jumping off his lap and grabbing your phone and opening DoorDash.
“What are you feeling? Mexican? Burgers? Oh my god, Wingstop?” You rabbled on
steves eye brows frowned. “What is Wingstop?”
“What? You know Wingstop. They sell chicken wings, tenders. Oh, they have the best fries.”
Steve chuckled. “I have no idea what that is, but I’m willing to try it.”
Your smile grew brighter. “I’ll order us something of my favorites, and you can try them all to see what you like the most.” You quickly pecked his cheek before walking into your room.
Steve watched you enter your room as your butt jiggled softly in the green vintage booty shorts he got you after you sent him the link on Depop, enjoying the view from where he was sitting. You came out of your room holding a pair of sweats and a shirt that Steve had let you borrow one day after you guys got caught in pouring rain, leaving you drenched and cold.
“Here, change into this. You look…” you trailed off. “Professional but uncomfortable.”
Which made Steve laugh out loud. He took the clothes and walked into your bathroom.
When he came out, you were already comfortable on the couch with a big fuzzy Hello Kitty blanket on your lap. “Have you ever watched Mamma Mia?” Steve shook his head no before sitting on the couch next to you. You laid back into the armrest, pulling Steve between your legs, making his head lie on your chest while you started to scratch his scalp
steve let out a content sigh as you started to play Mamma Mia on the couch.
“How was your day, baby?” Steve’s question was muffled by your chest.
“I woke up late, and I went for a run. Oh, and I tried a new coffee shop on the 54th Street. And then I came home, showered, went to the nail shop, and got my eyebrows done because they were overgrown. And then I called Jade, and we were on the phone for a couple of hours. And then we did a face mask before a special someone knocked on my door.” You ranted.
“Sounds like a productive day for you.”
You hummed in agreement. Silence fell between you two as you guys watched the movie. 30 minutes later, a soft knock came at the door. Steve got up, opened his wallet, took a 20 out, and opened the door. “Order for Y/N?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” He quickly grabbed the food and handed the man the 20. “Here’s your tip, sir. Thank you.” Closing the door before the man could argue about the overpaid tip.
He sat the food on the coffee table. You sat up, opening the bag and placing the containers of wings and fries on the table and putting the straws in the cups of sodas that came with the food
steve picked one up and took a big gulp before running to the kitchen sink, spitting the soda out. “What the fuck is that nasty drink?”
“Whoops!! Sorry, Steve. I got dr pepper and you got a coke they look so similar. You must of drank mine.”
Steve came back into the living room, picking up the cup of coke “I don’t understand how you like dr pepper it’s gross,” he said disgustingly.
“Hey, don’t disrespect my dr pepper, i love it. You hater.”
you two ate together watching mamma mia while you made steve rank each wing flavor he tried (he quite literally ranked every flavor 10/10 but you had your suspicions mango habanero was his favorite)
the night grew late and you grew more and more sleepy while watching mamma 2.
“Steve,” you whispered softly.
“You want to turn in for the night?” he questioned.
“Mhm, will you come with me?”
Steve quickly got up, cleaning up the mess you two made in the kitchen while you entered your room, doing your night skin care routine and getting your bed ready.
You would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous about Steve staying at your apartment for the first time, you were even more nervous about your full size bed being to small for the two of you. Steve entered the room, coming from behind you, wrapping his arms around you. “You ready?” you hummed in agreement before climbing into bed where Steve followed you, lying on his back. You got closer to him, swinging your leg over him and wrapping your arms around him. “This okay, Steve?” Steve kissed your temple. “More than okay,” as you drifted to sleep.
Steve was fast asleep before he woke up at 2 a.m. with the sound of your downstairs neighbors yelling at each other and the pungent scent of weed. Sneaking in, clearly someone in the building was hot boxing in their apartment, and the sound of the upstairs neighbor tv playing some type of show loud enough you could hear clearly. The noise continued till Steve eventually blocked the sound out at 4 am falling asleep. He expected you to wake up at some point like him, but there you were sleeping as peacefully as an angel could, clearly used to the noise.
The next morning, Steve left early, having to go to his home to get ready for work, kissing you goodbye at the front door before you went back to bed.
this was not the environment Steve wanted you to live in.
Chapter 3!! What are we thinking? Are we excited for the next chapter? I hope you guys are because a surprise is coming!⁽⁽٩(๑˃̶͈̀ ᗨ ˂̶͈́)۶⁾⁾
also i really want some wingstop rn 😔
taglist @katsallthetime @oliviaharrington @keerygirlie98 @lananabanana42
