In the photo with Keke, they were at a charity event, and both were wearing soaking-wet T-shirts and covered in bubbles. Lola had organized a slip-and-slide bubble race at a park for people of all ages to join them and raise money.
I had to give it up to Lola; she did have some very good ideas for raising money . . . or maybe it was her team who had the ideas and she just threw money at it. Either way, good for her on that front.
I tapped the photo, and Keke’s username popped up. I scoffed at it. KeeQueen. She was a joke. Still, I went to her profile, as I’d done once before, read her arrogant biography about being owner of a flower shop and being a queen and a boss, and then scrolled through her pictures.
There was a photo of her with a child that caught my attention most. I clicked it and read the caption.
Not sure what I would do without this little angel in my life.
Keke had a kid. A girl. She looked about three or four. That explained why she was a part of Ladies with Passion, I supposed.
I combed my way through more of Keke’s photos and could tell her life was a hot heap of shit. She wanted to seem like some high-class, entrepreneurial woman, and yet she was a single mother who owned a flower shop and drove a Camry. It was pathetic, and I could tell even from a mile away that Keke loved sniffing on Lola, probably hoping to get rich off her somehow.
I wouldn’t have given a damn about someone like Keke to begin with, but there was something to be said when it came to her. I couldn’t have another person standing in my way when it came to Lola treating someone like a charity case. From what I could tell, Lola donated generously to Keke’s flower shop and, in return, Keke was a sponsor for the charity, though I was sure Lola didn’t need it. But it served as loyalty.
She constantly buttered Lola up to get close to her. Served her compliments. Went on lunch and hair dates.
I wasn’t having it.
If anyone was going to be close to Lola and get to waste her millions of dollars, it was going to be me, someone who deserved it.
I needed to work harder to get in really good with Lola. I was sure she’d known Keke for years, but all it would take was one little mistake for Lola to kick her out of her life for good.
I was going to make that happen.
CHAPTER TEN
For the rest of the week I worked, and during any of the free time I had, I kept up-to-date on Lola’s social media posts. What? It wasn’t like I could text her every day to check in. I didn’t want to turn her off.
She’d posted on Facebook one day about having lunch with Corey and how much she’d missed him while he was in Vegas. In the image with her post, they were sitting in a fancy booth of some restaurant, their fingers entwined on the tabletop.
Corey was looking at her lovingly, clearly about to nuzzle the tip of his nose in the crook of her neck, and I scoffed at that. He was so infatuated with her that it made me sick. I bet Corey had no idea what kind of secrets his wife held—the kind of shit she did to people. He probably thought his wife was some perfect human being just like the rest of the world did. He was dead wrong.
The day after that, Keke had shared a photo of Lola holding her daughter. Of course Keke had come around again, playing her single mother card. She had a toddler she could use to make her look like she’d always need a helping hand. I rolled my eyes when I read the caption.
My bestie Lola got my baby some new summer dresses! #bestfriendsforlife #LolaistherealMVP #thatsmybestfriend
I sat on the bench outside my job beneath a palm tree, stewing over the photo. Her daughter was cute and all, but that bitch Keke was really starting to annoy me. I mean, “bestie”? Come on, now.
When Saturday arrived, I was filled with glee. It was my time to shine and get all Lola’s attention. I took a long, hot shower that same morning, and made sure my face was as bare as possible, but I didn’t forget the mint lip gloss.
After cutting a Gala apple and eating a buttery slice of toast with strawberry jam, I walked to the door of my studio apartment, preparing to leave but taking a look around first.
I hated this place. I didn’t have much, which was probably why it annoyed me so much. Just a love seat, a small, flat-screen TV that I never watched, and my lumpy queen-size mattress on the floor, against the wall. When I first moved in, it smelled like mothballs. Candles did the trick, but the mothball scent would still show up here and there. The only good things about it were the double patio doors. They gave me lots of natural light, which you always told me was healthy to have.
No matter. None of this was going to last long anyway.
