I lowered my gaze to focus on the rug. If I hadn’t known any better, Marriott, I would think Lola was trying to guilt-trip me, but Lola knew nothing. She thought I was good. Nice. And to be fair, I only wanted to hurt Keke and send her off, not kill her. Her being in my way wasn’t that serious.
“Lying to the cops was a stupid move, but it had to be done. To protect my charity. This event. Everything I’ve worked for. It’s better if it looks like an accident.”
“But if your gut is telling you that someone did this, how will you be able to sleep knowing that they’re probably here under our noses?” I questioned with a voice full of concern.
Lola took a long drink, and I admit I was laying it on pretty thick. I mean, why would the person who pushed Keke ask such a question? Oh right, because they would never. This was the way I could lower Lola’s suspicions of me the most. By allowing her to think I was terrified, afraid for my life.
“So, what are you saying? That I should go to the police? Tell the truth? That would ruin the charity, Ivy. It would ruin the event. You’re the only person I have told this to, okay? I can’t have this kind of news leaking out, so if it does, I’ll know who they’ve heard it from, but I’m trusting you. I trust that you’ll keep this between us. Won’t you?”
“I don’t know, Lola. I mean, yes, you can trust me, and I won’t say a thing, but after telling me this, I’m a little worried about staying at this camp.”
“Ivy, sweetie . . . please don’t worry.” Lola briefly closed her eyes and then opened them again. I noticed a small tic at her jaw. “I’ll take care of this. For our sake, let’s agree that Keke fell—that this was an accident. No one here knows Keke as well as I do, but for her safety and ours, we’ll just let this blow over. I’ll have security keep an extra eye out and, unfortunately, turn the cameras back on. The rangers will be doing double patrols. Everything will be fine.” She drank the last gulp of her wine and then pushed off the bed, going to the cart again.
As she filled her cup, I couldn’t help thinking that this was exactly what she did while under pressure. She drowned her stress with wine and pretended everything was okay, even though things were definitely not okay. Where did she learn that? Who taught her how to ignore her issues and blanket them with alcohol?
Lola wasn’t confrontational, and I knew that, but seeing as she was so quick to put the whole Keke conspiracy to bed just for her own peace of mind proved to me only one thing.
She was a very selfish woman, and I had every right to continue ruining her fucking life.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lola visited Keke every day after the accident. I mean of course she did. Keke was hurt and she felt sorry for her and Bailey. Not only that, but she felt a threat was at the camp . . . only she couldn’t say anything because she wanted to keep the situation under wraps and her reputation intact. Selfish, selfish woman she was, Marriott. You can’t tell me I was wrong about her.
Lola returned every night of camp, a little after nine each time. She drank her wine. Put on a brave face for her friends. I mean surely her pity party couldn’t last for long.
Did she still feel bad about what she did to me? To my life? No, she didn’t. She could spare me with this Keke bullshit. At least Keke was still alive and Bailey could still see her.
I’d had enough of it. I needed to get her back on track, change the course. It was the last night of Ladies with Passion Camp. It was pedicure and movie night. The women were going to be getting their toes painted by the staff of a local salon and then watch a movie afterward with whatever snacks they were craving. I saw no need for Lola to be there for the movie, so I came up with my own escape for us.
As the pedicure stations were being set up in the welcome hall, I went to the nail polish cart and picked out a few colors, placing them in my tote bag. I made sure to steer clear of Vonyetta, Noah, and Olivia. They had a bad habit of spotting me and asking me to do little favors for them, and I always did them because I had a reputation to keep clean with all Lola’s peers.
After collecting some cotton balls and nail polish remover, I took the back exit out of the welcome hall and made my way to Lola’s cabin.
As I approached, I saw her standing in front of our cabin, her honey-blond tresses piled on top of her head and wrapped in a white scarf, talking to one of the pregnant women.
She was putting on a façade, pretending she was okay, that nothing had ever happened. I guess it had to be that way, right? Mrs. Perfect couldn’t ever be Mrs. Imperfect. Honestly, as the week carried on, it was as if the whole fall with Keke hadn’t even happened, and it was strange to me.
How many times had she done that, Marriott? How often did she pretend things were okay, even though she’d wrecked lives? After all, none of what happened to Keke would have happened if she hadn’t ruined my life in the first place.
I passed by, making sure she noticed me. As the pregnant woman spoke, Lola glanced my way and smiled. I returned a half smile, making sure my expression was clear enough for her to notice something was bothering me. After entering the cabin and setting down my bag on the bottom of my bed, it didn’t take long for Lola to walk in after me, just as I’d expected.
“Hey, you,” Lola said from the door, giving me an apprehensive stare. “Everything okay?”
“Oh yeah. I’m fine.” I forced a smile at her, but kept an even, enthusiastic tone.
She noticed my forced smile and closed the door behind her. Her arms folded across her chest as she took two casual steps toward me. “You know, I’ve always been pretty good at reading someone. You aren’t fine. You seem bothered. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Who was she kidding? She couldn’t read people worth a damn. If she could, she’d realize all her friends were garbage and didn’t have her best interests at heart. She also wouldn’t have been standing in front of the woman who was slowly tearing her life apart.
