JJ had made her objections to this particular plan well and truly known. But that had never stopped Emily before and it wasn't about to stop her now. (Granted, JJ was probably right about this one, but...that was a problem for future Emily.)

Ian had once again suggested they meet up for coffee and this time, he promised to pay her for her time. (Did that technically make her an escort? She wasn't sure.)

She'd ultimately agreed, with the sole intention of trying to suss out just how big his bank account was. Afterall, how else was she supposed to know just who to target with their little money-making scheme?

Entering the coffee shop, she slid her oversized sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to scan the patrons in search of Ian, finding him in one of the secluded corners, glancing about as if wary of ambush.

Plastering on a smile, she slid into the seat across from him, making sure to lean over the table so that he could get a good look down her blouse which had a few too many buttons undone, a hint of her lacy black bra visible.

He was grinning like the cat that got the cream, making no secret of his lecherous gaze. "I ordered you a coffee," he said, sliding the cup across the table. "I figured you'd need it after last night."

Though she didn't say it aloud, she had to agree – between a night job and being a single mother to an overactive daughter, she was constantly consuming caffeine to stay awake and alert. She wrapped her hands around the cup, she smiled her thanks. "You certainly did make me work for my money," she teased, flirtatious smirk on her lips.

He chuckled. "You earned each and every penny." He reached across the table to rest a hand on her wrist. "I'm glad you accepted my invitation – I wasn't sure you would..."

Sensing there was more to be said, she prompted, "But?"

"But I'm sensing that you're embarrassed to be seen with me..."

"Not embarrassed, sugar," she murmured, "But I'm not technically supposed to be seen outside the club with one of my patrons. I made an exception for you, though, because I like you so much." She let her foot travel along his leg under the table, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time with a hint of mischief in her gaze. "So, tell me a little bit about yourself... It's so hard to get to know someone over the club's sound system."

She had to play this carefully: she couldn't just come right out and ask how big his bank account was...she had to be sneaky, approach the matter carefully so he wouldn't be suspicious. Once she had some basic facts, Garcia could deep-dive into his background.

She listened to him discuss his life, but it didn't take her long to realize that he was deliberately avoiding giving out information that might be traceable. But she played along, smiling encouragingly and laughing at his jokes, hoping that if she just kept him talking long enough, he'd let something useful slip.

He wasn't so easily tripped up, though. "What about you, Love?" he prompted. "I think we've heard enough about me."

"I'm not that interesting," she quickly insisted with a demure little shrug. "I think you already know all my secrets anyway."

"What about my offer?" he said, his hand finding her knee beneath the table. "Have you thought any more about it?"

She laughed a little, like he'd just told a joke. "You don't want me living with you," she insisted, "I'm a terrible cook and I keep weird hours."

He refused to accept her excuses, though. "I'll take care of everything," he said, "I have staff to cook for you and you won't have to keep late hours, since you won't be working at the club."

She sighed a little, realizing he wasn't taking the hints. She worked up an apologetic expression, then whispered, "As tempting as it sounds, I'm afraid I just can't accept your offer. There are a lot of excuses I could give you, but it just wouldn't be right. I'm sorry."

His face visibly transformed from his polite, almost saccharine smile, to a mask of anger and truth be told, it frightened her.

"You'll always be my favourite patron, though," she said as if that were any kind of consolation.

In the next moments, his temper exploded. He batted both coffee cups off the table in a fit of anger, sending the liquid splashing to the floor. Emily jumped, shrunk in on herself at his reaction, afraid to anger him any further.

"Baby, please..." she begged, reaching out to pull him back into his seat before they attracted any further attention from the other diners.

He wasn't about to be calmed, though, marching out of the cafe without a backwards glance at her, leaving her to apologize to the staff and help them mop up the mess.

Emily's route home required she take a shortcut through an alleyway.

She would normally take the long way around, but since it was the middle of the day she didn't see the harm in it. At least, not until it was too late.

Someone approached behind her, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and slammed her into the wall. "Stupid fucking whore," a familiar voice growled.

"Ian, please," Emily whimpered, face being scratched up by the brick wall she was pressed up against. "You don't have to do this..."

"How fucking dare you!?" he demanded, voice quiet, but no less dangerous. "I offered you a better life and you'd rather be a fucking stripper!?"

She let out a shuddering breath, but refused to let any tears well up. "I don't need your charity," she replied.

He scoffed. "You were all too happy to take my money before," he snapped, "But you're too good to fuck me to earn your keep, is that it?"

"Ian..."

He pressed her harder against the wall. "No, you're done speaking – just listen," he hissed, "I paid a lot of money for your company and mark my words, I'll get what I paid for."