I slammed the door behind me and locked it, trotting down the steps to get to my car. Julius was sitting on the stoop as I walked by, but we ignored each other. I was glad he didn’t talk to me. I wanted to be in the best mood possible when I arrived at Lola’s, and talking to Julius always aggravated me.
I didn’t need my GPS to find my way to Lola’s house this time. I’d visited every other day of the week since she’d sent me the address. Most times it was after work. I didn’t go up her driveway or do anything that would cause suspicion of course, but I did drive past her private driveway, just to see if I could capture anything, or maybe spot her or Corey walking around the neighborhood. I gathered the idea they weren’t joggers.
But with security at the main gates, I had to be cautious. Visiting every day would have caused one of the men to get curious.
I drove with a small smile pulling at the corners of my lips. When I arrived at her house, I pressed the buzzer on the gate and was invited right in.
There was a black SUV parked in the driveway as I pulled up, along with Lola’s Tesla and the same black Chrysler I’d seen last week. I also spotted Lola’s pearly white SUV parked close to the house, and I was itching to drag my key across the shiny paint. Not today.
Climbing out of the car, I walked up to the wide, brown door and gave the bell a ring. Georgia answered again with a subtle smile on her lips. Her eyes were not welcoming at all, though. It was clear she hated her job . . . or she hated me. Either way, I didn’t care. I wasn’t there for her.
Georgia escorted me to the deck, where there were cameras, laptops, photography umbrellas, and backdrops already set up. Several men were piecing equipment together.
I put down my bag just as Georgia walked up to me with a tray in hand and drinks on top of it. “Would you like a blood-orange sangria, Miss Elliot?” she asked.
“Sure.” I took one from the tray but didn’t miss the once-over she gave me as she stepped back.
“Mrs. Maxwell is still getting ready, but she should be down any minute now.”
“Okay. No problem.” I took a seat on one of the cushioned pool chairs beneath the turquoise umbrella, sipping my drink and watching the men work.
A woman with box braids that reached her lower back, wearing pink shorts and a gray crop top, walked outside, and I sat up a little higher in my chair, studying her as she made her way to the group of men who were piecing together another backdrop.
I knew who she was on sight. Xena Whitley, the photographer for today—and not just any photographer. Lola used Xena for almost every photo shoot she had. She was her personal photographer and had even done the headshots for Lola on her charity website. Xena was also a well-known Instagram photographer, and everyone in South Beach wanted to do shoots with her.
Xena turned to me and her brown eyes grew wide. “Oh, heyyyy!” She dragged out the word. “You must be Ivy!”
I smiled, putting down my wineglass on the table in front of me. “I am. And you must be Xena.”
“I’m your girl!” she sang, and I held back an eye roll. “Well, don’t just sit there! Give me a hug! We’ve gotta get acquainted because we’re doing this photo shoot together!”
I stood, begrudgingly of course, and wrapped my arms around her as she squeezed me tight.
“So, Lola told me you’re helping her as a volunteer for the charity. I swear, she’s so good, isn’t she? Her heart has to be made of gold
. You know she’s the reason I can even do my job? If she hadn’t hired me when I first started doing shoots, no one would know who the hell I am right now. She took a chance on me and my life hasn’t been the same since—in a good way. I am so lucky to have that woman in my life.”
So, this was a thing with Lola, I realized. She loved to save people, or more like let people know she had a hand in others’ success. This was good news. If she wanted to save sad souls, I could lay my sob story on thicker and she could save me too. And by save me, I meant give me all her money.
“Lola is so, so good.” I wanted to throw up after saying the words.
“She is a great person, and the fact that she chose you to model says a lot. That means she sees something in you.” She gave me a wink, her faux lashes batting at me. “Anyway, I’m gonna get you in the chair with the makeup artist. The look will be subtle today—nothing too extravagant. Honestly, though, you don’t even need it. You’re gorgeous—but makeup for this shoot with this sun will give the charity images a fresher look!”