“I’m just . . . well, I guess I didn’t expect to feel so overwhelmed by all the events for Passion Camp. I also keep thinking about what happened to Keke. I don’t know. It’s like every time I go out there, I think the person who pushed her is probably looking for someone else to push. How do we know anyone here is safe?”
“Oh Ivy.” Lola sighed, unfolding her arms to place her palms on my shoulders. “I told you, you don’t have to worry about any of that, okay? I have close eyes on the camp. No one is coming after you, or me, or anyone else here.”
I nodded, but I still pretended to be anxious. “Do you think we could stay in tonight? I, um . . .” I turned and picked up my tote bag. “I grabbed some nail polish and supplies from the welcome hall. Maybe we can do our own manicures and watch a movie on your portable projector thing?” I’d watched a reality show on her projector with Arabel, who had said Lola was okay with us using it during our free time.
“Oh.” Lola pressed her glossed lips and then rubbed them together. “Well, because it is the last night, I do have to give a little farewell speech to the attendees and volunteers tonight.”
“Oh—right. I’m sorry, I completely forgot about that.” I placed my tote bag back down on the bed.
Lola was quiet for a moment. “But you know what? I’ll tell Vonyetta I’ll give the speech in the morning. No big deal. Better they receive it with rejuvenated minds anyway.”
“Really?” I asked, elated.
“Yes, of course. I could use a night in.” She gave me her warmest smile . . . and there it was, my dear therapist. I felt it. Our connection had grown. Our bond was strengthening. I had her. My vulnerability was a treasure for her, and she couldn’t just let it go. She could never leave someone so vulnerable on their own—someone in need of her attention and care.
Lola stayed, drank her wine, and I laughed at her jokes, gasped at her stories. I even painted her toes for her. She wanted blue on her toes. I wanted to laugh at how predictable she was.
This was the night when I knew. I knew that Lola Maxwell was considering me a very close friend and a gift to
her. I was slowly becoming the little sister she’d wished she had while growing up—the friend who indulged in her picture-perfect life and absorbed every detail of it.
The friend who oohed and aahed about her trips to Belize, Greece, and Thailand. I was the friend who accepted her, and allowed her to be herself, and she would love it. Crave it. Need it.
I had her confidence, witnessed her vulnerability, and accepted her flaws. She could be slightly imperfect around me, trust me with secrets, confide in me about Corey, whom I loved hearing about, even if it came from her.
She wouldn’t let me go. No, in fact she’d want me everywhere she went from that moment forward.
She’d need me . . . and that was my plan all along.
Gain her trust, then ruin her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The perks of having a rich best friend were so much more than I’d imagined. I didn’t think it would all happen so quickly, yet there I was, living it up and getting text messages from my new bestie every day.
I spent many evenings at Lola’s mansion, or just with her in general. Sometimes we’d cook together while talking about Lola’s day, or we’d sit on her patio and sip chilled white wine while reading a new book she thought would be good for us to read together.
I would post on my Instagram about the new book my bestie and I were reading, or take a picture of me holding a glass of her expensive wine in the air with the pool lightly blurred in the background. I’d tag Lola and she’d like my Instagram posts and even comment sometimes and, surprisingly, being her new bestie brought a lot of followers my way.
I understood it now, Marriott—the craze over social media. It’s addicting as hell to watch the number of followers you have grow with every new post.
I realized that Lola liked to be in control of those who were close, though. She also loved being complimented. She liked to feel as if she owned a person—that she could control what they wore, what they drank, what they read.
When we’d go to restaurants and order, it was always she who picked the wine we’d drink as well as the appetizer. The choice of entrée was all mine, but she’d always mention how much she recommended a certain course.
I went into her office once while she was on a call by the pool and saw she had two calendars, one with dates of her events and one with dates of Corey’s. A bit much, if you asked me. I was sure Corey could keep up with his own events, but I had a feeling they weren’t there as reminders for herself. They were there so she could know everywhere he’d be in the future. So she could notice patterns, perhaps? She was a smart woman. She knew what she was doing.
Corey was never around, and that was strange to me, considering how often I was at Lola’s place. In due time, I told myself.
To my luck, my budding friendship progressed without interruptions. Three weeks had passed and Keke was still comatose. Lola’s visits to the hospital happened less frequently, but she did send flowers every day, straight from Keke’s flower shop. She’d mentioned to me that it would be her way of letting Keke know she had the shop being tended to for her while she was out, and a way to support her company. Pathetic, really.
I visited the hospital every day, sporting my black cap, making sure Keke was still out cold. I never went into the room, just passed by. The door would always be wide open during the day, with a clear display of colorful flowers in vases placed on the counter in front of the window. Sometimes her mother would be there. Sometimes no one would be there at all.
Keke’s head was once wrapped in bandages. Eventually, the bandages were gone, which meant she was healing. I wasn’t looking forward to the day she’d wake up. I hoped the damage was so bad that she’d forgotten everything.