Xena led me to a chair in the sunroom inside, where I could still see the pool and the ocean. The floors were made of hardwood in this room, and there were cushioned lavender chairs in two of the corners. A vase of peonies was on top of a wooden table beside one of the chairs, and skylight windows were in the vaulted ceiling, giving the room a breath of fresh air.
A woman with wavy black hair and tan skin pranced around the corner with makeup brushes and introduced herself as Gena. Gena got straight to work on my makeup. As she did, I became antsy as more time passed, wondering where the hell Lola was.
I hoped she wasn’t leaving me to do this shoot by myself. That would have been rude as hell, and it would have completely thrown off my plans for the day.
Gena was halfway done with my makeup when Lola finally strolled into the sunroom. She wore a flowy blue dress, her honey-blond hair hanging down and touching her shoulders. Her baby hairs were sleek on her forehead and at her temples, and her lips were plump and glossed. All that beauty. Such a waste on a selfish soul.
“Oh, Ivy! Look at you!” Lola rubbed my shoulder with a wide smile. “Sorry it took me so long to come down. I had a few phone calls to make, but I’m so happy to see you here! You ready for today?”
“That’s okay. I’m excited to be here, but also really nervous.”
“No, no. Don’t be nervous. This is a private shoot where you can be yourself. You’re going to do great, plus, Xena always knows how to get people to let loose and have fun.” She gave my shoulder a squeeze and then looked at Xena, who was sitting in one of the chairs and fiddling with the lens of one of her cameras.
Lola excused herself from me to go to Xena, and they murmured about the shoot and other things I didn’t care to listen to. Lola left the room and I watched her go, only to return moments later with a stack of shirts.
“Ivy, we’re going to get started soon,” she told me. “I’ll let you get dressed in my favorite guest room.”
“Okay, great.”
Gena finished off my face with setting spray and I climbed out of the chair, following Lola down the hallway.
“Did you have a sangria to warm you up a bit?” Lola asked as I met up to her. “I swear, a good drink always has me feeling good.”
“I did. Georgia gave me one. Though I’m sure I could use another.”
“Well, there’s more if you’d like. I’ll have Georgia bring another glass to you after you’re dressed.”
Lola sauntered past the den and one of the stunningly decorated seating areas until she reached a molded white door. She opened it, revealing one of the rooms she’d shown me the first time I visited.
There was a queen-size bed swathed in a white duvet and fluffed blue and white pillows at the headboard. The walls were painted a very light blue—by now, it was safe to say this was Lola’s favorite color—and the floors were made of a light oak. The floors were so polished I could see the blur of my reflection.
Lola placed the shirts on a velvet, royal-blue chair in the corner and then stepped in front of a door beside it. She slid the door open, revealing a walk-in closet. I followed her into it, and for a guest-room closet, it was packed with clothes and was about half the size of my apartment.
“Okay, so as far as bottoms, pick your poison, but I would suggest shorts because this is to raise money over the summer. You told me your size via email, so I ordered several styles of shorts, skirts, and jeans and they’re all on this rack here.” She gestured to the front rack. “Experiment the bottoms with the shirts and see which look best for you. There’s a full-length mirror in the bathroom over there.”
I nodded. “Wow. This is all so much, Lola. I could have just brought some bottoms if you needed me to.”
“Don’t mention it, sweetie.” She smiled with her perfect white teeth as she walked up to me, then placed her hands on my shoulders. “You’ll do great. Think about the charity and how wonderful it’ll be to bring so much goodness to these women.”
“Yes. I want to give my all to the charity.” I couldn’t give a shit less about it, if I was being honest.
“Great.” She gave my shoulders a squeeze, and I wanted to break every single one of her skinny fingers. “I’ll have Georgia bring you another sangria, but there’s a minifridge by the bed with heavier drinks if you need one.” Another one of her winks. “After the shoot, I’m taking you out for lunch.”
Lola pulled away and left, but not without a confident smile over her shoulder. When the door clicked shut, I took a look around the room and sighed.