Faith and Arabel I didn’t have to worry about much. They visited Lola once a week and talked about their husbands and how all men were alike. For a bunch of women I was certain were dying to get married at one point in their lives, they sure did complain a lot about their marriages.
And speaking of Faith and Arabel, Lola sent me a text informing me that she was having dinner and drinks the second Saturday of July and that I was invited. She’d also invited Arabel and Faith.
I wasn’t looking forward to the dinner. I preferred spending time alone with Lola and getting as much information out of her as I could, but in order to keep Lola’s trust and remain close, I had to go.
After cleaning my kitchen and making my bed, making sure the corners were tucked in the way I liked, I got dressed. I wore the lacy green dress Lola had picked out and bought for me when we went shopping, along with black heels she let me pick. I made sure my makeup was subtle but noticeable, to let her know I put in some kind of effort for this dinner. Apparently, it was going to be formal and Lola wanted her girls to look great. Like I said, she was controlling. Why couldn’t we just wear what felt right?
I drove straight to Biscayne Bay, pulling right up to Lola’s mansion and parking in the roundabout driveway. There were two other vehicles parked in the driveway, as well as a polished black Chrysler.
Ahh. Dr. Corey Maxwell was around. Was he going to be joining us ladies for dinner? I sure hoped so. I’d missed him and needed to see him. It’d been way too long.
As I walked to the front door, it turned out that I rather appreciated that Lola had made this night formal after all. I needed to look my best for Corey, and this dress hugged me tight in all the right places and revealed all my curves. It definitely made my new breasts look good.
Ideas began to sprout in my mind, taking root.
I rang the doorbell. As always, Georgia answered. “Good evening, Miss Elliot. Glad you could make it to dinner.” I never got over the way Georgia greeted me—as if I were a nuisance. As if she could read me like a book and didn’t like me, only entertained me for Lola’s pleasure. She was protective of Lola. That was fine. She could protect her all she wanted as long as she didn’t get in my way.
“Glad I could make it too.” I walked in as she took a step back.
Georgia shut the door behind me. “Right this way.”
I followed her down the corridor, and as we got closer to the kitchen, I could hear voices. Several of them. Faith and Arabel were already laughing, and then I heard a deep, familiar voice. It was a voice I’d been fantasizing about ever since hearing it. It was him.
I followed Georgia into the kitchen and there he was. Corey fucking Maxwell. Immaculate and devilishly handsome. Dressed in a tailored, navy-blue blazer and jeans, his dark hair brushed in deep waves, and dimples revealed as he uncorked a bottle of champagne. The popping noise rang in my ears, the women gasped and guffawed, and he chuckled.
There weren’t many men who could get me to lust after them, but there was definitely something about Corey Maxwell that made me want him so damn much.
Perhaps it was due to the fact that he belonged to Lola and I wanted everything she had to belong to me to make up for what she’d done. But he was married, and happily in love from the looks of it. The way he topped off his wife’s glass with the bubbly liquid couldn’t be missed. His eyes flickered up to hers as he poured, and then he smiled. She blushed, holding his gaze. He was infatuated with Lola.
She was his prize. His dainty little gem.
But not for long.
“Miss Elliot is here, Mrs. Maxwell,” Georgia said over the commotion.
“Oh! Ivy! Finally! I’m so glad you’re here, girl!” Lola’s voice was shrill. “You came right on time! Corey just opened up an amazing bottle of champagne he bought while he was in France!”
France. So that’s where he was. He’d never posted about being there, and I knew because I checked his Instagram every day for updates.
Lola sashayed my way in ruby-red heels, and of course she looked like a goddess. Her hair was braided in a halo, and the silky, knee-length gown she wore was nothing short of breathtaking. Her breasts, which Corey had lifted and filled himself—I found out that little tidbit about two weeks ago—were the main display of her ensemble. The front of th
e dress was cut in a plunging V, revealing a lot of cleavage, and also making it perfectly clear to everyone that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“You know Faith and Arabel, and of course you’ve met Corey,” Lola said. I could tell she was tipsy already. And yes, I had met Corey already. Three times now, and she knew that too.
I wished that number was higher. I thought I’d see him around the mansion more often since Lola and I were hanging out more, but normally when it was time for Corey to come home—he left off work around seven thirty every night—Lola was making some excuse, pretty much telling me I had to go before he arrived.
If I hadn’t known any better, Marriott, I would have thought she was threatened by me when Corey was around. Or maybe they truly did have plans. They were rich, after all, with lots of money to burn.
“Nice to see you again, Ivy.” Corey came closer to me, extending his arm and offering me a hand.
I took it. Shook it. Smiled. As our hands connected, I remembered his fingers kneading my breasts after I recovered from surgery. He had soft hands. He took care of them. “Nice to see you too, Dr. Maxwell.”
“No, no. None of that.” He chuckled. “Just call me Corey.”
I kept myself together. Couldn’t flirt in front of my new bestie, right? Especially not with her husband. “Okay, Corey it is, then.”
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