Fuck that photo shoot, Marriott! Taking pictures could wait. I needed to get acquainted with this guest room. I mean, it was stunning! I’d have much rather lived in it than my apartment in Liberty City.
I made way to the minifridge and opened it, spotting minibottles of wine, champagne, vodka, and water. I grabbed a bottle of pineapple CÎROC, twisted off the cap, and chugged the majority, then let out a wet gasp. This would definitely get me to loosen up.
I walked to the closet, taking down a pair of jean shorts that were shredded at the hem. I picked up a blue T-shirt from the stack of charity shirts, knowing Lola would favor it, and got dressed. As I looked at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, there was a knock on the door.
I answered, and Georgia had another sangria in hand. “Enjoy,” she said in a prim-and-proper voice, offering it to me.
“Thank you so much.” Georgia started to turn, but I called after her. “What is it like to work here?”
She put on a courteous smile and said, “I love my job, Miss Elliot. I love this home and I’ll do whatever I need to do to protect it.”
She turned away quickly, but I couldn’t help noticing the look in her eyes before she walked off. A flash of annoyance or disappointment? I had no clue.
I poured the liquid of the sangria down the bathroom sink, dumped the fruit in the waste bin and, when I felt good enough, walked out of the guest room and back to the deck. Lola was sitting in a chair beneath the umbrella, sipping a sangria.
“Look at you! You chose wisely!”
I knew she’d say that. “Thank you.”
Lola stood and went to Xena. “Let’s get started. I want to take Ivy out for lunch early so I can make it back in time for dinner with Corey.”
“Yep, got it.”
Dinner with Corey? I had to find a reason to stay longer— just to see Corey. I was sure between now and lunch I’d be able to come up with something.
The photo shoot started, and it was awkward as hell at first. I’m not a model, Marriott. I had no clue what to do with my hands, but Xena told me to tug on the shirt or twirl with it, which I thought was kind of stupid, but it worked.
I’m far from model material, and the only way I got through it was by thinking about Corey. What would it have been like to kiss him for the first time? Hold his hand? Feel his breath mix with mine?
Would he dare leave his wife for me?
Would he dare ri
sk it?
He would for me because I would love him. Please him. Take care of him.
Xena egged me on, clearly loving my sudden spark of confidence. I found Lola’s eyes every so often, and she was giving me a proud smirk with her hands clasped together. I had to give her reason to think she’d chosen wisely.
Someone ambled into the kitchen and stopped, and when I realized who it was, my confidence burst like a balloon.
I held back a gasp as the person stared at me from the wide island counter, brows dipped in confusion. The sleeves of his gray dress shirt were rolled up, revealing strong forearms, and his head was cocked to the left.
Corey. My Corey.
“Corey, honey, what are you doing home so early?” Lola asked, moving to him in her heels when she noticed him too. She seemed annoyed by his presence.
Corey finally looked away from me to focus on his wife. “My last client was an hour ago,” he said.
Xena stopped shooting and told me I could take five minutes while she went through the set of photos. I stood where I was, picking up my new glass of sangria from the table nearby as a distraction.
“Speaking of clients—baby, I didn’t know Ivy worked with you,” Corey boomed.
Shit.
“She’s your client?” Lola asked, laughing as she turned a fraction to look between us. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, she got lucky and was squeezed in for an appointment a couple of months ago.”
“Wow, Ivy. I had no clue! What did you have done?” Lola was looking right at me. “No, wait. Let me guess. Girls your age are usually going for . . . lipo? No—fillers?”
“No, I . . . um . . . I had my breasts done,” I murmured. “Breast augmentation.”
“Oh.” Lola’s eyes dropped to my chest on cue. She gave me a strange look—a look when I couldn’t tell if she was annoyed by that fact or still just curious.
“That’s interesting.” She gave me a once-over with her eyes and then faced Corey again, patting his broad chest. “Okay, well, we’re just wrapping up on the shoot. Think you can keep yourself occupied until dinner?”
The Perfect Ruin Page 7